“Some out-of-towners rode through here last night causing trouble. The sheriff’s had his hands full tracking them down.”

This was the part where I would say something consoling, but I was pretty creeped out myself. I am not led? It sounded like some cult bullshit. “I’m sure they’re gone by now,” I assured her, though it sounded more like a question.

“I hope so.” She pointed her soapy sponge at me. “You be careful, hear?”

“I will.” I brought the Ducati back to life, shoved my helmet on, and headed for the open road. Late that night, I was scrubbing my dinner dishes clean after another night of ‘grilled cheese for one’ when my phone chimed. Anticipation didn’t allow me to dry my hands before I hurriedly flipped open my phone.

It’s a go. Curtis Pond Rd. Usual time.

The crowd parted, and I coasted through on the back of the orange, black, and white Ducati. No one ever asked questions, so I never had to explain why I showed up on a different bike every race. Borrowing bikes I helped to fix in Gruff’s shop without his knowledge was risky business, but so far, my luck held.

Spotting Mickey’s brown tattooed skin and shoulder-length dreads as he talked to another rider on the sideline, I stopped at the marked line and lifted my helmet. The smell of decay from the swamp on the other side of the trees hit me instantly. A tense Mickey swaggered over as fast as his sagging jeans would allow.

“I should have given your spot away. You know,” he said with sarcasm dripping from every syllable, “to someone who actually bids to race and can show up on time.”

I just barely kept from rolling my eyes. Mickey had a violent track record, but he didn’t scare me. I was too valuable. I pretended not to notice him checking me out as I laughed and leaned forward. Worn black and yellow leather creaked as I rested my forearms on the handlebars. “I had algebra homework, and we both know you’d lose way more than you’d make if you cut me out.” I could always count on Mickey’s bet in my favor because he could always count on me to win.

Fourteen races and I was still undefeated.

Riders spend thousands of dollars on an advantage only to be showed up by a sixteen-year-old girl who proved more than once that it’s the rider who wins races.

Mickey didn’t crack a smile like he usually did when I sassed him. Instead, he glanced to my left, averting my attention. My competition waited astride a silver Ninja ZX-10R. It was faster, so I’d have to be clever.

As I admired the bike, I peeped at the bold black X painted on the side. Unlike the one vandalizing Patty’s window, this one had a fox and crow’s head inside the top and bottom angle, a nineteen and eighty-seven inside the left and right, and a ribbon that read, I am not led across the middle. The very same was tattooed on the rider’s hair-dusted hand. A short, stocky body covered in black leather was all I could make out since he’d kept his helmet on. He didn’t bother to return the favor of checking out his competition, but the small crowd standing on the left side of the clearing had no such reservations. My palms began to sweat under their scrutiny. I was used to animosity, but this felt different. There was promise in their eyes if I won—a threat not to show up their friend. Despite my unease, I smirked at the lot earning a few bared teeth.

“As much as I love your fire, Four, be careful with this one, alright? He and those fools he’s with don’t sit right with me. My crew feels the same way.” It was then I noticed most of the usual crowd waited on the right shoulder of the back road away from the riffraff.

“Then why let him race?”

He shrugged powerful shoulders. “Because his money’s green either way.”

My thighs tensed around the Ducati, and my stomach rolled as I studied Mickey. “Who’d you bet on?”

Light brown eyes laughed, and it was his turn to smirk. “You.”

I felt myself relax knowing I’d still have a friend if I crossed the finish line first. Mickey was always the one left defusing the uproar when money was lost. I felt bad for putting him in the position, but he was also the reason it was still safe for me to return.

“Alright, snowflake, you know the rules. No bullshit.”

“Told you not to call me that!” I shouted at his back. “Racial slurs go both ways. You wouldn’t like it if I called you chocolate thunder!”

He laughed, flashing his gold grill, and waved me off as he joined his boys on the sideline. They began to yell encouragement as they rubbed their hands together in anticipation of the money I’d make them if I won.

Some redhead strutted by in heels and shorts so far up her crack that her firm ass hung from the hem. She lifted two red flags in the air once she stood centered between us.

There wasn’t much left to say or do now that bets had been placed. No one wanted to risk someone coming along and calling the cops. I shoved my helmet on and said a silent prayer. I usually pictured myself crossing the finishing line to get my head in the game, but instead, I was drawn back to the small crowd of thirty or so. Behind them were a couple of bikes and a few cars and trucks lined up on the shoulder. Just as I was ready to flip my visor down, a man dressed in faded blue jeans and an even more faded gray T-shirt stepped into my line of vision. He had the same X tattooed on the side of his neck. Once he had my attention, he lifted his shirt just enough for my heart to skip a beat as I locked eyes on the gun tucked into his waist. While I wasn’t sure if cult members carried guns, I was pretty certain these guys weren’t religious zealots. My next breath shuddered out of me at the clear warning.