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Lev shrugs. “The season of the Super Bikes League ends right before the hockey season begins. For now, I’m happy with the Super Bikes. It’s not like my parents would allow me to miss school to follow them around the world to the Moto GP races. So don’t worry, I’m going to be by your side on the ice.”

His words make me feel better. I’m the current hockey star of our family. Ares and Atlas have the racing, and I’m proud of them for signing up with Ducati as rookies for the upcoming Moto GP season. The Super Bikes League is only one of the ways my brothers earned their contracts with their dream team. They’ve been racing in Moto 3 and 2 since they were seventeen. But they have been racing in the European Talent Cup since they were fourteen. Racing is their passion and another thing that cements their unbreakable bond.

I love riding a bike too, but my talent and passion is in hockey. That’s why I’m closer to our dad, who’s a retired professional hockey player and coaches our college town’s team.

Our plan for me doesn’t involve racing, but the NHL.

“Good,” I exhale, relieved that Lev isn’t planning to quit hockey for racing. I consider him my brother just as much as Ares and Atlas; I’m actually closer to him rather than my own brothers, despite not sharing any DNA.

I lower the visor on my helmet, as Adam, our team’s mechanic, tells me I’m good to go.

Fuck. I’d be lying if I said that I’m not nervous about riding this legit monster. Probably nothing compared to the official Moto GP bikes, but the California Super Bikes league is earning its own spot in the racing world, despite being new and privately organized.

The bikes I’ve seen racing in this league are almost as powerful as the Moto GP prototypes.

If I wasn’t this nervous, I’d see the irony in the fact that I’m about to ride Atlas’s precious MTT 420-RR. This baby isn’t even street legal and Ares is the only other human being allowed to even touch it.

You shouldn’t have followed your girlfriend to her cheerleading competition.

In all fairness, Atlas should have flown back last night. I know my brother loves me, but I don’t stand a chance against his twin, his bike, and his girlfriend. It bugs me like hell. Especially because I know Heather doesn’t deserve the level of devotion Atlas has for her.

If she did, she wouldn’t have tried to hook up with me after last year’s championship final, when Atlas was in Spain as an alternate on the Moto GP team.

“Hey, watch where the fuck you’re going!” I snap, as someone shoulder checks me, almost causing me to crash into my own bike that’s sitting on its stand.

Un-fucking believable.

I shake my head at the leather clad person, who doesn’t even stop to apologize and to check that they didn’t cause any damage. “Who the fuck is that?” I ask, pointing at the black helmet that’s now barely visible and out of our paddock.

“No fucking clue,” Lev scowls, right before he lowers his own visor. “They’re obviously racing, at least judging by the black leather suit and the helmet. I don’t know any teams who are in totally black suits, though.”

He’s right. There are about ten teams enrolled in the California Super Bikes League, and none of them has a completely black livery. “Their helmet didn’t have a logo either.” I grumble.

Lev mounts his bike. “In theory, it could be an independent racer. Anyone with a suitable 1000cc bike can enroll in the qualifiers here. Whether they can get a spot in tomorrow’s lineup without a garage and a team of mechanics to back them up is debatable, though.”

We get called to line up, and I throw my leg over Atlas’s bike, taking it off the stand. “Regardless, I don’t like that practically anyone can walk around our paddock and garage just like this. With all these expensive bikes around, I’d expect better security.”

Lev agrees. “True. I’ll tell Ares after we qualify. He can talk to the Safety Officer or even the Race Director.”

Once our engines are on, it’s impossible to hear anything other than their roars.

My pulse skyrockets as I line up behind Ares’s Kawasaki and another rider on a BMW; Lev is by my side on his Damon Hypersport. The very distinctive, almost throaty noise of aDucati makes me turn to look behind me a couple of seconds before the traffic light in front of me changes from red to amber.

The guy in black is right behind me on a mean-looking Ducati. Whoever that is, they’re going to eat my fucking dust. There are only two ways this can go today. Either Atlas is gonna owe me, or I won’t hear the end of this if I fuck this up and he doesn’t get a spot on the starting line tomorrow.

ZARA

“Where the fuck were you?” Calvin’s voice makes me literally crawl out of my skin as I get caught trying to sneak out of his motorhome and back into the garage area.

His dark glare causes my throat to close up, as butterflies gather in the pit of my stomach. My skin erupts in goosebumps as Cal advances toward me.

“Zara, I asked you a question,” he growls, advancing until my back hits the outer wall of his RV. “You’re supposed to be my lucky charm. Why the fuck weren’t you watching the race, like you’re supposed to do?”

I cross my arms over my chest in the futile attempt to put some distance between us, but I have nowhere to go.

My heartbeat is now thundering in my ears as I take in Cal’s tall, lean frame clad in his black and yellow leather race suit.

“I—” my voice catches at the way his dark obsidian eyes bore into mine. Cal is hot, the quintessential bad boy.

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