“Okay, ready!” Evita flies out of the bathroom while sliding her silver sandals on.
“No judging,” I warn her before I slide my all-white Adidas on. She laughs while grabbing our room keys and shoving them in her over the shoulder bag. I grab my sunglasses out of my bag and follow her out the door. Right as I step into the hallway, my phone vibrates in my pocket. Pulling it out, my father’s name flashes on the screen. I open the text, holding my breath.
Father: Don’t mess this up.
I grunt, completely pissed at his lack of faith. No matter how perfect a job, he will never acknowledge just how much of an asset I’ve become to him. It makes me feel sick that I want his approval. All I should want is to be out from under his rule and that is why this job is so important. Once it’s completed, I get three years of freedom to go to any college I want. That’s what we agreed upon. I know my father is a tyrant and I have no intention of following in his footsteps. Three years of being away from him and trying to plot my own disappearance, my one chance to live my life, rests on how quickly I can complete this mission.
“Let’s hurry,” I tell Evita when I find her watching me with sympathy in her eyes. We both are holding onto our lives by our fingertips right now. Evita may seem more resigned to her fate than I am, but I know it’s an act she puts on so she won’t break down. At least she has a chance at love waiting for her. I was taught long ago not to expect love. Because who could really love a monster?
We walk with the crowd to where the race track is. Once we get to the main gate, our tickets are scanned and we’re allowed in. Immediately, I can smell the beer stands and food stalls. Pizza, burgers, mini doughnuts, and a variety of other aromas mix and slam into me. We walk closer to where the stands are and find our seats. A chain-link fence separates the crowd from the dirt track. Evita was able to get us as close as possible with her connection and I’m glad she did. My eyes widen slightly when I see how huge the area actually is. Mountain-size mounds of dirt are randomly placed and flags line the track.
After we take our seats, Evita runs off to grab a couple of drinks. Young boys and girls ride their bikes around the track while the crowd cheers and laughs. Some of the kids are so young, they have to push their bikes up the dirt piles. I chuckle along with the crowd while the announcer is humorously commentating.
“Okay,” Evita suddenly says next to me, plopping back down in her seat and handing me a bottled beer, “So I talked to few guys over by the stand. They have weekend passes and come every year to this series. There are two specific clubs the riders usually go to after to party, so we just need to find out which one your guy will be at.”
I ignore the way she says my guy, as if I’m a stalker fan, and not just pursuing him to find a way to bring him to his knees. “He usually runs in a crowd of four other racers. They’ve been friends for years and are teammates.”
She nods along with what I’m saying, her eyes narrowing slightly, and I can see her internal wheels turning on how to find them. “Here, circle the names on this.” She hands me a pamphlet with each racer’s name, statistics and numbers on them. I take her pen and circle the names I remember from the file I was handed a year ago.
Sam Hamilton
Elias Martinez
Dean Osborne
Kian Wilson
Trent Nichols
Three, including Trent, are members of AfterHours racing, top leading scorers in the country, and all are reportedly the most down-to-earth guys that have ever graced the sport. I’ve been reading Motocross magazines and doing internet searches for almost a year to prepare for this. Three years ago, this group, Nichols in particular, was part of a sting operation that led to a drug bust on one of my father’s favorite pockets in Araminta. Since then, my father has made it his mission to make Trent Nichols pay for what he lost. I’m his ticket for this win, and Trent is the pass to my freedom. I just need to find out what makes him tick, pull him in, then wait for how my father plans to destroy him. I’m giving myself three months to pull this off.
I hand her back the paper, right as the huge stadium lights flare to life and the track is cleared off. Godsmack’s “Cryin’ Like A Bitch” blasts through the speakers, right as thirty different bikers come roaring onto the dirt. My eyes easily pick out number seventy-eight, the white letters crisp, against the all-black bike. His pants are black and white and his jacket is black with neon red lettering. Even from where I’m sitting, he seems larger than life. My pulse starts racing while I watch him go round the track, guiding the bike with ease, as if it’s a part of him. The air is thick with the smell of gasoline, burning rubber, and dust. A ripple of energy rips through the crowd, and even I’m affected by it. I turn to Evita and see that she is as entranced as I am. Her golden eyes are stuck on one of the racers standing off to the side, his longer hair swept back in a ponytail, and even from here, it’s clear to see how gorgeous he is.
I nudge her with my elbow and she finally looks at me, her cheeks flushed and eyes shining. “You have drool.” I smirk and point to the corner of her mouth.
“Shut it.” She laughs and shoves me back playfully.
All the riders disappear right as the lights go off. The sky is completely dark now, a small spray of stars visible. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” the announcer revs the crowd up and announces each racer one at a time. I mentally make my checklist, pairing each number to the name on my list. “Trent Nichols!” is announced and my eyes swing to the area where the riders walk out. Of course he’s number seventy-eight, the rider I couldn’t stop looking at earlier. Maino and T-Pain’s “All the Above” pounds in my ears while a spotlight tracks Trent right as he takes to the jumps, completing a double backflip before sailing through the air, his body hovering above his bike. My breath catches in my throat, stunned for a second, while my brain scrambles to see how he’ll get back on before the dirt comes up to catch him. With barely any effort on his part, Trent is able to grab his handle bars and land the trick right as the crowd goes ballistic for him. Somehow I find myself standing with them, my hands clapping slowly for him.
“Woah,” I hear Evita next to me, and I silently agree. Adrenaline spikes in my blood, as my eyes observe him from afar. Not once has he taken off his helmet, and I’m dying to see him without it. Weird thoughts like is he sweating, does he glisten, was that easy for him, is he smiling, smirking, scowling, race through my mind. My brain and my body feel foreign. I can’t help but frown at my interest and complete awe of him. My heart twinges and I don’t know why. I can’t shake the feeling something pivotal just happened and I’m not prepared for the outcome.
Scarlet
My nerves are buzzing when the race is over. I don’t want to leave the arena, but Evita insists we go and find out where the party is at. She’s friendly and flirty with everyone. Not me, I can barely keep my steps coordinated right now, my mind is so full from the race and Trent.
“How about I scope out the intel and you head back to the room? I’ll be there soon.” Evita squeezes my arm and I nod, thinking how smart she is and how useless I am right now. I need to get my thoughts straight and being in this space is not helping. Maybe it’s the fumes.