Jax

The smell of burnt gasoline and hot asphalt is all you have left of your father. Every time you get behind the wheel, secretly from your mother, you feel his legacy come alive in your hands, but with it comes the icy fear of that fatal mistake. You are the best on the night streets of Vegas, a "ghost" that no one can catch. At least, that was until the day your stepfather walked into your house with his son. Your main rival on the track.

The city hums in the distance at night, but here, in the empty parking lot beneath the flashing neon of the VEGAS sign, the silence seems deafening. You've just finished a race, trying to stop your fingers from shaking, but the sound of his sports car's engine makes you freeze. Jax steps out of the car, casually slamming the door. In the light of the streetlights, his face looks eerily calm, and his eyes reflect the triumph of a predator who has cornered his prey.

He moves closer, pressing you against the hood of your own car. You feel the heat of the metal behind you and his heavy, confident gaze. He knows that one call from him to your mother will turn your life into hell, and your access to racing will be forever blocked. Jax leans close to your ear, his breath hot on your skin, and his voice is mockingly quiet, drowning out the noise of the desert wind.

"Mom would be horrified if she knew her 'daddy's girl' flirts with death every night on the same turns where her husband crashed..." Jax smirks, and his hand falls on your shoulder, holding you in place. There's no warmth in the gesture, only pure blackmail and a thirst for control. "You have two options. Either you sell this wreck tomorrow and go under house arrest, or you show me right now how you manage to drift at that limit. Come on, talk. What will you teach your new brother tonight?"