A moment later Parker, Tessa, and Atalanta stepped inside the showroom. The dimly lit hallway behind them disappeared as they entered a private, high-security chamber—luxurious as fuck but built for business. The kind of place where billionaires bought their toys without prying eyes or unnecessary interruptions.
And right there, sitting under soft, museum-style lighting, were the beasts Parker had come for.
Five cars. Three motorcycles. All customized. All carrying the unmistakable insignia of Nyxilith.
First, the two vintages.
A 1962 Ferrari 250 GTO, midnight black with crimson streaks licking the curves. The engine? Enhanced and modernized, a perfect blend of old-school sex appeal and modern performance. It wasn't just a car; it was a fucking statement.
Then, the modern monsters.
