Hypersonic
Copyright© 2026 by nyra
Chapter 62
Romance Sex Story: Chapter 62 - 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 With His First Errand
NATE
“Well, Nate, it’s your first day on the job, how are you feeling?” It’s obvious that Ezra is asking to get under my skin, but it’s not like I can call him out on it.
How am I feeling? For starters, I’m fucking pleased that I’m out of prison but that’s about the only good thing going in my life at this particular moment. I’ve been so depressed about the situation—something that I should be thrilled about—that I haven’t even bothered to phone or text Colt and let him know that I’m out.
Instead, I went straight home after my unfortunate meeting with Ezra yesterday and nearly lost my shit when I walked into my bedroom and saw the painting Arielle gave for Christmas—the one where she’s riding my face. I carefully removed it from my wall, hid it in the depths of my closet and then enjoyed being able to have a shower by myself again. I then smoked a spliff until I was able to fog my memories of touching Arielle in my very own bed and fell asleep still half dressed.
So again, how am I feeling?
Like my entire life has fallen apart. Like I don’t have control over anything. I’m a grown man and someone else is controlling my every movement. I can’t do anything without wondering if Ezra’s watching me. I’m in a constant state of peering over my shoulder and I can’t live like this.
I swallow what I’m feeling, answering with, “I just wanna get out on the road.”
He purses his lips to hide a smirk, glancing quickly over at Langley who stands on the far side of the room with his arms crossed. I’m not really sure why he needs to be in every fucking room that I’m in and it’s annoying as fuck. Add to that, the fact that he beat my ass unprovoked and was the main reason I stayed away from Arielle all that time ago as he sat on my house every day for weeks, it’s an understatement to say that I fucking hate the douche.
I hate him even more because he has no fucking spine. He’s always got Ezra’s dick in his mouth—doing anything and everything for the man—and I have no respect for that shit.
Do I respect the loyalty? Of course, but there’s a difference between loyalty and not doing anything for yourself ... ever.
Ezra shuffles around in drawer and pulls out a small pistol. As he places it on the table between us, he inquires, “Do you know how to use a gun?”
No.
“Yeah,” I answer quickly. “Safety off, point and shoot.”
My rather extensive knowledge of guns is courtesy of years of video games. I hope he can’t see through my facade because it’s difficult to hide how uncomfortable I feel with a potentially loaded gun around a bunch of men that I don’t trust.
“Good,” he comments and I breathe a sigh of relief attempting to hide that emotion from my body language. “You’ll need to protect Langley if it comes down to that.”
Lang—I pause, turning to look at him. He doesn’t show any emotion, staying stone faced on the far side of the room.
“We’re going together?” My voice is laced with confusion because I was sure that he was sending me on this delivery alone. At least, that was the impression I’d gotten. Thinking about spending hours alone in a space as small as a vehicle with Langley of all people has me wishing I was back in prison.
“Nate, I told you yesterday that this is an extremely important delivery for me.” He pauses to produce one of his signature dramatic pauses, “If you were in my position, would you trust someone that you not only have a history with but who was hired less than twenty-four hours ago with something pertinent to you?”
I know him well enough to know that he isn’t asking a rhetorical question. “No.”
I’m so tense that I don’t even realize Langley’s crossed the space and is standing beside us until he speaks, startling me. “You try any funny shit with that gun and you won’t be making it back.”
Ezra smirks, glancing at Langley for a moment. “He’s under strict instruction. I hope you’re aware of that, Nate.”
“I figured as much.” The idea alone makes my skin crawl. I’m being forced to do shit darker and more dangerous than I ever delved into myself. Shit that I promised myself I’d never get involved with because I’ll never get out. Shit that I’ll end up dead doing, one way or another.
I remind myself that all of this isn’t even the worst part of it. I can’t see the one person I need to. The one person that can bring me back to sanity as I feel myself slipping again.
It doesn’t help when Vivien—Arielle’s cold, detached, always proper mother—walks into the room and I see features in her face that remind me of Arielle. It’s disgusting, honestly, that the woman has any relation to someone as exceptionally beautiful as Arielle, but it’s the reality.
And I can see that reality in the shape of her eyes and the brunette strands of hair that rest on her shoulders.
Vivien doesn’t even bother greeting me. She sits herself on one of the chairs near us and fixes her skirt, the epitome of evil perfection. When her eyes finally meet mine, she finds the wings tattooed into my neck and studies them with distaste in her expression. When she finds the nose ring—the one I painfully stuffed back into the hole that’d almost healed while in prison—her nose literally wrinkles in disgust.
I fight the sudden urge to laugh.
The only things that Vivien and Arielle have in common are the shape of their eyes and the colour of their hair.
Vivien is every single thing that Arielle isn’t—all the evil was put into Vivien and Arielle was given any and all good that Vivien ever had while she was a tiny fetus in her mother’s belly.
“Alright, then the two of you will drive up to Daytona Beach, make the delivery to Titus and then come straight back. The usual, Langley.” The last part Ezra says specifically to him and I assume it means that this is a fairly normal procedure that he goes through, the only difference is possibly the importance of this one.
“We should be back sometime late this evening,” Langley informs Ezra.
I think over the path of the drive. If I’m not mistaken, that’s at minimum a four-hour drive there without stops. Add the other four on the way back, pit stops and the meeting with Titus and we’re looking at a potentially ten-hour day.
I guess at least Ezra called us here at bloody four in the morning so maybe we can get this done by afternoon and then I’ll actually have some time to myself. I shouldn’t bother getting my hopes up, seeing as how shit has not been going my way lately, but I can’t help but try to look at the potential positive of a horrid situation.
Who knows? I could be stuck dealing with this Titus guy for hours.
However, if there’s anything I can do about all this, you can guarantee that I’ll be driving and I’m going to do my fucking best to cut this trip as short as fucking possible. We’re about to speed way over the limit and cut off a lot of cars. If the cops come after us, then I’ll drive faster. There’s no way I want to be involved in any of this shit.
The less time we’re out on the road, the less time we’ll have to get caught and the less I’ll have to deal with my anxiety that’s the highest it’s ever been.
I can get home as quick as fucking possible, roll and smoke a spliff and try to forget about how my life is spiralling out of control.
“Go on then,” he tells us. “It’s the deep blue Honda.” He slides a set of car keys across the table and I pick them up for two reasons—they land closest to me and because I want to drive.
I’m surprised when Langley doesn’t comment on it, he just waves a hand in my direction as an inaudible way to tell me to follow him and heads out of the room. The moment we’re out in the hallway, two guards are at our side and I force myself to try and get used to it because I’m positive it’s going to be one of those frequent occurrences in my life from now on—guards, guns, drugs, deliveries, Ezra and Langley.
I focus, telling myself that it’s important to remember the layout of this place. Not only should I learn my way around for the sake of staying on Ezra’s good side, but if anything ever goes down here, I want to be able to dip the fuck out as fast as possible.
It’s a fairly curvy hallway but straightforward until we walk into a large space that we ultimately cross and I’m faced with about five different doors that I’m sure I’ll get lost trying to maneuver at some point in the future. Langley signals off the guards and enters some code into the door, which foils my plan of knowing this route if I ever need to get the fuck out of here quick since I don’t know the code.
I don’t push my luck, pretending to look around as I listen to the chime of four different sounding buttons being pressed and then the sound of the lock. I’m not sure I could ever prepare myself for what the door opens to because it’s fucking insane.
As Langley flicks on a few light switches, I take a moment to admire what’s before my eyes—cars. Fucking rows and rows of cars. It’s like a scene right out of a movie, observing the fluorescent lights slowly flicker to life as they warm like dominoes being knocked down. The room is so large that I can barely make out the other side of it and the cars stretch from wall to fucking wall.
I fight off feelings that make me want to react with surprise and admiration at this collection of vehicles. There’s everything from several Lamborghinis and a Phantom to Civics and Supras. There’s even a gorgeously red Firebird that we pass by that I do my very best to ignore.
There are millions of dollars worth of cars here.
Not to mention whatever I’m positive is hidden inside them.
Eventually, I see the deep blue we’re looking for and I push the button to unlock the car. “You sure you want to drive?” Langley finally speaks up, placing his palms flat on the top of the car to look at me after opening the passengers’ side door.
“Yeah, ‘course. I’ll be faster.”
He raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t comment on my dig. “As long as you’re sure you can handle it. You’d better be as good a driver as you hype yourself up to be.”
What the fuck is he alluding to? Are we about to get gunned down on the way?
“Before we go, look at the camera and hold up the keys for five seconds.” He points towards a camera perched on a nearby pillar and I think he’s joking, until he holds up his hands, makes some signals that almost mimic sign language and stares straight at it. I hold the keys up, counting in my head to five while keeping eye contact with the device.
“Let’s go,” Langley announces, slapping his hand on the roof of the car.
I take one more quick glance around the garage to spot the exit, stuff my new gun into the back waistband of my pants and get in the car, start it up and drive it there. I’m forced to stop in front of the large door until someone somewhere presses a button and it opens up. I waste no time in driving out of the parking lot and I’m speeding down the secluded road that leads to the freeway away from Ezra’s compound.
As we tear down the asphalt, I weave in and out of traffic, not giving a single fuck about the rest of traffic. The automated GPS voice startles me when she loudly states how long until we turn off. However, when she informs me that it’s many, many miles until we need to do anything other than follow this stretch of road, I press down harder on the gas and upshift seamlessly.
I can feel Langley judging me. Observing me as I drive at high speeds, moving in and out of traffic. I realize that, in a way, it’s like Ezra studying to memorize my skills. I don’t know if he’s impressed or what, but I can’t say I really care either.
I also sense that he wants to call me foolish and demand I blend in more so we don’t get caught, but at the same time, not only do I think Langley doesn’t care, but I truly believe that if we got caught, there really isn’t anything that Ezra couldn’t get his way out of. He might let me go down, but there’s no way he’s letting Langley—his most loyal—go down.
And I have no doubts that Langley will do what needs to be done.
As we’re speeding down the freeway, I suddenly feel like we should make conversation or something because it’s awkward as fuck, especially with a guy as stone-faced as Langley. “Am I ever gonna learn what this delivery is?”
A random thought occurs that maybe I’m the fucking delivery, but I shake it off. There’s no way, right? I mean, that’s fucking ridiculous.
“Does it matter?” He stares out the window, moving to light up a cigarette.
For a mostly law-abiding citizen like myself? Yeah. Transporting an illegal drug or weapon is leagues away from a dead body in terms of prison sentences.
Morally? Delivering fake money is a lot different than handing over a woman that’d be likely sold off into the sex trade. The latter I wouldn’t be able to stomach.
Granted, I don’t believe there’s a live body in this car because I think if there was, we’d be hearing some sort of noise from the trunk. Although, it’s totally possible the person’s been drugged out of their mind.
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