Midnight chase dark lane.., p.1
Midnight Chase (Dark Lanes Book 2), page 1
MIDNIGHT CHASE
AN OPPOSITES ATTRACT DARK ROMANCE
DARK LANES
BOOK 2
HARLEIGH BECK
Copyright © 2025 by Harleigh Beck
All rights reserved.
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This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover © Artscandare Book Cover Design
Editing: Witch, Please Editing
CONTENTS
Blurb
Content information
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
What’s Next
Also by Harleigh Beck
About the Author
Content List
BLURB
Jessica’s world is falling apart.
Her mother is slipping away. Her brother is unraveling. And every choice she makes pulls her deeper into Bleakmoor’s shadows.
She should walk away from Kane Ravencourt.
He’s reckless, possessive and consuming.
But when he touches her, she forgets why she ever tried to run.
Kane has already decided. Jessica is his.
She thinks she can stay away.
She can’t. Not from him.
Jessica is his, no matter what it costs. His father’s threats, his friends’ warnings, her family’s hatred… none of it matters.
Because he’ll burn every rule, every enemy, every fucking boundary to keep her.
Being noticed by him is dangerous.
Being wanted by him is ruin.
And together, they’re headed for their Midnight Chase.
CONTENT INFORMATION
Dark Lanes is a dark romance series with a happy ending for each couple. However, it features dark themes that might be upsetting or disturbing to some readers. My books and main characters aren’t for everyone, so if you’re unsure, please check the content list at the back.
Remember, it’s fiction! The author doesn’t condone the darker themes and behaviours depicted within these pages. Nothing in this story is meant to be a moral guide. I trust that you know your triggers and read responsibly.
Creative License Notice
This is a work of fiction. Some creative liberties have been taken with cars and racing details in order to prioritise storytelling and enjoyment over technical accuracy.
To win, you have to lose.
ONE
JESSICA
“Are you okay, Mom?” I ask softly, closing the door behind me as I step into her bedroom.
Mom quickly wipes her cheeks and pats the space beside her on the floor where she’s sitting by the bed with the old camcorder we bought from the neighbor’s yard sale last summer.
She’s deteriorated rapidly over the past few weeks since her terminal diagnosis, and her pain has become harder to control. Her doctor has talked to her about end-of-life care, but she wants to stay home with us for as long as she can. She wants to make the most of the little time she has left.
“Sit with me.”
I pad across the floor and gently lower myself onto the soft rug beside her. Mom sets the camera aside, pulls me into her arms, and kisses the top of my head.
I’ve always loved her hugs. If there were a prize for the best hugs, Mom would win every time. It doesn’t matter that I’m not a little kid anymore. It doesn’t matter that it’s not considered cool or whatever. Mom’s hugs are the best. Warm. Safe.
Another thing I love is the sound of her steady heartbeat against my ear. The world could end, but her heart would still calm the stormiest oceans.
“What were you doing, Mom?” My voice comes out quiet.
She rests her cheek against my head. “I was recording something for you and your siblings to remember me by.”
A chasm opens in my chest, an ugly black hole of ache that swallows everything before tearing into it with grimy claws.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“But I want to.”
She kisses the top of my head again, then cups my face with trembling hands as tears fill her eyes. “I want you to have something you can watch when life hurts.” She presses her forehead to mine. “Or when you feel lost.”
I cover her hands with mine. “Mom, please don’t talk like that.”
But she ignores me. “I won’t always be here.”
No… She will. She’ll watch me grow up. She’ll cry happy tears at my wedding. She’ll fuss over Summer when she’s pregnant with her first baby. She’ll welcome her future daughter-in-law with open arms.
She’ll be here.
My chest feels like it’s tearing apart, as if dirty nails are ripping through me. Breathing hurts, and I shake my head in denial. I’m not ready to face the truth. None of us are. She’s the glue that holds our family together.
Without her, we’ll spiral.
Mom taps my chest gently. “But I’ll always live in there.”
Tears finally fall. I swipe at my cheeks with my sleeve as she tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, just like moms do, then cups my chin.
“When life gets hard,” she says softly, “close your eyes and think of me, and I’ll be there, honey.”
My worn trainers pound the pavement. I push myself harder as tears streak down my cheeks, cold against my skin. The track curves ahead, so I dig my heels in, trying to outrun myself and the gaping hole in my chest. Some days are worse than others, and today is especially brutal. My chest feels tight, my breaths shallow, like I’m sucking air through a straw.
There’s no way to escape it. I can’t outrun the future. It waits further up the track like a beast crouched in the bushes, ready to attack as I pass.
Today feels different. I’m running in the early evening, something I rarely do because it isn’t the same. But I had to get away for a while. Earlier, I found myself in Mom’s bedroom, running my fingers over the flowery bedspread as tears rolled down my cheeks. The soft, feminine scent of her perfume still hung in the air. I picked up one of the cardigans hanging in her closet and buried my face in the cashmere. If I closed my eyes, squeezed them tight, it almost felt like Mom was there with me.
I wanted to believe it. I wanted to believe it so badly.
But Mom wasn’t there. No matter how much I thought of her, she wasn’t… there.
I stop mid-run and bend over, hands braced on my knees as I gulp down air. My lungs burn, and I welcome the pain, even when it feels like my heart might give out. It wouldn’t be the worst thing, would it? At least the emotional pain would stop, and I wouldn’t be out here trying to outrun the reaper.
A bead of sweat slides down my nose. I swipe the back of my hand across my forehead, straighten, and rest my hands on my hips. It’s time to head back. It’s getting dark, and I don’t want to be out here when night falls.
I check my phone, brows knitting together. Rain has shared a reel of a wet squirrel, but that’s it… no new messages from Kane.
That’s strange.
Has he already lost interest?
I’m unsure how to feel. Maybe he’s respecting my wishes and leaving me alone, just like I asked. But why go from messaging me every day to complete silence? Did something happen, or has he already moved on to someone more willing? A wealthy socialite? Some pretty woman from the Heights?
I feel oddly unsettled and it freaks me out enough to put my phone away and head home.
Twenty minutes later, rap music blares from the house as I pass Chris’s beat-up Chevrolet Camaro in the driveway. The front yard is packed with people, some smoking weed, others making out. Great… My brother invited the neighborhood again without telling me.
I wince as I squeeze past a grinding couple in the doorway. Can’t they find somewhere more private?
Smoke hangs thick in the air, and the bass rattles the family photos on the walls. The sight of it all makes my blood boil. I shove my way through the crowd, hunting for my brother so I can rip him a new one.
I stop at the kitchen doorway when I spot the mess.
What the hell?
Not only is the table covered with empty bottles and red Solo cups, but a couple is fucking on the counter, the guy’s bare ass pumping as he groans into their frantic kissing.
Where’s Chris? I’ll murder him.
I turn to find that traitor, who will absolutely be cleaning this mess tomorrow, when Rain throws her arm around my shoulder, a Solo cup in her hand. She takes a sip, gestures toward the couple, and snickers. “Young love. Isn’t it beautiful?”
They’re fucking like frantic rabbits. Not exactly what I’d call beautiful.
The redhead spots us over the guy’s shoulder and squeals, which makes him glance back. Does he stop? Of course not. The girl giggles, bouncing on the counter as he fucks her harder. Chris is definitely scrubbing this place in the morning.
Rain gives me one of her come on, it’s funny grins, and I feel myself thawing a little as we pass the kitchen.
“You stink,” she says, sipping more of whatever concoction was in her cup.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“That’s what friends are for.” She inhales the last of her drink and hands it to some random guy as we walk by.
He looks at the empty cup, then at us, puzzled.
“I’m taking a shower,” I tell her.
She spins away, shimmying her hips to the beat of Hit ’Em Up by 2Pac and Outlawz. “Don’t be long.”
Shaking my head with a reluctant smile, I head upstairs to my room to wash off the sweat. The bass pounds through the walls, a reminder that the night is only just beginning.
I take off my clothes and turn on the shower, adjusting the temperature. It takes a little while to heat up, but that’s no surprise. Everything in this house is old.
I step into the shower and wash my hair, tilting my head back as the water pours over my face. My muscles ache from the run, but I feel lighter, which is all I can ask for.
When I finish, I wrap a towel around my body and use another to dry my hair as I leave the bathroom. I double-check that the bedroom door is locked, then toss the towel in the laundry hamper, brushing my wet hair. The last thing I want is drunk strangers stumbling into my room looking for a private place to have sex.
The paddle brush catches on knots, and I wince before my gaze lands on the bedside table. I still have the dagger from the night I broke into Kane’s party.
When he caught me, I dropped the bag. Everything spilled. I thought it was empty, so I grabbed it and ran. I didn’t realize until I got home that I’d gotten away with something. The dagger sat at the bottom of the bag, heavy and unmistakable.
I don’t know what to do with it. I could sell it. I should sell it. Easy fix. Clean hands, right? But my chest tightens every time I think about it.
Logic says return it. If it’s back in his father’s office, Kane can’t hold it against me anymore.
My hair is finally knot-free. I place the brush on the bedside table, then sit on the edge of the bed and grab the dagger from the drawer. The sheath’s surface is scuffed and faded, darker where the knife hilt has rubbed against it. I’m not an expert by any means, but I recognize expensive leather when I see it—and this feels luxurious. It also has that dry, smoky tang to the leather, the kind that clings to your hands after touching it.
I pull it out of its sheath to inspect the blade, my gaze drifting to the door when I hear voices outside, but they walk past. With a bit of luck, they’ll bang in my brother’s room and leave a big cum stain. That would serve him right.
The blade gleams as I flip it over in my hand, running my thumb over a cursive inscription. It looks like Latin, but the text is too small to read. Either way, it’s not a language I understand.
Hang on. I squint. The handle is carved with deep grooves and more inscriptions circle the base.
The phone pings, and I grab it.
Rain:
Guuuuurrrl. Huuurrryy!
My lips twitch into a smile, but it quickly fades when I click out of the chat. How long has it been since Kane messaged me? And why do I start feeling strange the longer I go without hearing from him?
I open the chat and scroll through our previous messages.
Kane:
Good morning, little thief. I dreamed of eating your sweet pussy again. Now I have a raging erection. Want me to come over?
Kane:
Fine. No sex. Let’s watch a movie or something. What are your favorite snacks?
Kane:
MGK Waste Love, track 12 (2:09s–2:14s)
I shared that song on my socials the other day and he sent me a song lyric. If I ever doubted whether he pays attention, that last message proved it.
The strange feeling in my chest comes back, that odd warmth I feel when he messages. I rub the spot, staring at his words before setting my phone down to get dressed. He’s not worth my energy, even though I’ve never opened my Spotify so quickly in my life just to check a lyric. It’s not cute, is it? Or romantic?
Ugh. Stop. He hasn’t messaged me since then. So why am I thinking about him? This is for the best.
Five minutes later, I’m shimmying into my denim shorts when Rain starts banging on the bedroom door.
“Come on, guuuurl. Stop masturbating. We’re going out.”
“Chill, will ya?” I say as I pull on a tank top and tie my hair up on my way to the door.
The moment it opens, she thrusts a shot into my hand and tells me to drink it. “Everyone’s heading down to the cliffs to party.”
It’s a popular party spot for young people from the Falls. Misty and secluded, it’s the perfect place to get drunk and hook up with strangers. But I don’t plan on becoming tomorrow’s latest gossip.
“There’s our girl,” Rain shouts as Summer exits her room. She wobbles over to her in her tall heels and leather dress. “Now it’s a party.”
Waves crash against the cliffs below. I take another sip of my lukewarm beer to chase away the chill in the air. Maybe I won’t feel it if I get sufficiently drunk. I left my jacket at home and I regret it now that the sun has set and the temperature has dropped. The sea breeze brings a sharp chill to the air.
Thankfully, a bonfire sends sparks into the night sky. I watch the crackling flames, then look up at the stars above. Around us, trucks are parked in a semi-circle with people drinking and smoking weed on the flatbeds. One couple is having sex, semi-hidden by a blanket, while others are dancing or talking.
Chris cups his mouth and shouts my name. I turn my head over my shoulder. He’s lounging with my friends on foldable camping chairs where they sit with beers in hand while passing a joint around. Summer and Rain are on the flatbed, the latter half asleep, her head resting on Summer’s shoulder.
I walk away from the heat. Jackson pulls me onto his lap, and my brother scowls and tells me to get off. I don’t like being told what to do so I stay put just to piss him off.
It works.
He reaches over to Malice, rips the joint from his lips and takes a long drag. Malice raises an eyebrow and looks at him with that terrifying expression of his, as if he’s considering how to pull my brother’s organs out of his body. You can never tell with Malice because that’s his usual expression. The guy doesn’t know how to smile.
Chris jiggles his knee as he scans the crowd gathered around the bonfire. Jackson’s cousin Sam hands me a beer from the crate beside his chair, and Jackson uncaps it with his teeth. “Here you go, sunshine.”
Another murderous glare from my brother, and he points a finger. “Cut that shit or I’ll cut you, understood? She’s my sister.”
Jackson’s chest shakes with suppressed laughter. He loves nothing more than to wind my brother up. No one can blame him. It’s too easy to bait Chris. All it takes is a look for him to snap.
The boys talk about the upcoming race at Dark Lanes. I listen with half an ear as I sip my beer, still sitting on Jackson’s lap. Among my brother’s friends, he’s the one I’m closest to.
Malice is impossible to get to know, not only because he’s hostile to nearly everyone but also because he communicates through grunts and stares. Sometimes he’ll watch you until you squirm like a worm on a hook. Very few can stay still under his scrutiny.
