Page 117 of Doomed
“What else would you call it?” I gesture to our growing circle. “The women we claimed, standing by our sides, even knowing what we are.”
“Gluttons for punishment,” Vane suggests, earning chuckles from all of us.
The girls rejoin us, Bianca sliding under my arm like she belongs there. Because she does.
“Ready to watch me win?” I whisper against her hair.
“Ready to watch you try,” she counters, that fire in her eyes that first drew me to her burning bright.
The girls line up along the makeshift finish line, their faces illuminated by the harsh glow of portable floodlights. Bianca’s eyes lock with mine across the distance. She bites her lower lip, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Your girl looks ready to devour you,” Vane says, revving his engine beside me.
“She’ll have plenty to celebrate when I win,” I reply, adjusting my position on my neon blue Aprilia.
I glance over at Xavier, who’s usually laser-focused before a race. Tonight, he keeps looking over at Mira, who’s wearing his leather jacket. The red of his bike matches the flush on her cheeks as she watches him. His attention is split—a rare vulnerability I intend to exploit.
Landon sits rigid on his white Ducati, his jaw clenched beneath his helmet. Without Sadie here, he seems more hollow and mechanical than usual, and that’s saying something.
“Looks like I’ve only got one real competitor tonight,” I mutter to myself, eyeing Vane.
I catch Bianca’s gaze one last time and give her a slow, deliberate wink before pulling on my blue helmet. Her smile widens, and she crosses her arms over her chest like she’s holding back laughter, ready to erupt.
A tall man with a checkered flag steps between our bikes. “Five laps! First to complete them wins the pot!”
The countdown begins, each number electrifying the air.
“Three!”
I tighten my grip.
“Two!”
I visualize the course, with its sharp turns and straightaways where I can open up.
“One!”
My heart pounds in sync with my engine.
“GO!”
We launch forward, the world blurring into streaks of light and shadow. Xavier takes the early lead, but I spot his head turning slightly toward the sidelines—toward Mira—as we hitthe first turn. That split-second of distraction is all I need. I cut inside, the space barely wide enough for my bike.
Vane’s right on my tail, his green machine hugging the curves like it’s part of him. Landon falls back almost immediately, his usual precision absent.
By lap three, it’s just me and Vane, trading positions with each turn. Xavier’s fighting to catch up, but he’s making mistakes I’ve never seen him make before.
The final lap. Vane’s green bike inches ahead as we round the sharp curve near the abandoned factory. Sweat trickles down my spine as I push my Aprilia harder, the engine screaming beneath me. One mistake at this speed means broken bones— that’s assuming you survive.
I spot an opening on the inside of the final turn. It’s risky—barely enough room for my bike—but I’m not about to lose. Not with Bianca watching.
I drop my shoulder, leaning in so far that my knee nearly scrapes the concrete. The world blurs, my focus narrowing to that razor-thin path between victory and disaster.
For a heartbeat, I’m sure I’ve miscalculated. Then my bike shoots forward, past Vane’s front wheel. His curse cuts through the roar of engines as I cross the finish line, tires smoking as I skid to a dramatic halt.
The crowd erupts. I rip off my helmet, adrenaline making everything sharper—the lights, the sounds, Bianca’s smile as she runs toward me.
“Told you I’d win,” I say, pulling her against me.
