Page 120 of Harley & Her Ferals

That would destroy me.

I’ve been on edge ever since, unable to stop pacing.

It was Feral who suggested that I take out the motorcycle, which Dad named me after, and test the new race track that Lionzio has just finished building.

I’m going to let the ride wash away my stress like it always does.

It’s my one hobby that Dad allows me, outside my practice.

I grew up around motorcycles, but it was only after I won my first fight when I was eighteen, that I had the daring to become the first Omega biker, as well as first cage fighter.

“Pick a reward. I promise that you can have one thing,” Dad said, magnanimously. He was glowing with pride that his Omega daughter had achieved something that his Alpha son had failed at. “Would you like new blankets? A feast in your honor? How about your choice of the Alpha fighters to rut you through your next heat?”

I wanted to ask for Feral to be released from his contract.

Yet I knew that Dad would reject such a large request.

In fact, if I dared to ask for anything that helped Feral, River, or even my brother, then he’d take it as an insult, and they’d be the ones who paid for it.

He was expecting me to ask for a typical Omega reward like fluffy bunny slippers or a knotted dildo.

I tilted up my chin. “My own motorcycle.”

Dad looked shocked but he didn’t go back on his word.

Now, I may only be able to ride my present every couple of months, but every time that I do, it reminds me that no matter how close I come to death, I am still startlingly alive.

The powerful engine rumbles, echoing through the concrete tunnels.

The vibrations are intense.

All sense and emotions are magnified. I can smell the mingled scents of the dank, oily tunnels, as well as the Alphas that I pass.

I relax, heading through the entrance into the empty hangar that holds the new race track.

Like everything in the Underworld, however, it’s not as simple or innocent as a race track. There are secrets, dangerous tunnels, and deadly traps like barrels and insanely tight corners.

That’s the influence of the Hades bikers, as if our lives aren’t dangerous enough as it is.

Perhaps, gambling with their lives is how they get their kicks.

I’d settle for a Pepperoni pizza.

Laurent would settle for a beer.

See, Omegas are a lot easier to please than Alphas like to make out.

Laurent and I are surprisingly less high maintenance than you’d expect from an elite billionaire and a mafia princess.

I smile, studying the tunnel that leads to the starting gate.

This isn’t like any track that I’ve seen before. It’s going to be fun to try it out.

Best of all, I’m no longer thinking about the ball tonight.

All of a sudden, a dark figure on a battered, all-black Harley roars out of the tunnel directly at me.

“Shit.” I slide to a desperate stop, applying maximum pressure to the front lever.

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