Today’s race is atypical if you look at any official competition. For example, there are going to be only ten motorcycles racing for the first ever Star Cove Moto 500 Trophy rather than the typical twenty-four to twenty-six that compete in a MotoGP race.
Another difference from official competitions is that there weren’t qualifying races before today. The plan is to eventually run proper racing weekends, which is essential if we want to be a Super Bike League racetrack and potentially attempt to bring the MotoGP to Star Cove. But today being the Inauguration Day, it has been decided to run a super quick five lap qualifier in two heats with only five bikes on the racetrack at a time. The bike with the fastest time will obviously have the pole position.
I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t relieved when Cal was placed in the first heat while I was in the second. I could beat my ex blindfolded and with one hand tied behind my back, but he isn’t a clean racer. He will use any dirty tricks he can think of to make up for his lack of skills. So, doing my five laps without worrying about him was a definite perk.
I qualified for the pole position with Ares and Lev right behind me. Cal will start in fourth place, and I can’t help throwing a smug smile in his direction as I pass him on my way out of our team’s paddock.
“Whose cock did you suck to get the fastest time, huh, little slut?”
He’s just trying to rattle me and mess with my concentration, one of Cal’s typical dirty tricks.
I know I shouldn’t engage; ignoring him would be the best response to someone who wants to start a fight.
But I just can’t. I’m nervous and a little scared, and I can’t take his heckling. “Shut up, Cal. If you have to talk shit, at least make it make sense. The clock was running on a fucking digital display for everyone to see during each heat. How would sucking someone’s cock affect the results?”
“Clocks can be tampered with.” He snarls. “Besides, you convinced Mason’s uncle to build a whole racetrack and the mayor to lift the ban to ruin my paying gig. If I hadn’t had that pretty little mouth of yours wrapped around my own cock, I would wonder how you did it. But I know exactly how skilled you are. So tell me, whose cock did you suck? Morelli’s or the mayor’s?
I know exactly what he’s doing. He’s trying to start a fight before the race. He’s done it before, knocking out some major competitors by getting them disqualified for fighting.
“Gross.” I keep my tone as calm as I can, almost bored. “They’re both old and the mayor is my stepfather. You’re disgusting.”
We get the five-minute call, and I’m thankful that Cal needs to get to the starting line rather than continuing to run his mouth.
“What did that motherfucker want?” Ares glares as he takes the spot right behind me on the starting grid.
“Ignore him.” I sigh, fiddling with the zipper of my leather race suit. “He was just trying to start a fight.”
Ares’s scowl darkens. “Oh, he’ll get a fight. Once we can prove he’s involved with the dirt bike guy, I’m gonna make sure he’ll eat all his future meals through a straw for the foreseeable future.”
“Babe,” I plead. “You have every right to be furious with him, if he’s involved. But he isn’t worth your freedom and our future.”
“I know. I’m not going to kill him, princess. I’ll just rough him up enough to teach him a lesson.”
I shake my head, waving at Lev right behind Ares. Then I lower the visor of my helmet and shift my focus to the racetrack ahead of me.
“One minute.” The call comes from the race director.
There are twenty-eight laps in this race.
I visualize the shape of the track in my head. It’s an elongated, slim shape with several challenging curves. There’s a first turn shortly after the starting line, then a couple of chicanes in rapid succession before a few stretches of straight track. A large, round curve marks the middle point of the track before several sections where the track narrows, posing a challenge for the racers.
Those are the worst spots to try to overtake someone, and if the dirt bike makes its appearance, I have a feeling it’s going to be in one of those spots.
My only perplexity is that there isn’t anywhere to hide like on campus, so the only place another bike could come onto the racetrack is from the paddocks we just left.
Mr. Morelli’s security has been keeping a close eye on every area that could potentially be used to hide, and up to this point everything seems to be in order. Dad and Scott are in constant touch with the security team, and Chance is helping to keep them informed.
The thought hits me that maybe if we wanted the dirt bike to make its appearance, we shouldn’t have been so diligent with security.
If the stray bike stayed away, it could mean that we scared them off, but it would also prove that it’s possible for me to race without being attacked.
Of course, I can’t expect this level of security everywhere I go, but it would take a considerable amount of time and resourcesto follow a professional motorcycle racer to every race location. Maybe the answer is to avoid racing locally or in the state. But the truth is that I would feel relieved if whoever wants to hurt me was caught once and for all. Not only because I want to feel safe, but because I want justice for Atlas.
It’s thirty seconds to the beginning of the race, then twenty, then ten.
My eyes are fixed on the traffic light ahead of me, my bike rears to go.
Red, amber… green.
