Hypersonic
Copyright© 2026 by nyra
Chapter 55
Romance Sex Story: Chapter 55 - Arielle Hawthorne lives for illegal street racing. Fast cars, high stakes, no attachments. Nate Carter races the same streets with reckless swagger and infuriating charm. Rivals by choice and partners by necessity, they’re forced together as rival crews and the police close in. Their chemistry is dangerous, their trust fragile, and falling for each other may be the riskiest move of all.
Caution: This Romance Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Consensual BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Crime Humor Cream Pie Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Body Modification Violence
The One Where The System Is Rigged
NATE
It’s been another two days inside of this place and I already feel like I’m losing my fucking mind.
The boredom.
Jesus fucking Christ, the boredom is the worst part of it. Sitting here, day after day, with very limited recreational activities is enough to drive me insane. There’s literally nothing to do to get my mind off what’s going on and so what do you think I’ve been doing?
Worrying. Obsessing.
Losing my fucking mind.
I can feel it—like insidious cancer growing within me—it’s eating me alive. It’s draining me of my spirit, of my will to fight and I’ve only been inside for four days. However, it’s not exactly like this is a place built to encourage proper mental health.
The last time I felt this down was when Ezra blackmailed me to break up with Arielle. It resulted in me spending a lot of my time moping around the house, smoking way too many cigarettes and way too much weed. Alas, I don’t have access to weed in here and I could seriously use a fucking joint to relax.
It doesn’t help that I had a meeting this morning with my lawyer again and things aren’t sounding good. Ben let me know that my trial is set to be in a week and a half. That’s ten more days in a tiny cell where my brain can further rot before I’ll know what my situation will be for the foreseeable future.
Ben also said that the prosecution is aiming to send me away for narcotics trafficking charges, which is anywhere from three to fifteen years. As everything stands right now, I think there’s a great chance that I’ll get at least a few years and it’s a fucking tough pill to swallow.
Ben says they’re using my past against me, which is smart of them—I guess—but it’s annoyingly as hell. My recreational marijuana use, the several speeding tickets, the few small arrests I’ve had for street racing—it’s all in there as more reason to lock me up.
It’s fucking bullshit and if only I could show QuickDraw how angry he’s made me. The things I’d love to fucking do to him...
The guard continues accompanying me down the hall to where my new home is located at the end. I keep my eyes down, still afraid to make eye contact with the wrong guy and potentially piss him off, trying to keep my rage in check after leaving the meeting with Ben. But it’s fucking hard and I’d love to have a go at a punching bag right about now.
Eventually, we reach my cell and I’m able to step inside the small space.
“I take it the meeting didn’t go well with your lawyer?” Derek inquires, sitting himself up in his bunk.
Jesus, the dude’s known me for four days and even he can see how upset I am. It’s clearly written all over my face but it’s difficult to hide when the feelings are absolutely consuming me and there’s no way to distract myself.
I shake my head, not wanting to respond.
I really never expected to develop a friendship with anybody here—I honestly didn’t think I’d see a full day inside a cell—but I feel a connection to Derek. He’s a nice guy, around my age, was charged with his own narcotics charges and is stuck here for another two years. He’s already served five so he understands what I’m going through.
On top of everything, he has a daughter that was two when he was first imprisoned so it’s even harder on him having missed so many years of her life.
“I kinda’ had a feeling, dude.” He puts the book he was reading down and turns all of his attention to me while I seat myself on my own bunk. “Your girl coming today?”
“Any moment,” I comment, glancing at the wall where a clock should be. The only reason I even know Arielle will be here soon is because the guard informed me.
“Well, I guess at least she’s still coming to see you. I haven’t seen Teresa or Ashlee in two months now.”
“Two months?” I can’t hide my surprise. He has a child and his girlfriend hasn’t brought her around for that long? I can’t even bring myself to imagine being a week or two away from Arielle, never mind months away from my own flesh and blood.
I’m sure Teresa doesn’t want to bring Ashlee around too often because this isn’t the best environment, but still, he needs his daughter. Some might argue that he shouldn’t have been dealing drugs if he wanted to be a part of her life, but people can change. Humans tend to fuck up, however we can also use that negative experience to turn things around.
And from what I’ve heard, Derek sincerely has become better since being incarcerated. He’s kept clean, finished school, and has been working in the machinery room with hopes of being some sort of mechanical engineer when he is released.
Derek shrugs his shoulders, “I can’t blame her. I do miss them, though.” There’s a moment of silence before he asks me, “Do you think your girl will wait for you if you’re in for years?”
“I do.”
He hums and I see the way his expression changes and so I question him on it.
“It’s just, let’s say at your trial they give you six years. Do you really expect her to wait for you?” Hurt flashes across my face at the sound of his question as he tries to backtrack. “Look, man, I’m not trying to freak you out. The first time I was in here, I had a girl and after four or five months, she just stopped showing up. I’ve learned that you can’t expect them to wait for you. It’s just not fair to them.”
“I—” I struggle to find the words to respond.
“A couple years is a long fuckin’ time. A lot can change and from what you’ve told me about your girl, I think it’d be hard to pin her down.”
“You make it sound like she’d cheat on me. She would never,” I defend.
“I didn’t say that. Your girl is a wild one. She craves excitement. She’s trouble. I just don’t see her being happy waiting for you. That doesn’t mean that she won’t do it, it’s just that she might not necessarily be happy.”
I sigh because he’s not wrong.
I don’t want to fucking think about it, but he’s hit the nail right on the head.
The idea in and of itself is horrid to think about. I can’t anticipate Arielle being patient for potentially years. It’s more than selfish of me to ask that of her. It’s extremely selfish of me and I need to get that through my head.
If things go south, she needs to do whatever makes her happy because above everything else, I just want her to be happy in life. If visiting me every few days, constantly worrying about me and missing me is too much, then I have to take a step back and accept whatever she chooses to do.
Although, she’s both selfless and stubborn so I’m sure she’ll put me above her own mental and physical health.
I can’t let that happen.
“You always know just what to say to get under my skin, you know that?” I try to take a playful tone with Derek, but it’s hard. I teasingly punch his arm, trying to subdue the psychological torment waging on within me.
“Hey, all we got is time to think.” As he says so, he extends his arms in either direction to signal where we are.
As if I needed a reminder.
I step over to our small shared sink, glancing at my appearance in the mirror. It’s still a weird thing—getting used to the way I look without any of my jewelry in. I try to brush through my hair with my fingers, excited to Arielle, despite the thoughts running through my head at the moment.
I hear Derek chuckling at me and I’m just about to scold him, when an alarm sounds deafeningly loud and I hear people scattering about down the hall. I cover my ears out of instinct because the noise is so loud it feels like Satan is hate fucking my ear drums.
“What the fuck is that?” I yell over the noise, observing Derek as he stands and scurries to our door.
“Lockdown!”
“What?” He doesn’t hear me, but I panic when it registers with me what he’s just said. I try to leave our cell through the open door but Derek grabs me before I step outside of it, stopping me dead in my tracks. My heart races as the door suddenly slams shut right in front of my face, trapping us in the cell.
Another minute passes and I hold onto the bars, trying to angle my head to get a better view down the hall. However, it’s pointless. Not only am I not able to see anything, but from what little I can see, it’s just guards quickly walking around.
When the alarm finally stops blaring, I turn to Derek. “What’s going on?”
“It’s a lockdown,” he explains. “Something happened.”
I give him a confused gaze.
“Could be anything, dude. A fight broke out, someone hit a guard, found drugs...”
What the fuck?
My mind begins racing, blood pressure soaring. “Does this happen a lot?”
“It happens,” he shrugs. “I don’t know what you’d consider lots, but it’s just one of those things.”
I peek as best as I can through the bars again, noticing a guard sauntering down our hall. He pauses for a moment to reply to someone on his radio and then continues on. “Excuse me,” I try to get his attention, waving an arm through the bars.
I’m surprised when he actually stops and gives me the time of day.
“Can you tell me what’s going on?”
“We got a report of an inmate harbouring a gun.”
“Wait, seriously?” How in the fuck did someone get a gun into prison? Where in the hell did they have to shove it to get it past security? Or was it a security guard that brought it in for someone? That’s when something occurs to me. “Wait, what about visitors? My girlfriend was supposed to be coming to visit, will I still be able to see her?”
He shakes his head and my heart sinks. “We’re on lockdown. That means no visitors.”
“For how long?”
“At least a week,” he admits.
It feels like he punched me in the face at the sound of that. “A week?”
“At least,” he nods. “Might be longer. We have to search every single cell. Top to bottom. It’s not a quick process. We have to find it.”
My jaw literally drops like the fucking meme of the woman with her mouth wide open—frozen in shock—in the middle of court because she was caught cheating.
The guard doesn’t say anything else to me, he just walks down the hall to continue his job.
“He’s kidding, right?” I question Derek, suddenly feeling like this cell is rather tight.
“‘Fraid not, dude. Guess you’ll see your girl next week.”
A R I E L L E
It feels like a part of me is missing and with the two of us separated, it’s as if someone has torn a joint from its socket.
My heart is hammering so hard against my ribs that it’s disrupting the rhythm of my lungs, making it difficult to breathe. “A week?” I question Ben, as the news he’s just told me repeats in my head in a muffled distorted tone—as if my head has been submerged in water.
“Maybe two. I’m sorry, Ari. Someone snuck a gun into the prison. They have to search everything.”
Two?
Two fucking weeks? How am I supposed to function without seeing or hearing from Nate for upwards of two fucking weeks?
“You’ll be able to keep contact with him through letters, but phone calls are unlikely. If he’s able to attend his trial next week, that means they’ll allow him access to phone me often as we discuss things and I’ll be able to pass on messages but all we can do for now is wait until the prison tells us what’s going on.”
It’s gotten to the point where I can’t cry anymore. But if I could, I probably would be. I feel like I’ve become nothing more than a broken spirit lately because of all this crying. I fucking hate crying and it’s all I’ve been doing for four days now.
“Thank you,” I answer impassively and he hangs up after saying a goodbye.
In the time since I went to visit Nate in prison, I’d managed to eat something. I was finally finding it comfortable to eat but in very small portions. Chase has been pestering the shit out of me with fast food—I guess he thinks it’ll stimulate my appetite—but it wasn’t until I’d noticed Nate and my brain knew that he was okay that I could stomach something.
Sleep has also found me. I think my body got to the point of exhaustion where it just couldn’t last any longer staying awake the way I had been. Chase actually found me passed out at the kitchen island after eating a small snack. That’s when he literally forced me to have a hot shower and go to bed.
However, whenever I do eventually fall asleep, it’s not for very long. Half an hour here, twenty minutes there—it’s restless. And when I do, I dream of him.
Then I don’t want to sleep because it’s fucking painful.
I can’t keep doing this to myself. I can’t continue sitting around home like I have been for the past few days. I’m doing nothing but waiting and driving myself crazy in the process. I’ve been obsessing over every detail of the past several months—so much so that I bought myself a notebook and I’ve written all my memories of the events that happened in it.
I’ve got all of my moments with Hayes written down, any with Ezra, and any that involved Nate, myself and one of either Hayes or Ezra. I also wrote a detailed account of the arrest, just to be safe. I don’t know why I felt the need to and I probably will never use any of it, however it felt really good just to get it all out.
A car horn honking scares the living fuck out of me and I grip the steering wheel, sighing heavily. I was on my way home to pick up Chase so we could go see Nate but that’s obviously not going to happen. I shoot Chase a text, letting him know that there’s a change of plans and that I’ll be home in a few hours before I shift into drive, pull off the shoulder and onto the highway.
I can’t go home because if I do, then I’ll be stuck with Chase again. Normally, that’s not a problem but Chase tends to be overzealous sometimes, which results in him asking way too many questions and not letting the conversation die. Conversation that—for my own mental health—I don’t want to be obsessing over because I’m already fucking obsessing over it.
That’s why I’m going to head over to Hayes’ place.
I probably shouldn’t and I’m aware of that, but I need to do it for my own sanity.
Besides, it’s literally right here and it’ll take me less than a minute to get there.
All I’m going to do is knock on the door, see if he’s home and have a conversation. I’ll keep my cool, I’ll relax. I just want to have a civil conversation about why he’s a fucking psycho.
There should be a sarcastic smiley face at the end of that thought.
I’ll have to fight my instinctual urges to fucking throttle him, but I can do it. For Nate.
When I pull onto his road, I spot his house immediately. Nothing seems out of place from this distance and as I pull into his driveway, I’m reminded of being here just a few days ago. His car still isn’t parked in front of the house but I try to keep my hopes up.
I run up on the front porch and ring the doorbell, waiting impatiently. A minute passes and I know better than to knock, so I peek through the front window. It’s fucking déjà vu when I see that nothing is different inside the house.
I open his front mailbox again, sighing when my fingers find the same envelopes from two days ago as well as some new ones.
He’s still not home and must not have even come home.
Frustrated, I angrily throw the mail back into the box and head back to my car. I seat myself inside, picking up my phone. I dial Hayes’ number without a second thought and listen as it rings and rings.
And rings.
Until his voice fills my ear, encouraging me to leave a message.
I sink my head in my hands, sighing heavily. Where in the fuck is he? Why aren’t he nor his dog home? Judging by the amount of mail left in the box, he probably hasn’t been home for close to a week so where did he go?
I don’t know why, but it seems very suspicious that he’s suddenly gone missing at the same time that Nate is sent to prison. I can’t hide the fact that it feels like much more than a coincidence to me.
I back out of the driveway, knowing exactly who I need to see next.
I fucking hate this place.
I’m not even inside his office—I’m in the damn hallway walking towards it—and I can feel his presence out here. My hands tremble at my sides as Langley leads me to Ezra’s doors. When he knocks twice on the hard wooden surface, the sound startles me because I’m so on edge being in Ezra’s presence.
I always am, but in this particular instance, I really don’t know how or where this is going to go. I’m not about to back down from Ezra when it comes to Nate and I’m just praying that things don’t get dangerously out of hand. I need to tread carefully because if Ezra is the reason why Nate is in prison and I piss him off, he could make Nate ‘s life even more of a living hell than it already is.
And that’s the last thing I fucking want.
“Yeah?” Ezra’s voice is loud, even through the barrier and a shiver races up my spine like a warning signal.
Is it idiotic to do this?
“Come in,” he urges without delay.
Langley opens the door, stepping aside to allow me to enter the room first. The smell of his latest cigar instantly fills my nose and I try not to think of the fact that smoke smells remind me of Nate. I seat myself across from him, staying quiet. He gives me a curious look, leaning back in his massive chair to fold his hands together and wait for me to speak.
“Hello, Arielle,” he greets after maybe half a minute of silence. “What brings you by?”
I hear Langley close the door behind me and when I turn, I notice that he’s left Ezra and I in the office alone. Although, knowing how these people operate business, I’m sure he’s watching elsewhere on a monitor hooked up to multiple cameras.
A lump forms in my throat and it annoys me. “I need to talk to you about something.”
He hums, leaning forward on his elbows. “I figured as much. What about?”
“Was it you?”
He cocks his head, but I don’t believe his ignorance.
“Was it you that sent Nate to prison?”
“No,” he tells me without skipping a beat.
The way he does so makes it obvious that he was previously aware of Nate ‘s arrest. I shouldn’t be surprised, however, because Ezra always knows everything. He’s constantly ten steps ahead of anybody and everybody. It’s just the way he’s wired.
I scoff, “And why should I believe that?”
His face surprisingly softens for a moment, “Why would you say that?” I don’t answer, trying to bite my tongue from saying something that he wouldn’t enjoy hearing. “Arielle, what would I gain from sending your boyfriend to prison?”
“You mean other than the satisfaction you get from ruining my life? You’ve only been trying to ruin everything that brings any joy to my life for as long as you’ve been in it.”
“Did he tell you he did a run for me?” He questions out of nowhere but I don’t speak. Instead, I hold his challenging gaze, not backing down as he elaborates with, “Of course you do. There’s no way he didn’t tell you.” He pauses, “That run he did for me, it was the fastest, most efficient run I’ve ever had. And I’ve had more employees and more runs than I could ever keep track of.”
I want to ask him what that means, but I continue to keep quiet.
“Arielle, I was gonna’ ask him to continue doing runs for me. He impressed me. Him being in prison hurts me, too.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s laughable.”
As if Nate would ever work for Ezra. The only reason he even did that run to begin with is because his family was in danger. Nate would never ever work for the man who’s made my life a living hell. Maybe Ezra already asked him, he said no and that’s why he’s in prison.
He sighs, probably irritated with my defiance. Of all the people who are a constant in his life, I’m the only one that actually says no to him.
And I’ve made sure to always remind him of that fact.
“I’m not an idiot,” I speak up. “I know you and the way you operate.’
“Alright, then what is most important to me?”
If you’re thinking he’s going to answer family, think again.
“Money,” I answer.
“So maybe you do know the way I operate then,” he comments with a sly smile. “At the speed which Nate made that run, I’d be able to make twice the money, Arielle. Think it through a second time ... What do I have to gain sending him away?”
I hate that he fucking makes sense.
It makes my skin crawl.
I’m still suspicious because it’s Ezra but he is possibly swaying me further towards believing this is all Hayes’ fault.
“Humour me,” he starts, “If it’s not me, then who? Who else do you think did this?”
“Hayes.”
“Is that the police officer you were seeing for a while?”
How does he even—
He must see the surprise on my face because he says, “Let’s not act like I don’t know.”
“We never dated,” I point out.
Why in the fuck do I seem to constantly be fucking making that point? It’s as if Hayes has gone around telling the whole damn world after we slept together that I was his girlfriend.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Why do you think he’d do it?”
“Is it important?”
He chuckles, “I think that says it all, my dear.”
“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” I snap at him, digging my nails into the chair arms to suppress my anger.
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