Boxing Club.
Adam and Deck—now sporting some panda-like bruises—had a lively exchange of opinions. Things got a little heated, but they eventually settled back into a friendly chat vibe.
"Since we've cleared the air, how about you call the hospital later?" Adam suggested. "Tell them to take good care of your brother Owen, but also let them know you're dropping the rest of it. Give them some peace of mind to do their jobs."
"OK," Deck replied, his freshly battered face somehow looking kinder.
"Cool, see ya then," Adam said with a grin. "I'll be at the hospital 24/7 for the next few days, making sure Owen gets top-notch care."
"Thanks," Deck said, his earlier icy edge gone as he actually thanked someone for once.
Adam nodded, left the club, and hopped into his Porsche. He pulled up at a red light intersection.
A BMW rolled up behind him, then slid alongside. The window dropped, revealing Deck's now-comical, bruise-covered face.
Vroom vroom! The BMW's engine roared to life.
"Wanna race?" Deck asked, tilting his head.
"Nah," Adam said, shaking his head.
Sure, he loved speeding to save time—thanks to his bullet-time reflexes—but racing someone else? Not his thing. Others didn't have his skills. One slip-up, and it could be a wreck—someone could die. He wasn't about to risk that.
"No confidence?" Deck smirked.
"That taunt's too basic," Adam laughed.
"But does it work?" Deck grinned wider. "You ready to admit defeat?"
"…" Adam chuckled, caught off guard. "Fine, but we're picking a route with hardly any cars or people."
"No problem," Deck said, tossing out a suggestion.
Adam thought it over and nodded. "Alright."
"Let's make it interesting," Deck added casually. "Winner gets a favor from the loser—something they've gotta do later. How's that?"
"I'm not into getting tangled up in your world," Adam said, catching the vibe of this bet and shaking his head.
"How about something within reason?" Deck glanced at him. "If you win, I'll owe you two favors—and I'll go all out on them!"
"You're that sure you'll win?" Adam said, amused.
"Heh," Deck gave a smug little smile.
He was ex-UK special ops—elite of the elite. His skills were next-level in every way. Sure, Adam had wiped the floor with him in a fight, but that didn't mean Deck was out of tricks.
Driving? That was his domain. After "leaving" the agency, he'd made a living as an underground courier. Bank robbers, mob bosses—they all flocked to him for his 100% delivery rate. And that kind of rep didn't come without insane driving chops.
"I'll bite," Adam said after a pause, looking at Deck seriously. "But this is the first and last time.
"I've got zero interest in your shady games. I'm only agreeing now to show some goodwill. But if you pull this kinda stunt again, I'll take it as you ignoring that goodwill—and I don't take kindly to that.
"Consider this your heads-up. Don't say I didn't warn you."
"…Deal," Deck said after a quiet moment, nodding. "I'm not targeting you or anything. It's just—with your skills, you could be a top-tier agent, protecting the world from the shadows…"
"The real protectors are out in the sun," Adam cut in. "You think you're guarding the world from the dark, but half the time, you're just a pawn for big shots doing dirty work that hurts the world.
"So I don't care what you think—I care what I think. If you ever ditch all the scheming, I'd happily call you a real friend. 'Cause in some ways, I kinda respect you."
"My honor," Deck said with a faint smile. "But I've got my own path."
"Fair enough," Adam nodded. "In that case—let's race!"
Vroom vroom! Deck answered with a rev of his engine.
The red light was counting down. Both gripped their steering wheels, eyes locked ahead.
The second it flipped green, their cars shot off—one right after the other.
Adam's Porsche surged ahead, no surprise there, leaving Deck's BMW in the dust. Deck just smirked.
This route? Tons of turns. Early lead didn't mean squat. It'd come down to pure skill.
He'd rushed from London to New York on short notice, but as a special ops vet, he had safehouses—and cars—stashed in every major city. His BMW was modded to the hilt: bulletproof glass, a beast of an engine, and acceleration that'd make a rookie's jaw drop.
Top-tier hardware, top-tier skills. He couldn't see how he'd lose.
Too bad Adam saw right through his game—and shut it down with that warning. Deck's plan to lure Adam into his world crashed and burned. With Adam's superhuman strength, insane medical skills, deep pockets, killer looks, and sharp instincts? A little training, and he'd be the ultimate 007.
For now, Deck shelved that idea and focused on winning this race. Beating Adam would prove there's always a bigger fish—and maybe show him the spy life wasn't so bad.
He cleared his mind and poured everything into driving.
"Huh? Where'd he go?"
Deck blinked. Adam's Porsche had vanished.
"He took another route? Whatever—full speed to the finish!"
Deck floored it, drifting through turns like a pro, tearing down the road.
He knew New York like the back of his hand. This route was his baby—shortest path, optimized to perfection.
Still, he didn't get why Adam veered off. With all these bends and the long stretch, this was Deck's playground—built to max out his skills.
Ten minutes later, he spotted the finish line.
But what stung his panda eyes? A Porsche, already parked there. As Deck rolled up, it cruised over to meet him.
Windows down, they stopped side by side.
"Remember what I said—this is the first and last time," Adam said, taking a bite of an ice cream cone with a grin before driving off.
Deck: "…"
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