Hypersonic
Copyright© 2026 by nyra
Chapter 82
Romance Sex Story: Chapter 82 - 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 A Revelation
NATE
As I pull into the parking lot, I begin to second guess this decision. However, I’m aware of the fact that Ezra has cameras plastered all over the damn place and there’s no way his people don’t know that I’m here.
Where am I, you may ask? Ezra’s compound.
After the robbery of my home, I’d made the decision—potentially moronic decision—that I needed to speak with Langley. He’s the direct line to Ezra, considering I know he’ll pass any messages along to the prison, and it’s important that I fan out the flame of this problem before it becomes a raging inferno.
I don’t want Ezra to think he can do whatever the fuck he wants to me without mind. That he can walk all over me, thinking I won’t retaliate.
That, and I want my shit back. Especially the engagement ring. I spent a lot of time and money on it and the thought that they’re going to torment the shit out of me about it has me incredibly uncomfortable. I believe they’re going to attempt to use it as a threat—that they’ll warn me that they’ll tell Arielle about my plans to propose if I don’t do something for them in return.
I shake the thoughts off, aware that the guards inside are likely observing me through the plethora of cameras. I don’t want to appear too suspicious, so I put my car in park and turn it off.
I grab my phone, stuffing my keys into my pocket as I get out. I lock it, before slowly making my way up to the front of the building.
Stepping inside, I’m greeted by two new guards that I don’t recognize. It doesn’t surprise me, however, considering Ezra likely doesn’t trust many of his lower tier goons after he was sent to prison. He probably fired or killed them all and replaced them with new ones who can’t speak of his misdeeds because they haven’t witnessed them.
Yet.
It’s the usual—telling them who I am, who I’m here to see, the shortened reason why I’m here, then the pat down and the metal detector. It’s exhausting getting in this place, but at least it gives me a chance to attempt to calm myself.
As I’m led down the hallway, I steady my nerves, and despite it being difficult to do so, I manage to calm my racing heart just a little. It’s not the idea of meeting Langley that makes me so anxious, but being in this building—around these people—that fucks me up.
It’s almost a bit traumatic, if I’m being honest. It brings back memories of being shot, of going to that vet to have the bullet removed, of the panic attack I had while Langley opened fire on Titus and his crew. The flash of memories are nearly too much to handle and I swallow hard, pausing momentarily to steady myself against the wall, pointlessly digging my fingernails into the drywall.
I shake it off as best as I’m able to—before any of these men see a weakness in me—and continue trailing behind the man. He takes me deeper into the building, and I can’t help the curiosity as we pass Ezra’s office. I peek in, noticing that nobody appears to be inside. In fact, everything seems clean, untouched, and perfect.
Although, that doesn’t necessarily mean much. He has a cleaning crew that works around the clock to ensure he continues the appearance of being a legitimate businessman. Just because he’s in prison, it doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be clean. Besides, I know for a fact that Langley doesn’t work out of Ezra’s office. He has his own little area, which he’s surely been using more now that he’s been sort of running things.
Eventually, I’m lead to a smaller room, where there’s nothing more than a round coffee table, a sofa, and two separate chairs. “Take a seat, he’ll be right in,” the man tells me, extending a hand as a way of pointing me where to go. I do as he says, choosing the sofa, where I seat myself on the far side in an attempt to gain some space so I’m able to calm myself further.
Absentmindedly, I run my thumb along my mountain range ring, using it as a distraction as I ponder how to approach this. It’s possible I’ve just walked into the spider’s web. I’m part of the reason why Ezra ended up in prison and though Hayes promised that I’m not tied to any of it, part of me can’t help but wonder if Ezra knows about it.
I mean, he’s always known everything before, right? How could he not?
But then again, he’s always known the cops have been on his ass. He used to constantly complain about it, so how could he possibly pinpoint one person being tied to the whole takedown?
Either way, I’m playing dumb. I’m not about to throw Hayes under the bus when he saved my ass the way he did. I fucking owe the guy my life for what he’s done and I have no doubts that he’d protect Arielle if it came down to it.
When I’m tracing the peak of one of the mountains, the sound of shoes heavily clunking against the flooring fills my ears, as he quickly makes his way to me. I already know from the pattern of steps that it’s Langley and that’s confirmed when the goon that brought me to this room, steps aside to allow Langley inside and then closes the door behind him.
“Nate,” Langley greets when he spots me sitting on the far side of the room. Glancing up, I immediately flinch—which I’m able to play off as I adjust myself where I sit—because he looks like shit. His hair is unkempt, the bags under his eyes are evident, despite usually being clean shaven, he clearly hasn’t shaven in more than a week, his knuckles are cut up, and he appears completely and utterly exhausted.
I knew shit would hit the fan when Ezra went to prison, but from his appearance, it seems way worse than I ever anticipated. Granted, Langley’s never had as much power within this hierarchy as he does right now. Perhaps he’s simply not used to it and doesn’t know how to handle it all.
He paces—another thing not typical of his behaviour—and it only makes me more nervous. He’s always been very composed. I think it’s something he’s always been proud of. In his head, composure is the ultimate weapon because you can scare the fuck out of people if you come across as unaffected in the most fucked up situations.
“What can I help you with?” He doesn’t even look at me when he asks the question, seeming irritable, impatient, in a world of his own. Is he on something?
My mouth instantly dries. Now that I’ve seen how off Langley seems, all I want to do is bolt out the door. But I know that I must nip this in the bud. I’m already here and he’ll likely been even more suspicious if I’ve wasted his time with nothing to say.
“You can tell Ezra that he made his point.”
Langley pauses his pacing, almost as if he’s confused for a moment, staring off at something on the floor. I cock my head as I observe him, curious at his physical response.
After several long, quiet seconds, I add, “I’m talking about him robbing my fuckin’ house.”
He runs a hand through his hair, finally deciding to sit his agitated ass down in one of the chairs. He doesn’t meet my gaze, however, as he brings one leg up to rest its ankle on the opposing knee. He then fidgets with a seam on his pant leg, ultimately giving me a, “Yeah. What about it?”
Alright, so I guess that’s proof that he set it up. Although, I already knew that fact.
“Weren’t you listening to me? I said you can tell him that he made his damn point. What’s up with you?”
He sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Shit’s been fuckin’ crazy ever since he went away.”
“I feel you.” It’s not exactly a lie, I get where he’s coming from. “No one’s denying that it’s hard to take on all he does.” Again, not entirely a fib, but I don’t feel sorry for the guy. He may have saved my ass once, but I can’t say that I’d do the same without at least debating the pros and cons first. “But like, you’re obviously doing whatever shit he asks of you from behind bars—is there any way I can get back some of my shit?”
He’s biting away at a hangnail on his thumb when he finally makes eye contact with me. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Why the fuck would I kid about that? You took shit that’s sentimental to me.” He’s not a moron, he knows I’m talking about Arielle’s engagement ring. That thing wasn’t fucking cheap and it took me a long time to custom make it, I don’t want to lose it.
Langley laughs and it makes me want to lunge across the small coffee table that separates us to jam my fist into his face. Something in him shifts at that moment—the fidgeting, agitated, confused Langley disappears with a swipe of his palm over his facial hair and the confident, arrogant, cold Langley makes a sudden appearance. The Langley that Ezra has trained him to be. The mask he forces himself to wear in order to keep a tight lid on things.
The mask that he has me desperate to sink my fingers into—to rip away the poker face so I’m able to see what lies behind it. What kinds of demons lie dormant, just waiting to show their grotesque faces?
“Do you realize why he ordered the robbery, Nate?”
There might have been once upon a time when I would’ve cowered where I sit. Where I would’ve been extra nervous in the presence of a man even of Langley’s status. However, he doesn’t scare me anymore.
Perhaps it’s the traumas I’ve been through. The things I’ve seen and experienced. The emotions that have consumed me at times. The realization that I need to constantly be on the tips of my toes when it comes to these men.
So, I steel myself, straightening my back and not wavering in my gaze towards him. “You mean other than the fact that he lives to fuck up Arielle’s life as well as mine?”
Langley wets his lips, creating an unnecessary moment for dramatic effect. “He went to prison and you went off on vacation with her.”
Not even the slightest bit surprised that he’s aware of that fact.
“You thought when he got sent away that your contract—as so it is—was over, but it’s not. In fact, you left us when we needed you most. When we were down a man.”
Normally, I’d apologize because my mother raised me with some manners, but I honestly don’t give a fuck.
“You really think he wasn’t gonna’ do something to remind you where you belong?” He adds, his lips curling into a smirk.
“I don’t know how many times I have to repeat it to you—if you’d take Sullivan’s cock out of your mouth and clean his cum from your ears, you’d hear me tell you—I got his fuckin’ point.”
He grits his teeth together, clenching them so hard that a vein protrudes on his forehead. “What’s your point in coming here then, Nate?”
I laugh, I can’t help it—I’m both nervous and frustrated. “I want my shit back and I want you guys off my back. Simple as that.”
“You seem to be referring to something specific.” He puts his foot down, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, tenting his hands beneath his chin. “Would it happen to be an engagement ring for someone special?” His tone is mocking and I fight the urge to react.
I knew they’d fucking taunt me with it. I knew that the second I noticed it missing. “You know I can just buy another ring, yeah? Stealing one from me isn’t gonna’ fuckin’ stop me from marrying that woman.”
I can buy another ring, but this one was custom made and I think she deserves it. She deserves to see it and I want to put it on her finger. As for all the other things they destroyed—the shit they tore, pushed over, broke—it can all be replaced.
The sound of that seems to amuse him. “Well, who am I to stop a man in love? Is that the only thing you care about? Not the money? The gifts? All the other sentimental garbage?”
I don’t answer. It feels like too much of a trap.
“If that’s all you want, I can probably figure something out.” For a milli-second, he glances to the far corner of the room and then abruptly stands. “C’mon, let’s see if we can’t dig it out of storage.”
The hair stands up on the back of my neck, but I don’t exactly have any other options, so I stand and follow him as he exits the room. Due to Hayes’ insistence, I’ve memorized these hallways for the cops, but when Langley begins to lead me into a room that I didn’t know existed, my entire body goes on red alert.
He knocks on the wall—literally, a seamless wall—and as a small portion of it begins to open, it occurs to me that I likely know and understand little to nothing about this place. A guard steps back and I hesitantly follow Langley down the narrow, dark area.
It’s a winding path and it feels like it takes forever. Eventually, he arrives at a part that I wouldn’t be able to recall a second time and he simply stops. He doesn’t knock on the surface like I expect him to, but he stands there until it suddenly opens.
He steps through and the light is practically blinding after being in that awkward, creepy hallway, which makes me basically unable to see properly for a solid few seconds when I enter the new room. Before I’m able to decipher where I am, I can’t explain it, but my stomach drops. It sinks nauseatingly and I understand that at this point, I’ve literally walked into the spider’s web.
Especially, when it finally occurs to me that we’re now standing in Ezra’s office. I study it from this angle—from behind his desk—where I’ve never been allowed to see. I realize that’s why it took me eons to figure out where in the fuck I am, but I think a part of me didn’t want to know either.
My heart begins to hammer in my chest and I start nervously peering at all the hidden little areas within the space, worried that someone’s about to hop out of an unknown tunnel and scare the fuck out of me. “Have a seat, please,” Langley offers, pointing lazily towards the two chairs opposite the desk that I’ve grown to detest so strongly.
Slowly, I saunter over to them, placing myself in the opposite one I sat in last time. Previously, I’d noticed speckled blood in the stitching of the piece of furniture and the last thing I want to do is stare at that again. As I do so, I expect Langley to sit in Ezra’s usual chair and inform me what in the fuck we’re doing in here—since I understand I’m not getting my ring back—but he doesn’t. He does his usual, folding his hands together while standing in the corner of the room like a bodyguard.
That’s when the puzzle pieces come together in my head.