Informaticien en Guyane
Kaden didn't care about the cargo; he only cared about the clock. In the world of high-stakes smuggling, "on time" was the difference between a massive payday and a permanent stay in a concrete basement. He gripped the leather steering wheel, his eyes locked on the digital timer blinking on his dashboard: . "Go," a voice crackled over the radio.
He slid the car sideways into the warehouse docks, coming to a halt exactly as the clock hit zero. The warehouse door creaked open, revealing a shadow. Kaden exhaled, the adrenaline finally cooling in his veins. He had made it, but the engine’s ticking heat reminded him that tomorrow, the chase would begin all over again. Kaden didn't care about the cargo; he only
He slammed the pedal. The rear tires screamed, biting into the pavement before propelling the car forward like a bullet. The city of Bayview was a blur of neon signs and rain-slicked streets. "Go," a voice crackled over the radio
He reached the bridge just as the drawbridge began to rise. The gap was widening—six feet, ten feet. Most drivers would brake. Kaden shifted down, built the torque, and roared toward the incline. Kaden exhaled, the adrenaline finally cooling in his veins
For a heartbeat, there was only silence and the cold night air rushing past his windows. Then, a bone-jarring thud. The suspension groaned, but the wheels held. He looked at the timer: .