Kaden didn't care about the cargo; he only cared about the clock. In the world of high-stakes smuggling, "on time" was the difference between a massive payday and a permanent stay in a concrete basement. He gripped the leather steering wheel, his eyes locked on the digital timer blinking on his dashboard: . "Go," a voice crackled over the radio.
For a heartbeat, there was only silence and the cold night air rushing past his windows. Then, a bone-jarring thud. The suspension groaned, but the wheels held. He looked at the timer: . Kaden didn't care about the cargo; he only
He reached the bridge just as the drawbridge began to rise. The gap was widening—six feet, ten feet. Most drivers would brake. Kaden shifted down, built the torque, and roared toward the incline. "Go," a voice crackled over the radio