𝐒 𝐏 𝐑 𝐈 𝐍 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 [max verstappen x oc]

four

Her hands gripped the handlebars, revving her engine as the flag girl raised the black and white checkered cloth. 

A familiar pit burned in Lena's stomach, anticipation mixed with fear, as all noise faded away leaving only the sound of her own breath. 

The flag girl grinned devilishly as she swung the flag down, and the race began. 

Lena's muscle memory kicked in as she sped off, swerving around bikers with slow starts and pulling ahead of the inexperienced ones. She tried to ignore the biker who'd been watching her from earlier, but they found eachother side by side as the engines roared in their ears and their tires lined up ont he concrete. 

Lena clenched her jaw and pushed the bike harder, satisfaction entering her gut when the biker began to slip behind her and appear in her side-mirror. Bye, bye.

She'd raced this track before--it stayed mostly on abandoned highways but there was an underground portion that went completely pitch black, making it one of the harder races she'd had to do. Lena scowled as her tires scraped against the concrete and pressed her chest against the frame, leaning down as the tunnel came into sight. 

The black-cladded biker was still in her rear-view mirror, inching closer and closer, as as Lena tried to measure the distance between them, she was caught by surprise when everything went pitch black. The tunnel. 

The lane drifted left, so Lena gripped the bike and began to lean, trusting her instinct and her memory. Suddenly, she felt a gust of wind close to her and the sound of another motorbike a lot closer than it used to be. This fucking guy, again. Lena had no prove it was the expensive looking biker from before, but something told her that he was going to be giving her more trouble than it was worth. 

The tunnel disappeared and the light from streetlamps illuminated the road in front of her, including the biker that was now pulling away from her. 

"Fuck!" Lena cursed under her helmet and sped up, ignoring the strain of the metal on her bike and the burn in her thighs as she squeezed the seat. She wasn't going to let this guy beat her--no one was allowed to beat her. Lena decided it was time for some racing. 

Lena didn't like having to actually use her skills, but admittadly, it brought a grin to her lips. She swerved behind him so she was directly in line, revving her engine as loud as she could and smiling when the biker turned his head to see. 

Gotcha, motherfucker.

Kicking her bike forward, Lena swiveled to his right and pushed the bike as far as it could go, nearing the point of break. The biker made a noise as she fell parallel to him, a groan of discouragement or maybe anger. Either way, he was now distracted which worked perfectly with Lena's plan. Realizing that she wasn't going to beat him with speed, she steadied on her bike and carefully leaned her booted foot out, inching closer to the biker who didn't seem to notice as he was too busy trying to speed up. He didn't notice when her foot grazed his leg, however he paused and turned his helmet back to her. Lena grinned, knowing he couldn't see her face, and with a grunt, she kicked his bike as hard as she possibly could without sending him toppling over. Out of confusion and shock, the biker slowed down and allowed Lena to race forward, taking the lead with the finish line in sight. 

He never caught up to her as the checkered flag waved in front of her eyes and she brought her bike to a stop. Marcus sprinted over to her, the biggest smile she'd ever seen plastered across his face as he decorated her helmet with kisses and embraced her. She awkwardly patted him on the shoulder and got off her bike as her nemesis biker pulled through second. Whoever it was stopped his bike a few yards from her and Lena curiously, and shamelessly, watched as he got off the bike. 

She was surprised to seem him walking over to her, head still covered by the helmet, but his balled fists gave him away. Lena fixed her posture and took a breath. 

"You race dirty." The man's voice was muffled but she could tell he wasn't from around here. His accent didn't sound French, or even Italian, more German or Austrian. 

Lena shrugged. "Check the rules. I didn't do anything I wasn't allowed to."

He was quiet for a second, as if contemplating what he was going to say next. He reached up and unlatched his helmet, pulling it off and revealing his face underneath. 

The man was...attractive. As dickish as he was acting, Lena could admit he was a good-looking man. Jet black hair, blue eyes, jawline for days. There was a scar right underneath his left eye, about an inch long, and Lena wondered what he had done to get it. She had to blink in order to snap herself out of her trance as she was staring at him. 

"I've never raced in Monaco before. I hope I don't see you again." With that, he turned and walked away as calm as ever. Lena stood, confused on what just happened but decided to ignore it and collect her cash. 

Marcus shuffled over to her with a stack of money and a relieved look on his face. "I can't thank you enough. Fabrizio gave me your cut."

Resisting the urge to snap at him, Lena just sighed and took the money from his hands, counting it up to a reasonable sum. She pointed her finger at Marcus. "Never again. I don't care if they have a gun to your head next time."

Marcus just nodded sheepishly and thanked her again before leaving her to dwell on her conversation with the biker. Despite not recognizing him, he did look vaguely familiar. 

_________________________________________________

When she got back to her apartment that night, she couldn't shake the eerie feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong. After racing she always had that pit in her stomach--maybe the cops would show up at her door, or an angry client would return with a vengeance. But this was different.

As she stood on her porch, staring into the night sky and ignoring Wesley's messages, Lena began to wonder what she was doing with her life. Bike racing, living paycheck to paycheck, part-time photographer? None of it was right, none of it was fulfilling. She'd been living like this so long, Lena was realizing that a part of her was dying inside, that joy she used to feel as a kid was withering away. Although it might seem like that was what happens when you grow older, Lena wasn't ready to let go of it. Not yet. 

That night, when she lay in bed praying for at least three hours of sleep before she went to work, a tear slipped from her eyes--the first in a very long time.