Page 85 of Endo
He leans back again, settling into his dismissive pose, his eyes glinting with something cold and unyielding. “Now, get back to your bike, Lena. Race is about to start, and I’ve got money riding on you. Or, more accurately, on Cruz’s bike. That engine’s enough to carry anyone to the finish line... even you.”
The words slice through the air, cutting deeper than any insult. He takes another swig of his beer, dismissing me entirely as he shifts his attention back to the blonde, as if I was never even there.
My hands tremble at my sides, the sting of tears burning behind my eyes. I swallow them down, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Unbelievable,” I mutter, shaking my head.
The implication—that it’s the bike, not me, that’s worth betting on—hits like a slap. I feel the breath leave my lungs, but I don’t let it show. Instead, I straighten, my jaw tightening.
“Enjoy your night, Reign,” I say, my voice steadier than I expected. Without waiting for a response, I turn on my heel and walk away, my boots crunching against the asphalt.
The noise of the crowd presses in around me, but it’s muffled, distant. All I can hear is the roaring in my ears, all I can feel is the weight of his words, the sting of his smirk.
I make it back to my bike, my helmet still perched where I left it. My hands tremble as I pick it up, the cool metal grounding me for a moment. But the anger is still there, simmering beneath the surface, and I know it won’t fade anytime soon.
I turn and walk away, my heart hammering in my chest. The crowd presses in, the noise of laughter and revving engines drowning out the sound of my own thoughts.
I force myself to focus on the race.
The startingline hums with tension, the air thick with the acrid scent of gasoline and burnt rubber. I settle onto Cruz’s bike, the engine vibrating beneath me like a live wire. The other racers pull into position, their headlights slicing through the darkness. Neon lights from the strip bounce off the polished metal of their bikes, making them look like predators ready to pounce.
I glance to my left, catching Owen’s eye. He’s smirking, his predatory grin as sharp as a blade. His bike is a monstrous black-and-green machine, the Vipers’ emblem emblazoned on the side. Owen’s reputation precedes him—vicious, merciless, and always surrounded by his gang of men who’d sooner run you off the road than lose a race. They don’t just race; they dominate, and they play dirty.
The flag drops, and my heart lurches as I twist the throttle. The bike surges forward, the roar of engines erupting around me like thunder. The wind tears at my hair, my jacket, my very thoughts, but it can’t drown out the chaos in my head.
Reign. That smirk. That girl.
The image of him lounging on Draygon’s car, looking so indifferent, so untouchable, burns in my mind. The wayhe dismissed me, like I was nothing more than a fleeting annoyance, makes my chest tighten. The sting of it, the anger, the hurt—it’s all-consuming, and it’s costing me.
The first turn comes fast, and I lean into it, the bike responding like it’s an extension of me. But my focus isn’t where it should be. I miss the optimal line, and Owen capitalizes, cutting in front of me and forcing me to slam the brakes. My tires screech against the asphalt, the bike skidding slightly before I wrestle it back under control.
“Focus, Lena,” I mutter under my breath, but my voice is drowned out by the cacophony of engines and the rush of wind.
The pack is brutal tonight. Bikes jostle for position, their riders leaning close, elbows out like weapons. The Vipers are particularly ruthless, cutting corners and blocking passes with the precision of a well-oiled machine. It’s not a race to them; it’s a war.
The straightaway offers a brief reprieve, and I push Cruz’s bike to its limit. The speedometer climbs, the wind biting at my exposed skin as I close the gap between me and the pack. My heart pounds in sync with the engine, adrenaline coursing through my veins. But then, on the next turn, one of Owen’s men swerves recklessly, clipping a Heathen. The impact sends both bikes careening off the track, metal screeching against asphalt as they tumble.
The crash is deafening, and for a moment, all I can see is chaos—sparks, shredded leather, and bodies hitting the ground. Memories of Cruz’s accident flood my mind, paralyzing me with a wave of fear and grief. My grip on the handlebars tightens as I force myself to look away, but the damage is done. My rhythm is shattered, and the rest of the pack surges ahead.
The final stretch looms, and I push harder, but it’s not enough. Owen crosses the line first, arms raised in smugtriumph. Another Viper follows close behind, and I barely scrape into fourth.
As I park the bike, Owen saunters over, his grin even more infuriating up close. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with a shaved head and tattoos snaking up his neck. His eyes gleam with malice, the kind that promises trouble.
“Nice try,” he says, his tone dripping with mockery. “But you know the rules, sweetheart. Cruz’s bike is ours now.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut. My hands clench into fists as I swing off the bike, planting myself between him and it. “Like hell it is. Since when does the winner collect pink slips?”
Owen’s grin falters, his tone hardening. “Aw did biker barbie not read the fine print when she signed up? Sounds like a personal problem. You lost, and we don’t make exceptions.”
I glance around, taking in the crowd that’s gathered. The noise is deafening—cheers, jeers, and murmurs of anticipation. My heart races, but not from the adrenaline of the race. I can’t lose the bike. It’s not just metal and parts—it’s Cruz. It’s the last piece of him I have.
“You cheated,” I snap, stepping closer. “Your guys were pushing me off the road the entire race. I want a redo.”
The crowd buzzes with tension as Owen’s grin turns into a sneer. “A redo? That’s cute. But this isn’t a playground, princess. You lost. Now hand it over.”
Owen steps forward, shoving me hard enough to make me stumble. My heart pounds, and before I can react, the Demons are there.
Reign and Revel move like a storm, shoving through the crowd. Reign’s face is a mask of cold fury as he grabs the guy who shoved me, slamming him against the nearest car. Revel’s not far behind, his knuckles cracking as he moves to back up Reign.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Reign growls, his voice low and lethal.
