Page 93 of Celestial Combat

And then there was me.

I pulled in slow, deliberate, the SUV cutting through the scene like a blade. Not flashy, not built for speed – but lethal in its presence.

Unlike the turbo-charged monsters lined up at the starting line, this wasn’t here to compete. It was here to command.

The reaction was immediate.

People turned. Conversations died. A ripple spread through the crowd as they clocked the vehicle, then me – black hoodie up, shoulders squared, tattoos running down my arms and curling at my jaw like inked shadows. My nose ring glinted under the harsh white of the floodlights as I stepped out, hands sliding into my pockets, scanning the scene with slow, deliberate precision.

Then, I found her.

Near the center of it all, standing beside a deep-blue Porsche GT3 RS, Kali laughed, the sound somehow cutting through the roar of engines and the pounding bass of a nearby speaker. The moment I saw her, something in my jaw locked tight, grinding down like an unseen pressure had dropped onto me all at once.

It wasn’t just the sight of her standing there – it was everything about her.

She leaned against the custom-modified Porsche, her body half-turned, long legs crossed at the ankles, the neon lights from the surrounding cars reflecting off her skin like something out of a dream. Her outfit –God, help me– wasn’t made for blending in.

I dragged my eyes over the black halter top – barely there – fastened by a single ring at the center of her chest, framing smooth, golden-brown skin. The low waist of her loose camo pants did nothing to tame the effect, only drawing more attention to the contrast – sexy and effortless, soft and sharp. Heavy, black combat boots grounded her, making her stance look even more defiant, even more reckless.

Her dark curls, now loose, pinned back in a low ponytail.

And the sunglasses – even at night.

She was completely in her element.

And I wasn’t the only one noticing.

Kali was laughing, head tilted back slightly, dark hair spilling down her back in soft waves. She stood too close to a group of racers – grinning, at ease, effortlessly magnetic.

Some of the guys standing near the starting line turned to look at me as I moved through the crowd, their eyes raking over me, sizing me up – clocking the fighter build, the ink stopping at my jaw, the way I carried myself.

I didn’t blink.

Didn’t even spare them a glance.

Because that’s when I saw Tony.

The breath that left me was slow, controlled – because anything less would’ve been a snarl.

He was standing right next to Kali, too damn comfortable, a cigarette hanging from his fingers as he grinned at whatever she had just said.

Tony motherfucking DeMone.

I couldn’t escape the motherfucker.

I swore under my breath, but kept walking.

The second Kali spotted me, she rolled her eyes.

She knew I would come. Knew I’d find her. And now, judging by the slow smirk that curled at the edge of her lips, she was thrilled about it.

I stopped right in front of her. The tension cracked like a live wire.

She tilted her head back slightly to meet my gaze, full of defiance and danger.

I stopped directly in front of her, jaw locked. Close enough that the air around us seemed to tighten.

“Let’s go.” My voice was low, laced with steel.

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