𝐒 𝐏 𝐑 𝐈 𝐍 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 [max verstappen x oc]

one

Steam blew into Lena's eyes but she couldn't blink, not for a second. 

The wind whipped around her head, thankfully shielded by a helmet, by the sound of it was enough to make her go deaf in one ear. 

Scents of gasoline and sweat filled her nose and she scrunched it, unable to tear her eyes off of the road in front of her. More specifically, the Harley that was hardly three seconds in front of her. 

Revving her engine, Lena battled with the bike, pushing it harder and harder as the gap began to close and she could hear the man in front of her cursing in French. 

Dommage, connard.

Only a mile left to go. That means two minutes to pass this motherfucker and make some distance. 

Her fingers tensed, cramping from her grip on the bike but she ignored it. 

A turn was coming up and Lena tightened her legs around the bike, squeezing hard as she turned. 

The Harley was getting closer and she smiled, resisting the urge to flip the bitch off as she overtook him. She couldn't silence her laugh, however, as the Harley appeared in her mirror, It's red and yellow paint growing dimmer by the second as the gap increased. 

Ahead of her was a thin red tape, held by two flag-girls that were dressed in, as you can imagine, very little clothing. 

Lena's grip tightened again, inhaling one last time before she flew over the finish line, releasing her breath and spinning the bike to the side as she watched the rest of the disappointed drivers finish. 

She pulled her helmet off and undid her hair so it could flow down her back. It was a nice little 'fuck you' to the rest of the drivers so they knew they'd been beaten by a girl. 

Lena's eyes scanned the crowd and smiled as they landed on a tall man who was making his way over to her. 

Her lips pulled into a smile when she saw the wad of cash in his hands. 

______________________________________________________

"You know, you don't have to keep doing that."

Lena grinned, running a hand through her hair as she kicked her foot over the side of the bike to stand up. "Aw, come on, Leo. You and I both know it wouldn't be as fun if there wasn't a fight."

He scowled.

Leonardo Milante, an awkward man from France who had moved to Monaco after his wife divorced him. Most knew him from finance where he worked at one of the bigger firms in Monaco, however Lena knew him as her client. Or maybe she was his client? Their relationship was confusing--basically, she would get on the bike and he would bet money on her. Like insider trading! Except there was no doubt in either of their minds that she was crossing the finish line first.

He'd contacted her a few times over the past year, each time offering more and more money. Leo was only one of many hires she'd gotten. Lena worked with many people--it didn't matter who they were as long as they had a stack of cash for her after she got off the bike. Did she like her life? Not particularly. But she liked racing.

Leo ran a hand through his thick black hair. "Just...don't scare me like that. It's Alice's birthday tomorrow..."

Daughter, she assumed.

Lena shrugged. "Whatever, dude. Pay up, I have work tomorrow."

He nodded and reached into his pocket, sifting through bills before handing her the stack. "Here. This should cover it."

Despite her suspect, she stuffed it into her pocket and kicked her bike-stand back. "Great. Try not to contact me for a while, please. I'd rather not get arrested!"

Leo's eyes widened a bit but he nodded and backstepped away, disappearing in the crowd as Lena was finally left alone. She spied some of her competitors glaring at her from afar, slowly making their way over and she took that as her sign to get out.

She clipped her helmet into her bike and took off. 

She wasn't always like this. Bike racing in the streets of Monaco isn't exactly every little girls' dream job, but then again, Lena's day job wasn't a cake-walk either.

When Lena was very little, her father would always tell her that she was destined to be great. Even when they were starving and job-hunting in Madrid, her father never gave up hope that Lena would make it big. In what, he didn't know.

But on her thirteenth birthday, when he bought Lena her first moterbike, it became very clear. That moterbike costed him an entire months rent. Lena wouldn't let him regret it.

It started with friends. They would race up and down the blocks of Spain, betting small candies or coins for whoever won. Then, once Lena was older, she was introduced to the real stuff.

She could admit, it was terrifying at first. Everyone around her was older and more experienced. They had real bikes, not some dirty moterbike that's wheels were barely hanging on. But Lena learned a very valuable lesson: it's not about how expensive or high-end your materials are, it's about how bad you want it. And she wanted it bad.

Within three months, Lena had made enough money racing to get herself a new bike, and to finally buy an apartment for her parents. They were....suspicious. But Lena would only smile and tell them work was going well.

Ah, right. Work. This is the tricky part.

Moterbike racing became illegal in the early 2000s, only a few years after Lena had been born. So this secret life of hers would have to remain a secret from everyone.

Enrolling in college and racing on the side was hard, but she managed to get a degree in, wait for it....

Photography.

Lena's was pretty good at it, too. She was hired by a Madrid football company and made decent money. She even had a thing set up with ESPN, meaning whenever they needed her, she'd get paid to come take photos of anything they wanted. It was a nice life.

Lena had a few slip-ups, though. Taken into custody twice, multiple warnings, not to mention her little fiasco in France with the rigged bike. Let's just say a lot of people had Lena on their 'do not trust' list.

She slammed the door shut behind her, kicked her boots off and tossing her helmet onto the couch. Lena's apartment was small, mostly because she didn't have enough money for anyway more, but also because she didn't find a need for space. She was hardly home anyway.

Lena grabbed a frozen sandwich and a bottle of white wine from her fridge before unwrapping the aluminum and tossing her dinner into the microwave.

Not exactly a five Michellin star meal, but Lena found there was nothing better than getting wine-drunk with decent food and watching crappy Monagasque shows.

A few hours later, Lena was drifting off into fast sleep while the empty wine bottle made its way to the floor.

a/n: this is the edited version, it just makes more sense tbh