The day started like most of Carter West's days—late, chaotic, and halfway out the door. He leaned against the balcony of his dingy apartment, taking a long sip from his coffee and watching the city come alive beneath him. The towers of steel and glass sparkled in the sunlight, but down in the streets, the pulse of the city was something else—gritty, noisy, and full of opportunities for someone like him.

Carter had never been the type to hold down a steady job. He thrived on the thrill of the unpredictable. Petty heists, small-time cons, and fast getaways were his bread and butter. The only rule he stuck to was "don't get caught." So far, that strategy had worked out just fine.

Today, though, something felt off. Carter couldn't shake the nagging feeling that trouble was on the horizon, lurking just beyond his line of sight. He checked his phone, scrolling through messages from a few old "business" contacts—nothing major, just loose ends from previous jobs. His inbox was light, but one message stood out.

Tommy M.: "Got a job. High risk, high reward. U in?"

Carter tapped his foot, considering. Tommy was the kind of guy you called when you were desperate. The jobs he lined up were never simple—never clean—but they always paid out big. The last time Carter worked with Tommy, they'd barely outrun the police after pulling a late-night casino heist, and Carter had sworn to keep his distance for a while.

But he was low on cash, and "low" was something Carter didn't tolerate for long.

He typed a reply:

Carter: "What's the gig?"

Within seconds, Tommy responded:

Tommy M.: "Car. Big fish. High-end tech. Tomorrow night. No questions, no hesitations."

A car? Carter's lips curled into a grin. Joyrides were his specialty, especially when the prize was something sleek, fast, and worth more than most people's houses. He could already feel the excitement buzzing in his veins. He hadn't had a real challenge in weeks, and the thought of outwitting some rich guy's security team in the dead of night made his pulse quicken.

Still, a part of him wondered if Tommy was leaving out some key details. "High-end tech" had a lot of implications, and none of them were good. Carter stared at the message for a few seconds, then fired back:

Carter: "Details?"

This time, the reply took longer:

Tommy M.: "Client wants discretion. All you need to know is: keep it clean, get in, get out. You won't be alone."

Carter groaned. He hated working with teams. Other people usually just slowed him down or made things complicated. But Tommy didn't offer him solo jobs often. Whatever this was, it was big. Big enough to make Carter forget the voice in his head that warned him to walk away. Big enough to make him ignore the cold pit in his stomach.

With a smirk, he typed his final response:

Carter: "I'm in."

--

Carter leaned against the wall of a dingy bar, half-listening to the hum of low conversations and clinking glasses. Tommy had promised to meet him here to go over the details, but, as usual, the man was running late. Carter scanned the crowd, his sharp eyes always on the lookout for anyone who might recognize him. He'd made a few enemies along the way—people who didn't appreciate having their cars or wallets "borrowed"—and while he liked to think he could talk his way out of most situations, some grudges were hard to smooth over.

Just as he was about to down the last of his beer, the door creaked open, and in walked Tommy—a short, scrappy man with a permanent five o'clock shadow and an expression that screamed "trust me" to anyone foolish enough to take him at his word. Carter raised an eyebrow as Tommy slid into the booth across from him, a wide grin plastered on his face.

"You look like you just hit the jackpot," Carter said, setting his glass down. "What's the catch?"

"No catch," Tommy replied, though his grin said otherwise. "Just a nice, clean job. High-end tech, like I said. All you gotta do is swipe a car from some rich tycoon."

"Uh-huh." Carter leaned back, crossing his arms. "And who's the tycoon?"

Tommy's smile faltered for a split second, but he recovered fast. "No one you'd know. Big shot, though. The car's worth a fortune. Latest model—top of the line. Let's just say it's not on the market yet."

That was all Carter needed to hear. "Sounds like fun."

Tommy leaned in, lowering his voice. "Here's the deal: the car's being kept in a private garage. Security's tight, but you've dealt with worse. You'll have a partner, someone on the inside who can get you past the locks and cameras. Once you're in, the car's yours."

Carter nodded, but something didn't sit right. "And the client? Why do they want it so badly?"

Tommy shrugged, feigning innocence. "Didn't ask. Didn't care. All I know is, they're paying big, and they need this done fast."

"Fast, huh?" Carter drummed his fingers on the table. He could tell there was more to this job than Tommy was letting on, but he wasn't about to dig too deep. It wasn't his style. Besides, a payday this big didn't come around often, and Carter wasn't one to pass up an opportunity.

"You in or not?" Tommy pressed.

Carter smirked, reaching for his coat. "You know me, Tommy. I'm always in."

--

The garage sat on the edge of the city, a fortress of steel and glass surrounded by a thick iron gate. From a distance, it looked like any other high-security facility—quiet, too quiet for comfort. But Carter had been through worse. He crouched in the shadows, waiting for his cue.

Through his earpiece, a voice crackled to life. "All clear. Go."

His "partner" for the job—someone named Maya—was handling the security remotely. He didn't know much about her, only that she was supposed to be one of the best. Carter hoped she lived up to the hype because once he was inside, there was no turning back.

With a final glance at the perimeter, Carter slipped through the side gate, making his way toward the garage entrance. He moved quickly, keeping to the shadows, his heart pounding with anticipation. The thrill of the heist—the quiet before the storm—was his favorite part. It was a dance, a game of wits, and Carter always loved the first move.

The garage door hissed open, and Carter stepped inside. The place was a shrine to luxury—rows of expensive cars gleamed under the fluorescent lights, each more impressive than the last. But there was only one that caught his eye. At the far end of the garage, beneath a cover of black silk, was the car Tommy had promised.

It was sleek, even from a distance, and Carter felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips. This was no ordinary car. Whatever it was, it was special. He could feel it.

"Got it in sight," Carter whispered into his earpiece.

"Good," Maya's voice replied. "You've got five minutes before the next security sweep. Don't screw this up."

"I never do," Carter muttered under his breath.

He crossed the garage in long strides, his fingers itching to get behind the wheel. With a quick flick of his wrist, he pulled the cover off, revealing the car in all its glory. It was even more beautiful than he'd imagined—sleek, black, and humming with hidden power. He didn't need to know what was under the hood to realize this was something special.

Carter slipped into the driver's seat, his fingers brushing against the leather steering wheel. He could already feel the adrenaline kicking in. All he had to do now was get out.

But as the car's dashboard lit up, something unexpected happened. The console flickered, and a soft voice spoke through the speakers.

"Hello, Carter."

He froze. That wasn't part of the plan.

"Who the hell—?" Carter began, but the voice interrupted him.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Elle. And we're going to have some fun."

Carter's heart skipped a beat. What the hell had he just gotten himself into?

End of Prologue.