The woman before him was tall and striking. Her red heels added to her commanding presence.
Anyone driving a Porsche 718 wasn't short on money.
Women like that were usually born rich, or made it big as models or actresses.
Those careers brought both cash and fame fast.
With her figure, she had to be a model—or at least have that background.
Her looks weren't bad either.
"Thanks for the compliment." Leon accepted her praise calmly. "This one's called the Silver Marauder. It's got a vicious temper. A gentle Porsche 718 like yours could never tame it."
The 718 was perfect for women—it drove with a refined gentleness.
But the Marauder was different. Its fury could shred a driver's very soul.
Anyone unable to master it would be devoured by it instead.
The result? Total wreck. Certain death.
The woman smiled, her red lipstick gleaming. "I'm Elena."
Lifting her chin slightly, her expression turned proud.
"And you're wrong about one thing. I'm a racer too. There's no car I can't handle. None of you men can match me."
Though Elena appeared the image of a gentle lady, she had a wild side.
She wasn't a model. Not an actress either.
She was a cop—a damn good one at that.
Driving skills were just the basics. She was also trained in hand-to-hand combat and an expert shot.
No man she had raced against had ever managed to beat her.
"When it comes to racing, I'm an expert," Elena said proudly.
Her garage held over a dozen sports cars, all tuned for street races.
And if she needed them on duty? She could take them straight out.
Faster than any police cruiser.
"I even won the Street King title in San Francisco. You still think I can't handle it?" Her eyes flickered with disdain.
Leon chuckled, tilting back his head and downing the rest of his beer before tossing the bottle aside.
Now this woman was interesting.
He had taken her for a clueless rich girl, but she clearly had the skills to back it up.
Still, talk was cheap.
"How about a race?" Leon narrowed his eyes. "If I win, you agree to a full million-dollar custom mod at my shop."
A million?
Elena froze. What kind of upgrade cost that much?
That was the price of a whole new car!
"And if you lose?" she asked.
"I'll pay you a million." Leon's voice brimmed with confidence.
Sure, every racer was cocky before a run.
But this time was different.
He had the god-tier Silver Marauder.
Unless he royally screwed up, there was no suspense at all.
Elena sneered.
Every man thought she was easy prey before a race.
But who said a Porsche 718 couldn't be wild?
That arrogance had cost them all their wins.
This guy would be no different.
"You even have a million?" Elena asked, skeptical.
This repair shop looked like a dump.
If he had that kind of money, surely he would've renovated by now.
Ten thousand was already the upper limit in her eyes.
To her, he was just another broke poser.
"I can cover it," Leon smirked. "Question is, do you have the guts? If not, that's fine. You are a woman, after all. Understandable."
Those words lit a fire in her eyes.
The jab at her driving skills was unbearable.
"Fine. I'll race you!" she snapped, her pride stung.
She'd make damn sure this man learned exactly who he was dealing with.
Leon's lips curled in a victorious grin.
Just like that, he had her on the hook.
A million-dollar job—practically in his pocket already.
Engines roared.
The Porsche's roof slid shut, its motor growling to life.
It revved with vibrant energy, straining to leap forward.
Four seconds to hit 100 km/h—no problem.
But the Silver Marauder wasn't to be outdone.
Leon's foot pressed the throttle. The engine snarled, unleashing a violent, thunderous note.
The sheer force of the sound battered Elena's ears.
Her expression shifted instantly.
This… wasn't the voice of a car.
This was a beast of steel, wearing a car's skin.
The Marauder's roar drowned out her Porsche completely.
The race hadn't even started, and she was already at a disadvantage.
The outcome was suddenly uncertain.
But Elena's spirit only burned hotter.
She had to see just how savage this Marauder really was.
"The distance to the city entrance is 180 kilometers," Leon set the rules. "Finish line's the traffic light at the gate. First one there wins. Fair?"
This was a quiet rural town.
At normal speeds, the drive to the city took two hours.
But not for racers.
They'd cut that down drastically.
Elena knew these roads well. She nodded in agreement.
Both rolled their windows up.
Ahead, the light waited.
When it turned green, it was on.
5…
4…
3…
2…
1…
GO!