Chapter 2
The air in Brightwood Gallery carried a mix of pricey perfume and the lingering tang of dried turpentine.
I pulled on a cheap, faded floral dress and threw my old canvas bag, three years and counting, over my shoulder, slipping right back into the part of the broke, hardworking gallery assistant.
"Eve." A warm male voice came from behind me. I stiffened for a moment, then took a deep breath and turned around, wearing an anxious yet hopeful expression.
Alex stood before a huge abstract painting, his custom dark gray suit giving him a commanding presence. He walked toward me, every step setting my nerves on edge.
He reached out, as if to pat my head, and I instinctively shrank back just enough for him to notice. His gaze darkened, and he let his hand fall back.
"It's been a while," Alex said with a wry smile. "I heard about Mr. Lane. I never would've guessed you were..."
"Me neither," I replied, my voice shaky as I stared at my shoes. "Alex, I-I don't want any of that money. Honestly, I'm terrified."
He stepped closer, and the faint scent of ebony on him washed over me. It used to make me feel safe, but it made my chest tighten now. He guided me through the gallery, pointing at those bizarre, almost unsettling paintings.
"Don't be afraid. I'm here," Alex said, sounding sincere, though his eyes kept scanning my face, searching for any sign I was faking it.
"The Lane family is a mess. On your own, there's no way you can hang onto that inheritance. Eve, do you still trust me?"
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the sponsor list beneath the painting. In the corner, a small, unremarkable black-and-white logo caught my attention. It was a cross entwined with wire.
My heart skipped a beat. That was the only lead I had in my dad's disappearance case. It was the logo of the Iron Cross Foundation.
Wait, Alex's art show was actually sponsored by the Iron Cross Foundation?
A chill shot up from my feet straight to the top of my head. He wasn't my old classmate anymore; the darkness behind him ran way deeper than I had ever guessed.
"Alex, I should go," I said, dropping my gaze and pretending to check my phone, dodging his probing eyes.
Alex walked me to the door, the sunset stretching his shadow long and twisted, like some kind of warped beast.
As I was closing the car door, he suddenly leaned down, pressing his face to the crack of the window, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with a chilling warning.
"Eve, stay away from that racer, Night Hawk. Nathan is the kind of guy who would kill without a second thought," he said.
The engine started up, and I glanced at Alex in the rearview mirror. He was still standing there, smiling. In that moment, it felt like the mask of his charm was slipping, revealing something sinister beneath.
I ditched the faded floral dress and slipped into a tight black leather suit, snapping my hair up into a high ponytail. Half an hour later, I was at the underground racetrack on the west side of town.
The air burned with the mix of gasoline, scorched rubber, and booze.
"Hey, Black Cat, you finally showed up, huh?" A swaggering voice sliced through the roar of a heavy bike. Nathan Hawk yanked off his helmet, messy hair plastered to his forehead, his eyes wild and sharp.
Two years ago, I was the one riding shotgun, the so-called amateur racer who risked my life with him on those mountain curves.
Nathan didn't waste a second on small talk. He tossed me a helmet with a cold smirk, saying, "Get on. Do you wanna talk about inheritance? Survive this lap first; if you've got the guts to make it out alive."
I swung onto the back of his bike, inertia throwing me hard against his back. In a heartbeat, he slammed the gears to max, and the machine shot off like a rabid beast.
The wind whipped my face raw, adrenaline flooding my veins, but every brutal turn had my stomach flipping like crazy.
At every hairpin curve, right on the edge of disaster, Nathan dropped the bike so low it nearly kissed the ground, sparks flying in a blinding trail.
"Nathan, you're nuts!" I screamed into the wind.
The brakes shrieked across the wild, tires burning two black scars into the dirt. Nathan slammed to a stop right at the cliff's edge.
He spun around and clamped my chin in a grip so fierce it felt like he might snap my jaw. His eyes were blazing red, the intensity almost suffocating me.
"Eve, you really know how to put on a show," Nathan growled, eyes locked on mine. "With Alex, you're the sweet little thing; with me, you're some badass racer? So, tell me; are you back for the money, or to save William?"
"You're in this for the money, too, aren't you?" I shot back, my fingers digging into the seat. "Don't act like you're so high and mighty."
Nathan suddenly let out a chilling, almost insane laugh. Releasing my chin, he pulled a crumpled photo from his jacket and threw it in my face.
It was a candid shot taken outside the track. Nick Graham, in his doctor's coat, stood in the shadows, watching me.
"Money? I just want you alive," Nathan said, pulling his helmet on. His voice rumbled through the visor, heavy as thunder. "Stay away from Nick. That shrink will slice your mind open bit by bit, leaving you begging for death."
I stood there, rigid, my fingers shaking uncontrollably. Alex warned me about Nathan, and Nathan told me to steer clear of Nick. Who was telling the truth, and who was playing me?