I walked beside Car toward the garage, her hand steady in mine. The guards lining the walls followed us with quiet, watchful eyes, but none of them questioned it—her fingers ced with mine like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  She'd told me earlier that it made sense. That if I was with her, I deserved to be treated with care, with respect. The thought still made my chest feel strangely tight.

  The garage doors slid open, and I felt my breath catch.

  Even though I'd seen it before, it hit me all over again.

  Rows upon rows of luxury cars gleamed under perfectly pced lights—polished metal, deep colors, sharp silhouettes. It felt less like a garage and more like a private museum, curated obsession and excess frozen in pce.

  The air even smelled expensive—clean, faintly metallic, untouched.

  "Man..." I muttered, my voice almost swallowed by the space. "Do you even drive these?"

  "All of them," Car said easily, like she was talking about shoes. "I try to, at least."

  We walked down the center, our footsteps echoing softly as we passed car after car. Then she angled us toward one of the three Bugattis—this one a deep, electric blue that seemed to glow under the lights.

  She lifted the key, and with a smooth press, the doors opened.

  I stopped short.

  The interior looked unreal—sleek, futuristic, all sharp lines and stitched leather, like something designed for a different kind of human. For a second, I felt out of pce just standing near it, like touching it might somehow stain the perfection.

  "I feel like I'm gonna lower the value just by sitting in it," I said quietly, half joking, half serious.

  Car gnced at me, amused, and squeezed my hand just a little tighter—like she already knew exactly how I was feeling.

  "Don't worry, Miguel... you're worth more than this car."

  The words hit harder than I expected. I blinked, caught off guard, my chest tightening in that quiet, uncomfortable way that happens when someone says something you're not used to believing. For a split second, I thought she'd ugh it off, take it back—but she didn't. She meant it.

  I slid into the passenger seat, careful—almost reverent—lowering myself like the car might shatter if I moved too fast. The leather was cool beneath my hands, perfectly smooth. The door shut with a deep, solid thunk, the kind that sounded expensive.

  The smell hit me right after.

  Mint. Clean and sharp, familiar.

  It was the same scent Car carried with her everywhere—subtle, but unmistakable. Her cologne. It clung to the interior like the car itself belonged to her, like it had absorbed her presence over time. Sitting there felt oddly intimate, like stepping into someone's personal space without asking.

  Car climbed in beside me, far less cautious, like the car knew her and wouldn't dare protest. She adjusted her seat, one hand on the wheel, the other already reaching for the ignition.

  The engine came alive.

  Not a purr—no, a roar.

  The sound exploded through the garage, deep and aggressive, vibrating through my chest and rattling my bones. I felt it more than I heard it. The walls echoed as she tapped the pedal, the car responding instantly, hungrily, like it had been waiting.

  I turned toward her, trying to say something, but my words were swallowed by the engine's growl. Car grinned, eyes sharp and focused, completely at ease—like this power was just another extension of herself.

  And as we rolled forward, the car humming beneath us, I realized something unsettling.

  She wasn't exaggerating.

  This thing answered to her.

  As we rolled down the hill away from the compound, the ride felt unreal—effortless, like the road itself had softened just for us.

  There was no rattling, no bumps, nothing like the armored trucks. The car barely seemed to touch the ground. For a moment, I honestly felt weightless, like we were gliding instead of driving, sealed inside some sleek machine meant for another pnet.

  Then we hit ft ground.

  Car didn't hesitate.

  She pressed the pedal without warning, and my body was smmed back into the seat as the world outside stretched and blurred.

  My stomach dropped, my breath caught, and then—ughter. Hers came first, loud and unapologetic, filling the car. Mine followed right after, shaky at first, then real. The kind that bubbles up before you can stop it.

  The speed was intoxicating. Wind screamed past us, the engine snarling like it was alive, eager for more. My hands gripped the seat instinctively, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.

  "Be careful," I ughed, the words half-nervous, half-thrilled, as she pushed it again.

  The force pinned me back once more, my cheeks pulling slightly, eyes watering from how fast we were moving. It felt like my face might peel right off—but somehow, impossibly, it didn't.

  The fear twisted into excitement, sharp and electric, coursing through me.

  Car looked completely at home behind the wheel, confident, wild in the best way.

  Meanwhile I was just ughing—alive, flying forward, and holding on.

  —

  "Want tacos? Pretty stereotypical for us—'cause we're Mexican—but god, I want them badly right now," Car said, eyes still locked on the road as the city slowly crept closer, the ndscape trading trees for concrete and color.

  "Of course," I muttered, rexing deeper into the seat. "I could go for about four right now."

  She grinned and suddenly floored it again—just a tease this time. The engine barked, my stomach jumped, and a surprised ugh burst out of me before I could stop it. She eased off almost immediately, clearly pleased with herself.

  "Man, I love this car," she whispered, almost reverently, like she was talking about a living thing instead of carbon fiber and steel.

  I watched the sunlight ripple across the dashboard, the windshield catching fshes of blue sky and passing signs.

  The city air felt different—warmer, louder, alive. Vendors in the distance, music bleeding out of open windows, life happening everywhere all at once. The Bugatti cut through it all smoothly, effortlessly, like it belonged here just as much as Car did.

  "I get why," I said quietly. "It feels like nothing can touch you in here."

  She gnced at me for half a second—just long enough for her eyes to soften—then looked back at the road. The car hummed beneath us, steady now, powerful but calm, like it knew when to behave.

  "Almost there," she said, easing off the accelerator as the pza came into view.

  The pce opened up like a little pocket of life—string lights sagging zily overhead, vendors tucked into corners, the smell of grilled meat and warm tortils already bleeding into the air.

  It tugged at something in my chest. For half a second, another pza tried to surface in my mind—another time, another feeling—but I pushed it aside. That wasn't now. This was now.

  "I hope they're good," I said, half-teasing, half-hopeful.

  Car didn't even answer right away. She just shot me a quick wink, confident, almost smug, as she guided the Bugatti into a quiet spot near the edge.

  That look told me everything.

  The engine cut, and suddenly the world rushed back in—voices overpping, ughter, the hiss of oil hitting hot metal, music crackling from a speaker somewhere nearby.

  Car stepped out first, stretching like she owned the night itself, then she moved around and held her hand out to me without thinking twice.

  "Trust me," she said softly, fingers curling around mine. "These are the kind of tacos you remember for life."

  ——

  Thanks to the people who donated <3 I’ll be posting another one ter, if not then it’ll be tomorrow morning, love you all