The rideshare car jerked to a stop outside an abandoned industrial park on the edge of Queens.

The driver unlocked the doors. He refused to drive any further into the area, intimidated by the massive floodlights cutting through the dark sky and the deafening roar of high-performance engines.

Ami stepped out into the cold night. Her leather boots sank into a muddy puddle. She ignored the dirt and walked alone toward the chain-link fence that surrounded the makeshift racing track.

Four massive men smelling strongly of motor oil and stale beer blocked the entrance. They crossed their arms, looking down at her.

Ami didn't flinch. She raised her chin and stated that Silas Chandler was expecting her. One of the guards looked suspicious but pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt to check.

A few minutes later, Silas pushed his way through the loud, rowdy crowd. His silver hair caught the harsh light. He grabbed Ami's arm and pulled her inside the gates.

Silas stopped and stared at her tight leather outfit. His jaw practically hit the floor. This was a shocking contrast to the strict, conservative professor he knew in the lecture hall.

Ami ignored his staring. She grabbed his forearm, her fingers digging into his jacket. "Where is Jerad Kidd?" she yelled over the noise.

Silas pointed toward the center of the track. There was a raised VIP viewing area surrounded by a sea of people and exotic sports cars.

Ami pushed her way through the dense crowd. The sharp, toxic smell of burning rubber and cheap alcohol invaded her nose, making her stomach churn.

She finally reached the edge of the VIP section. She looked up and saw him.

Jerad Kidd was sitting on a plush leather sofa. He wore a black motorcycle jacket, the collar slightly open, revealing his throat. He held a glass of amber whiskey in one hand.

Sitting sideways across his lap was a stunning blonde supermodel. She was giggling, peeling a grape, and slowly feeding it past his lips.

Jerad's eyes were half-closed. He looked bored, exuding a dangerous, suffocating aura of a man who cared about absolutely nothing in the world.

Ami stared at the scene. The humiliation and anger boiled in her blood like hot lava.

She thought of her mother's pale face. She thought of the shattered porcelain on her living room floor. She clenched her jaw so hard her teeth ached. She shoved past the last row of fanatic racing fans.

She marched toward the VIP platform, her boots clicking sharply against the concrete.

Frank Baxter, standing near the stairs, spotted her instantly. He signaled two guards, and they immediately stepped in front of Ami, blocking her path like a brick wall.

"You don't belong here. Leave," Frank warned her, his voice cold and professional.

Ami didn't care. She cupped her hands around her mouth and screamed Jerad's name, her voice tearing through the heavy metal music blasting from the speakers.

Jerad, sitting on the sofa, slowly lifted his eyelids. His dark gaze cut through the crowd and landed perfectly on Ami.

For a fraction of a second, as his eyes swept over the tight leather clinging to her curves, a flash of dark surprise crossed his face. But it was instantly replaced by a deep, cruel mockery.

He patted the supermodel's waist, signaling her to get up. He slowly rose to his feet.

Jerad walked to the edge of the VIP platform. He looked down at Ami, who was struggling against the guards like a trapped animal.

He didn't order the guards to let her go. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, watching her desperate struggle like it was an entertaining play.

Suddenly, the aggressive roar of a modified engine shattered the tension. A custom Porsche 911 rolled up to the starting line on the track behind them.

Dean Reyes, the undisputed king of the underground circuit, jumped out of the driver's seat. He looked up at Jerad, raised his middle finger high in the air, and shouted a filthy challenge.

The crowd erupted into absolute madness. Everyone's attention snapped to the starting line, hungry for the deadly race.

Jerad pulled his eyes away from Ami. The boredom vanished from his face, replaced by a bloodthirsty thrill. He turned his back on her and walked down the stairs toward his sleek black Ferrari.

Ami watched her only chance walking away. Her eyes burned red with panic. She fought against the guards' grip with everything she had, but she couldn't break free.

As soon as Jerad slid into the driver's seat of the black Ferrari, Frank Baxter gave a sharp nod. The guards released their grip on Ami's arms, knowing the immediate threat to their boss was over.

Ami stumbled forward. She was pushed by the surging crowd until she was pressed flat against the rusted chain-link fence right next to the starting line. Her fingers curled tightly around the metal wire.

A girl in a tiny bikini walked out to the space between the Ferrari and the Porsche. She raised a bright red flag high above her head.

The engines revved simultaneously. The noise was deafening, vibrating right through Ami's chest cavity. The air grew thick with the sharp, toxic smell of high-octane racing fuel.

The red flag slashed down.

Both supercars launched forward like bullets fired from a gun.

The massive wave of displaced air hit Ami, blowing her hair back violently. She instinctively squeezed her eyes shut, her heart pounding frantically against her ribs.

When she opened her eyes, the cars were already gone, swallowed by the darkness at the end of the first straightaway.

A massive LED screen in the center of the track flickered to life, showing a live feed from a drone flying above the race.

Ami stared at the screen, her breath caught in her throat. The black Ferrari was tearing down a narrow coastal highway built into the side of a cliff, pushing over two hundred miles per hour.

The drone camera zoomed in as they approached a notorious section the locals called the "Death Hairpin."

Instead of hitting the brakes, Jerad yanked the emergency brake.

The back end of the Ferrari swung out violently. The rear bumper literally scraped the very edge of the cliff where there was no guardrail. A shower of loose rocks tumbled down into the black ocean below.

The crowd screamed in pure adrenaline. Ami felt a suffocating terror grip her throat. She couldn't understand why this man treated his own life like it was completely worthless.

Dean's Porsche was right on Jerad's tail. On the next straightaway, Dean aggressively swerved, trying to clip the back of the Ferrari to spin Jerad out of control.

Jerad's hands moved with terrifying precision. He made micro-adjustments to the steering wheel, dodging every lethal strike with inches to spare.

Minutes later, the screech of burning brakes echoed across the lot. Both cars crossed the finish line side-by-side.

The digital timer on the big screen flashed. The milliseconds were identical. It was a dead tie.

The crowd fell into a stunned, dead silence for two seconds before erupting into a chaotic roar.

Dean Reyes kicked his car door open. His face was twisted in violent rage. He stomped over to the black Ferrari.

Jerad rolled down his window. He rested one arm casually on the steering wheel, his eyes as calm as if he were reading a morning newspaper.

Dean slammed his fist hard onto the roof of the Ferrari. He screamed over the crowd, demanding a "Death Co-pilot" tiebreaker.

He yelled out the insane rules: The track lights would be completely shut off. Pitch black. The drivers must be blindfolded.

The only way to navigate the deadly cliffside roads would be to rely entirely on a passenger sitting in the co-pilot seat, reading the turns off a glowing GPS screen.

If the passenger called the turn even a tenth of a second too late, both the driver and the passenger would fly off the cliff and die.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. This wasn't racing; this was a suicide pact.

Jerad raised an eyebrow. He slowly turned his head and looked up at the VIP platform, locking eyes with Noel Leon, the blonde supermodel.

Noel's face drained of all color. She shook her head frantically, stumbling backward away from the railing, making it clear she would rather die than get in that car.

Dean threw his head back and laughed. He mocked Jerad loudly, shouting that Jerad wasn't man enough to find a woman willing to die with him.

Jerad's eyes went ice cold. He opened his mouth, clearly about to reject the ridiculous challenge.

Suddenly, a clear, cold, and unwavering female voice sliced through the heavy noise of the crowd.

"I'll do it."

Every single head turned. Ami Cleveland lifted the yellow caution tape and ducked under it. She walked with steady, deliberate steps straight toward the black Ferrari.

Ami walked through the shocked silence of the crowd and stopped right outside the passenger door of the black Ferrari.

Jerad narrowed his dark eyes. He stared at this woman. Her clothes were damp from the rain, her face was pale, but her eyes burned with a stubborn, reckless fire.

He leaned across the console and looked at her through the open window. "Do you have any idea what getting in this car means?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

Ami's hands curled into tight fists at her sides. Her fingernails dug painfully into her palms. "I know," she said, her voice steady. "It means I might die."

She didn't look away from his intense gaze. She laid out her terms. "If I help you win this, you owe me five minutes of your time alone."

Dean Reyes, standing a few feet away, let out a loud whistle. He laughed, mocking Jerad for relying on a crazy woman who was clearly desperate for cash.

Jerad ignored Dean completely. He kept his eyes locked on Ami. Suddenly, a deep, dark chuckle rumbled in his chest.

He found this fascinating. The high-and-mighty heiress of the Cleveland family was now offering her life on a silver platter just for five minutes of conversation.

Jerad reached over and hit the central lock. The passenger door unlocked with a sharp click.

"Get in, sweetheart," he said, his tone playful but dripping with cruelty. "Let's see if your life is actually worth five minutes."

Ami didn't hesitate. She pulled the handle and dropped into the deep, heavily bolstered racing seat.

The moment the door shut, the noise of the crowd vanished. The small cabin was filled with the overwhelming scent of Jerad's cold cedar cologne. It instantly triggered the terrifying memory of waking up naked in his bed.

She violently shook her head, forcing the memory away. She glued her eyes to the glowing GPS screen mounted on the dashboard.

Jerad opened the center console and pulled out a strip of black silk. Without a second of hesitation, he wrapped it over his eyes and tied it tightly behind his head.

He turned his head toward her. Even blindfolded, Ami felt the heavy weight of his scrutiny.

Jerad reached into the cup holder and grabbed an unopened plastic water bottle. He twisted the blue plastic cap off and tossed it directly into Ami's lap.

Ami blinked, confused. She looked down at the small blue cap, then back at him.

"Put it between your teeth," Jerad ordered coldly.

"Why?" she asked, her voice tight.

"Because when you start screaming, I don't want you biting your tongue off and bleeding all over my custom leather interior," he stated, completely devoid of empathy.

The sheer insult of his words made Ami's blood boil. She ground her teeth together, feeling a deep, burning humiliation. But she picked up the cap.

She wiped it quickly on her sleeve and placed it between her back teeth. The bitter taste of cheap plastic filled her mouth.

Outside, a loud horn blasted. Instantly, every single floodlight around the track shut off. The world plunged into absolute, suffocating darkness.

The only light in the car came from the faint glow of the dashboard and the GPS screen in front of Ami.

Jerad gripped the steering wheel with both hands. He slammed his foot on the gas. The V8 engine roared like a caged beast.

The radio crackled. A voice counted down. "Three... Two... One... Go!"

The massive G-force slammed Ami back into her seat. The Ferrari shot into the pitch-black night like a ghost.

For the first second, Ami's brain short-circuited. The sheer terror of hurtling blindly into the dark made it impossible to breathe.

She bit down hard on the plastic cap. She forced her eyes to focus on the red dot moving rapidly across the glowing map.

The first sharp turn was fifty meters away.

"Hard right! Drop three gears!" she screamed, the words slightly muffled around the plastic cap.

Jerad didn't hesitate for a fraction of a second. He completely trusted the voice. He slammed the shifter, ripped the steering wheel to the right, and the tires shrieked as they slid perfectly through the dark corner.