William adjusted his jacket as he walked through the sleek halls of the Bureau of Justice headquarters. The place always had a cold, efficient feel to it—like everything had a purpose, no wasted space. He was here to see his mother, Elena Graves, but this time, it wasn't just a casual visit.
As he entered her lab, he saw her in the middle of a conversation with a few high-ranking officials. She noticed him immediately and waved him over.
"Ah, speak of the devil. Here's my son—the rising star of the underground death race."
William smirked. "Didn't know I had fans in the Bureau."
One of the officials, a stern-looking man in a crisp black suit, nodded. "We don't usually condone illegal sports, but your performance… impressive. You've gained quite a reputation, Graves."
Elena handed William a tablet with a compilation of highlights from the race—specifically his combat efficiency, tactical driving, and ability to adapt under fire.
"Your skills were on full display, William," she said. "Even without official training, you held your own against some of the best mercenaries and underground racers."
William shrugged. "Guess I got it from my mom."
She smiled softly. "That, and your father would've been proud too."
William took the compliment without speaking, just nodding in acknowledgment. She understood.
One of the officials crossed his arms. "With your abilities, if you ever reconsider joining the Bureau, the offer stands."
William smirked. "I appreciate the offer, but I prefer my freedom."
Elena chuckled. "Told you he'd say that."
After exchanging a few more words, William left, knowing he had earned the Bureau's respect—even if he had no plans of working for them.
---
Meanwhile, at the military compound, Matthew stood beside his father, Captain Carter, with Jessica by his side.
"The winner of the race, huh?" Carter said, arms crossed as he looked Matthew over. "And an upcoming star tech synth inventor? I gotta say, son, I didn't expect this—at least, not in the death race."
Matthew grinned. "Surprised?"
Carter let out a deep chuckle. "Hell yeah, but I'm proud of you. You took on some serious competition and came out on top. And the modifications you made to your vehicle—and Logan and William's—have people talking."
Jessica nudged Matthew playfully. "Told you you'd be famous."
Matthew rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah."
Carter turned to his team, standing nearby. "This is my kid. Built one of the best-modified race vehicles out there. And you should've seen what he did for his friends' rides too. If he ever joins the military, you better believe he'll be designing our future war machines."
His team nodded in approval, some even congratulating Matthew directly. The recognition felt good—not just from his father, but from experienced military personnel who saw real potential in his work.
As they left the compound, Jessica leaned in and whispered, "Your dad was basically bragging about you the entire time."
Matthew smirked. "Yeah… not gonna lie, that felt pretty damn good."
Chapter 43 – Continuation
Logan adjusted the sleeves of his dark gray suit as he entered the private dining hall. The place had an air of prestige—dim lighting, polished mahogany furniture, and an unmistakable sense of power in the room. Sitting at the long dining table were Victor Cortez, Jessica's father, and several high-profile members of the Death Sports Organization.
Victor gestured to the seat across from him. "Logan Holt. The man making waves."
Logan took his seat, nodding politely. "Wasn't really trying to."
One of the men chuckled. "You survived a direct C4 explosion and walked out of the flames. If that's not making waves, I don't know what is."
The waiter poured wine into their glasses, but Logan barely paid attention to the formalities. He wasn't here to impress anyone—he was here because Jessica's father had asked for him.
Victor leaned forward, his sharp eyes analyzing Logan. "I've seen a lot of young talent come and go in this world, but you? You've got something different. You didn't even join for the money, did you?"
Logan shook his head. "No. I wasn't in it for the cash. Matthew needed the money, and I wasn't about to let my friend do something this dumb and dangerous alone."
There was a brief silence before one of the men laughed. "Honest. I respect that."
Victor smirked, swirling his wine. "So, what do you want, Logan? A position? Sponsorship? Protection? You've got a lot of people interested in you now."
Logan exhaled and leaned back. "I don't need any of that. I've already got my own thing going. But if you ever need a guy for something, I won't say no. Just don't expect me to be tied down to anyone."
The men exchanged glances. His answer was unexpected—but it only made them more interested in him.
"A freelancer, huh?" one of them mused. "You're a rare breed, kid."
Victor studied Logan for a moment, then nodded. "Fair enough."
Logan took a sip of his drink before shifting the conversation. "By the way, you might have noticed another interesting participant in the race—Darius Cross."
Victor raised a brow. "The military recruit?"
Logan nodded. "Yeah. He's with the military now, but he was in the race for the same reason Matthew was—for the money. Said he needed it for supplies for an upcoming operation."
One of the men grinned. "Darius put up a hell of a fight. You two going at it would've been something to see."
Logan smirked. "Yeah, well, he wasn't my problem in the race. William kept him busy."
Victor set his glass down. "Darius is a name to remember. If he's signed up with the military, we might be seeing more of him in the future."
The rest of the dinner carried on with small talk, but Logan could tell—they respected him. Even if he wasn't part of their organization, he had left an impression.
As the dinner progressed, Logan maintained his usual calm demeanor, listening as the men around the table discussed business, future Death Sport events, and other underground dealings. While he wasn't interested in getting deeply involved, he made sure to pay attention—information was always valuable.
Victor Cortez leaned forward, tapping his fingers against his wine glass. "You said you didn't do it for the money, but you fought like a man who had everything to lose."
Logan shrugged. "Just how I am. If I'm in something, I give it my all. Half-measures get you killed."
One of the Death Sport officials smirked. "No hesitation, no fear. That's what makes you dangerous, Logan."
Victor studied him, then nodded. "That mentality will take you far, but it also puts a target on your back. You've made enemies, even if you don't realize it yet. People don't like seeing someone rise so quickly, especially not some kid who walked through fire like it was nothing."
Logan met his gaze evenly. "If they come, they come. Won't be the first, won't be the last."
The table went silent for a moment before Victor chuckled. "You remind me of someone I used to know."
Logan didn't ask who. He wasn't here to play sentimental games.
One of the other men, an older official with sharp eyes, leaned in. "Logan, I'll be direct. You're valuable. People are talking about you. We'd like to keep you close. Maybe not as a full-time competitor, but as someone we can rely on when we need someone... capable."
Logan exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Like I said, I don't belong to anyone. But if you ever need something handled, and the price is right, I'll listen."
Victor grinned. "A businessman, too."
Before the conversation could continue, Jessica's father's phone buzzed. He checked it briefly, then put it away, turning back to Logan.
"Alright, I won't push. But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me."
Logan nodded, knowing that this dinner had gone exactly how he wanted. They saw him as someone worth keeping an eye on, but not as someone they could control. That was all that mattered.
As the dinner wrapped up, Victor gestured to Logan. "One last thing. Be careful. You might have walked out of that fire, but next time, someone might make sure there's nothing left of you."
Logan smirked. "Then I'll just have to make sure I walk out again."
With that, he stood, nodded to Jessica's father, and left the dining hall, knowing that this wouldn't be the last time their paths crossed.