Chapter 17: Dirty Race

Third POV

For the past thirty minutes, Fabio drove in dead silence. Marco was unusually quiet too, though he threw sideways glances at Fabio every so often. The long drive finally ended when they pulled up to a stretch of road that screamed ’racetrack’ at first glance. It was swarming with all kinds of people, but the vibe was entirely different from a sanctioned track. It had that illegal kind of energy.

Fabio quickly found a spot to park. The engine cut off, yet neither of them spoke. Even as the click of unbuckling seatbelts echoed in the tight space, the silence remained.

Fabio popped his door open and was about to step out when a hand clamped around his arm, yanking him right back toward Marco’s seat.

"Earlier..." Marco started, only to be cut off by a lethal glare from Fabio.

"Don’t," Fabio warned.

"You said..." Marco pushed on anyway, an annoying smirk playing on his lips.

"I’m out of here," Fabio muttered, scrambling to get the hell out of the car.

"That I am yours," Marco taunted, laughing out loud now as he climbed out after him.

Fabio was already speed-walking away trying to merge with the crowd, but Marco trailed right on his ass, grinning like a complete idiot.

"Why are you running?" Marco whispered hot against Fabio’s ear the second he caught up.

Fabio ignored him, slapping on a fake smile and focusing entirely on the people greeting him. He shook hands with a few guys, while a couple of women couldn’t resist pulling him in for tight hugs.

"I didn’t know you were this famous," Marco murmured as they finally stood side by side. "Am I unknowingly fucking a local celebrity?"

That made Fabio stop in his tracks, forcing Marco to halt beside him.

"You don’t want to know, trust me," Fabio whispered back, his signature cocky smirk sliding right back into place. "I’m a big fucking deal around here."

Marco leaned in close, resting a hand on Fabio’s shoulder. "Still... you said I am yours."

Fabio’s smug expression immediately crashed back into mild frustration, unlike Marco, who was practically vibrating with suppressed laughter.

"You aren’t going to let that shit go, are you?" Fabio asked, giving the man a flat side-eye.

"Not a chance in hell," Marco replied without missing a beat. "The way you said to her, ’Unfortunately for you, he’s mine,’ was fucking hot. And then you had to go and grab my hand, dragging me away like some jealous, possessive boyfriend."

Fabio rolled his eyes with a long, lazy sigh. "Your capacity for overthinking is on a whole other level."

Marco leaned right into Fabio’s space and deliberately traced the wet tip of his tongue along the shell of his ear. "You have no idea how badly I wanted to bend you down right there and fuck you hard, making you scream it over and over again. That I’m yours."

A heavy silence engulfed them. Marco pulled back just enough to lock eyes with Fabio. Silent, filthy promises passed between them, spoken purely through the dark intensity of their gazes. The raw need rolling off them was thick enough to choke on.

"Fabio!"

If some clueless person had not interrupted them right then, God knows what would have happened. The audience might have witnessed a very different, much dirtier kind of race.

Fabio glanced over Marco’s shoulder, his irritation melting into a genuine smile when he spotted the man.

"Angelo," he called out, meeting him halfway for a quick, brotherly embrace.

"Long time no see," Angelo beamed. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, buzzing with restless energy. "The boys are gonna lose their shit when they see you."

"I bet they will. Especially since I’m hitting the road tonight," Fabio said, throwing Angelo a confident wink.

Angelo eyed him with blatant skepticism. "You’re messing with me, right?"

Fabio just slung an arm casually over Marco’s shoulders. "I’m racing this guy. Name’s Marco."

Angelo turned to Marco, his interest suddenly piqued. He gave the taller man a quick, sizing-up scan and nodded in approval. "Marco. I’m Angelo."

"Nice to meet you," Marco replied smoothly shaking the guy’s hand.

"How good is he?" Angelo asked Fabio, failing to hide his curiosity. "Your opponents are usually... professionals."

"Oh, he’s good," Fabio drawled casually, shooting Marco a quick, loaded glance.

Angelo chuckled, sensing the vibe. "I might just put my money on him tonight."

Fabio clutched his chest, feigning absolute betrayal. "Ouch. For real?"

Laughing, Angelo patted Fabio’s shoulder. "Go get yourselves ready. I’ll arrange the lineup. Just don’t forget to explain the rules to the new guy."

With that, Angelo wandered off into the crowd.

A short distance away, a mouth-watering lineup of high-end luxury cars sat idling under the dim streetlights.

"What rules?" Marco asked as they strolled toward the gorgeous machines.

"Well, I assume you can already tell this whole operation is highly illegal," Fabio stated.

Marco nodded. "Racing on a public road tends to be," he agreed, eyeing the chaotic spectators who were standing dangerously close to the tarmac with zero safety barriers in sight. "But... illegal has become kind of my favorite thing lately."

Fabio paused in his tracks, looking back over his shoulder at the other man. "It sure has. My whole existence is pretty much a crime."

Marco’s teeth sank slowly into his own lower lip. He didn’t break eye contact for a second as he pointed blindly. "I’ll take this one."

It was a deep-red Ferrari SF90 Stradale.

"Nice taste. I’ll go with that one," Fabio murmured, nodding toward a matte-black Lamborghini Aventador SVJ.

"Perfect."

Then they were right back to staring each other down, the sexual tension thick enough to cut someone’s whole existence short.

"You know what happens to the loser," Fabio purred, stepping right into Marco’s space and crowding him back against the side of the Ferrari.

"I’m not losing tonight," Marco whispered back, also leaning close, their lips almost touching.

Then without warning, his hand shot out, gripping the back of Fabio’s neck to crash their mouths together in a bruising kiss.

Fabio let out a muffled noise, slapping both hands flat against the cool metal of the car as he leaned in, erasing whatever millimeter of space was left between their bodies.

"Good luck evading the cops," Fabio murmured against his lips, breathless.

"I will. And after I dust them..." Marco pulled back just an inch, his voice dropping to a gravelly register, "...I’m gonna fuck you senseless until the sun comes up."

Fabio let out a shaky, ragged breath. He was just about to drag Marco back in for round two when a loud throat cleared nearby.

"If you two are done eating each other’s faces, can we get the cars to the starting line?" It was Angelo again, looking highly amused.

Fabio groaned in displeasure. "Five more minutes wouldn’t have killed anyone."

Nevertheless, he peeled himself away, strutting over to the Lamborghini while Marco slid into the driver’s seat of the Ferrari. They rolled the rumbling beasts up to the starting line side by side.

The rowdy crowd roared in approval as the two supercars revved their engines. On the count of three, tires shrieked, and they tore down the stretch, leaving nothing but a massive cloud of dust and wild cheers in their wake.

Out on the highway, traffic was basically nonexistent since it was dead midnight. Any poor soul unlucky enough to be on the road was probably already dialing 911, seeing as two hypercars were currently ripping past them at triple the legal speed limit.

Marco and Fabio were perfectly matched, driving like absolute maniacs. If one drifted a corner, the other was right on his bumper, waiting for the perfect millisecond to overtake. They aggressively traded the lead back and forth. That was, until the road split, and they chose two totally different routes.

Street racing rules here were simple: there was no set route. You just had to reach a specific told checkpoint in the city and haul ass back to the starting line. Oh, and you absolutely could not bring any cop trails back with you.

In less than three minutes of pure, reckless speeding, both men reached the mandatory checkpoint- which happened to be placed right outside a local police station- and slammed on the gas to loop back.

They merged back onto the same highway, tearing down the empty lanes together. It was completely exhilarating right up until the police sirens erupted behind them. Red and blue lights flashed in their rearview mirrors.

Without hesitation, Marco violently whipped the steering wheel to the right, while Fabio swerved hard to the left. The cops predictably split into two packs, taking the bait to chase down the criminals.

But both guys were way too experienced for this, not to mention the fact that they were driving literal land rockets.

On Marco’s end, he had gambled on a longer route, meaning he had absolutely zero chances to hide. Stopping wasn’t an option. All he could do was press the accelerator straight to the floor, aggressively outrunning the cruisers and losing them in the backstreets before they even knew what hit them.

On Fabio’s side, he took the shorter route. He simply killed his lights and slid the Lamborghini flawlessly into a tight spot between two cars in a parking lot. The cops sped right past, completely oblivious.

Just like that, the local PD was left eating dust.

Marco and Fabio managed to cross paths again on a main road just about a kilometer away from the finish line. Only two turns remained before opening up into a long, straight sprint to the end.

When it came to taking high-speed corners, the Lamborghini had superior grip and handling. Marco was perfectly aware of this.

But once they hit the final straightaway, the Ferrari’s horsepower would dominate completely. Fabio knew this all too well.

Marco just had to stay glued to Fabio’s trail through the corners so he wouldn’t be left in the dust, while Fabio had to build a massive gap before they hit the final stretch.

The two went head-to-head, engines screaming as they fought for control. Fabio took the lead into the first curve, Marco drifting inches from his tail.

As soon as the last turn was cleared, Fabio slammed the gas pedal to the absolute floor. He didn’t even dare glance in the mirror to check how far back Marco was; his eyes were glued purely to the finish line ahead.

He was close. Dangerously close. He was seconds away from claiming the win.

But then, in aflash, Marco’s Ferrari roared past him at a terrifying speed, crossing the line a fraction of a second before him.

And just like that, Marco took the win.