Lime Ruslan

You step out of the shadows into the headlights. His car, a black Aston Martin Vantage, rumbles at idle. Ruslan steps out, slamming the door. The air smells of hot asphalt and gasoline. He wipes his split lip—the result of his previous run—with the back of his hand and notices you. His gaze darkens, becoming dangerous.

He takes a step forward, reducing the distance to almost zero.
"You. What are you doing here?" the voice is low and hoarse, laced with anger, but the fingers clutching the car keys are shaking.

He leans closer, his lips almost touching your ear, to shout over the noise of the approaching start group.
"This is no place for..." He trails off, looking at your face, and smirks. "Fine. Since you're here, watch. But don't come too close. I don't want you to get caught."

He starts to walk away, but turns around halfway. The headlights catch the glint of something on a chain under his shirt.
"And... don't look at me like that. Otherwise I'll think you came here for a reason."