— OK. I agree to give you a chance on one condition.
— What condition?
— You hide the fact that you are a woman.
I jumped at the chance even though I didn't like the fact that I was hiding who I was. I was proud to be a woman in an essentially male environment.
— Okay.
— Don't frown like that, gorgeous. Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against women on motorbikes. It's just that some of the competitors might not want to race alongside you. It's what I do for a living. You're cute, but I wouldn't sacrifice my income for your ass. You'll be a runner like the rest. You have to prove yourself to stay in the race and whatever happens, I'm not responsible for you. You run at your own risk. Don't come crying to me if you crash your bike.
I hadn't thought about it for more than ten seconds. Finally, I had a chance. I didn't want to let it slip away.
— When do I start?
Well hidden under my leather jacket and my opaque visor, I had won my first race the very next evening. This was followed by a long series of victories, as well as a few defeats, and above all, a solid friendship. Diego had said that he would not take me under his wing. In theory, perhaps, in practice, he was never far from me, like an older brother looking after the youngest member of the family.
I can see him striding towards me.
— Hi Alex.
— Hi. How's the evening going?
— It's great.
Perfect That means there's a lot of bets and the winner gets a lot of money. I don’t spit on a few cash. It pays my rent and allows me a few extras such as a movie or a restaurant, plus the maintenance of my big car which I look after in my spare time.
— Alex, be careful.
Diego looks worried. He looks left and right, looking for something.
— As usual. Is there any problem?
He rubs his completely shaved head.
I don't know. See the guy on the red ninja? The one right in front of the starting line?
I look at the place he pointing and I see the kawazaki he is talking about. The rider, wearing a helmet, looks like all the other competitors.
— Yes.
— There are rumours about him.
Diego tilts his head. He's never been more interested in rumours. They're often untrue, by the way. There's even one about me that says I never take my helmet off because I'm disfigured after a serious accident. If Diego is interested in this particular gossip, there must be a good reason.
— What sort of things?
— The kind that gets you in the hospital or the morgue.
I don't like what I'm hearing. Some people will do anything to win, even the worst.
— What can I expect?
— It seems that he has a preference for sudden swerves to send his opponents into a tailspin.
— Why is he still running?
— Because the victims were in no condition to confirm the police's suspicions. Vegetables and dead people don't talk and you know there are never any witnesses in these events.
Yeah, I know. Strangely enough, as soon as there's an accident, everyone vanishes in a minute, just taking the time to call for help. That's the way it is, that's the rule of the game. When you participate in underground races, you know the risks and you accept them.
— Don't worry about me. I'll make sure I keep him in my rearview mirror.
If he's far behind me, he can't harm me. Diego nods, still worried.
— We meet at the finish line.
I crack my neck and then roll my shoulders to relax my contracted muscles. Diego will soon give the starting signal. It's time to clear my mind and remember the course. One kilometre of bitumen consisting of turns and broad straight lines in the middle of traffic. A kilometre where every decision can cost you your life. I inhale and exhale deeply several times in a row. I am an ace in my field. However, I am not immune to the unexpected.
Chapter 2
Alexa
My body is white-hot, my feet firmly planted on the ground, and I stare intently at Diego. The roar of my motorbike reverberates throughout my body. I merge with my machine. I become one with my GSXR. My bike is my baby. I take care of it every day, I regularly maintain its engine, and I make sure that everything is in good working order and in good condition. With a car, a fault will cause an accident, but not necessarily your death. On two wheels, the slightest incident can be fatal. There is no bodywork to protect you. If you fall, it is your body that is smashed to the ground. That's why I look after my bike like the most precious of jewels. It is entirely original - why go and modify a flawless piece of silverware? - except for the suspension. I'm pretty short, even for a woman. So I had it lowered so that my feet could touch the road.
Diego finally steps up to the starting line, raising my stress level. We are twelve participants. Twelve excited bikers dreaming of victory, knowing that there will only be one winner. Some of them are roaring their engines, playing with the throttle to impress their opponents. I don't pay much attention. I only pay attention to the flag in the organiser's hand. As soon as he drops it on the ground, the bikes start. The first few seconds are decisive. Everything begins at the start. If you fall behind in the first few metres, you're finished. You will never catch up. This is also the moment of danger. In the rush to take the lead, there are many careless mistakes. The kind of mistake that makes you fall or knock over a competitor, like the rider of this green Kawazaki who just clipped the tyre of the bike in front of him before sliding sideways. His paint job is not going to be pretty. I don't linger to see if the rider gets up or not. The fall was not brutal. In any case, he won't be hurt badly. At worst, a broken leg if it got stuck under the bike. On my side, I pick up speed, swallowing the tarmac as if I had fire on my heels. The wind rushes under the collar of my jacket, caressing my skin with vigour. I love this feeling. The lights of the city flash before my eyes, the competitors are still visible in my rear view mirror. However, most of them are already too far away to have any chance of catching me. The biggest danger at the moment is the traffic. It is Saturday evening. There are many vehicles in the street. Young revellers going out to a nightclub or going to a bar for a drink. I take care to slalom as little as possible so as not to lose speed. Unfortunately, a 4X4 comes along without warning and forces me to swerve. This is the opportunity my opponent was waiting for to go on the offensive. I can hear it before I see it. His engine roars under the powerful acceleration and the Kawasaki that Diego asked me to watch out for bursts into my field of vision like a fury. As I concentrate on straightening my own bike to regain speed after the necessary slowing down earlier, my opponent pushes his throttle hard.
He rides up the line of cars like a madman, not paying attention to the other drivers. The drivers are forced to move aside to let him pass between the lanes, at the risk of creating a collision. I can see where he gets his reputation from. He is more interested in winning than in his own life, but
