Page 92 of Cruel Deception
Cassian and Marco launched forward like beasts unchained, tires screeching as they tore across the asphalt.
The crowd roared.
I stood halfway up from my seat, unable to sit still. My eyes locked on the track.
The bikes danced dangerously close to one another. Marco surged ahead first, overtaking Cassian on a sharp curve—but Cassian wasn’t rushing. He was biding his time, measuring.
Then, with a sudden sharp glide, he cut across an inner path and overtook Marco again—narrowly missing a metal barrier that could’ve snapped his spine if he miscalculated by a second.
My hands flew to my mouth.
The speed was insane. They zigzagged through flaming rings, over slick patches of oil that sent lesser racers skidding into the crowd barriers. But not Cassian. He moved with the calm of someone who wasn’t racing for victory—but for blood.
Marco tried to sideswipe him. Cassian let him try. Then, in one clean flick of the wrist, Cassian leaned hard, allowing Marco to overshoot the next turn—and in that breath, Cassian slid through the tight curve, reclaiming the lead.
I could barely breathe.
Gasps filled the crowd. Fists pounded barriers. Someone shouted “That’s fucking suicide!” when Cassian sped through a bridge arch that required millimeter precision.
But he did it.
And by the time they hit the final stretch, Marco was five bike-lengths behind.
Cassian crossed the finish line first.
The arena exploded.
Cheers, whistles, claps, the smell of burnt rubber and adrenaline thick in the air.
I let out a laugh—half relief, half disbelief. He won. He actually won.
Behind me, Luca was silent. And for the first time in forever, I didn’t care what he did next. Because all I could see was Cassian—slowly removing his helmet, his hair damp with sweat, his chest heaving. Victorious. Untouchable.
My husband.
Chapter 15
CHARLOTTE
I was cheering like a lunatic—hands in the air, heart in my throat, a smile splitting my face so wide it hurt.
I hadn’t felt this kind of happiness in years. Not the subtle kind. The loud, wild kind. The kind that made me feel like I was the one who crossed the finish line first. I was still screaming Cassian’s name like a devoted fangirl at her first concert when the man to my left burst out:
“I fucking knew it! He won—I told you!” He was practically vibrating beside me. “Hundred grand in the bag!”
I blinked. “Wait—you bet on him?”
“Damn right I did!” he crowed, eyes dancing. “Been betting on that beast for two years straight. Never lost.”
I grinned. “Well—congratulations.”
“Thanks, girl. You bet too?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
“Damn shame. Next time, huh?” He winked, stood with a limp, and swaggered off like a man who just bought his dream car with mafia money.
I laughed quietly to myself. Then my eyes scanned the crowd, and found him—Cassian. Already watching me. His gaze locked onto mine like he’d been searching, like he’d found the only face in a stadium full of strangers that he cared to see. I lifted my hand and waved.
