Broken Hands

10. Deadly race

The engines thundered through the midnight air, echoing across the empty streets. Shadows of wild laughter and a touch of rebellion filled the night; the outlaws were back. The notorious street racers, young and reckless with YOLO as theme, roared through the city on their monstrous bikes. Among them, Grayson felt a dark sense of freedom. Here, he didn't have to pretend or bury the chaotic spirit that fueled him; he could just be that little imp.

"Ain't gonna let you slack off, man! Tear it up!" Aiden yelled, his voice barely audible over the growling motors, his eyes lighted with excitement.

Grayson grinned back, ignoring his helmet. Tonight, he wanted nothing between him and the danger—the wind, the rush, the electric thrill. He glanced down the line of more than fifteen bikers, each one as fast and reckless as the next, all revving up for the night's race. The prize was a tempting $1,000, but for Grayson, it wasn't about the money; it was about the pure euphoria of the ride, of leaving everything behind.

"READY!" The host called out, his voice slicing through the noise. The sharp crack of a gunshot echoed, signaling the start.

Grayson roared his bike to life, charging forward as the world blurred around him. The other riders surged alongside him, hollering and whooping, the night swallowing their sounds as they tore through the street like bullets. The heavy engine sounds filled his ears, but he pushed himself further, overtaking one rider, then another, until he was in third place. His heart pounded as the first-place rider, a towering figure on a massive bike, sped ahead, his machine seemingly unstoppable.

The road narrowed, a sharp crack splitting it in two— on the right a safe but long road, and on the left— a shortcut known as "Death Bridge," which would bring him closer to the finish line but carried a deadly risk. The drop was steep, the jump deadly. If he missed, he'd crash hard. Was it worth it? Grayson clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing as the wind whipped his face. Yes.

Grayson leaned forward, gripping the handlebars, his knuckles white. He didn't care about the consequences. At that moment, it was just him, his bike, and the dark, mortal road that screamed his name. He hit full speed, the roar of the engine blending with the rush of adrenaline, and shot toward the cracked gap in the road. Time seemed to freeze as he launched into the air, his body feeling weightless as if his spirit was levitating above reality, the ground a dizzying blur beneath him. For an instant, fear tugged at him, but he pushed it down, landing with a brutal jolt that almost sent him crashing. He regained control, his bike barely steady, and tore down the road, making a sharp left turn that threw him back on the course. He rocketed toward the finish line, passing his last competitor with ease and crossing first.

As soon as he crossed the finish line, a roar of cheers and applause filled his ears as he skidded to a halt, his pulse still pounding like the beat of a drum.. Aiden was there, eyes wide and mouth agape. "You took the death bridge, man! You're insane!"

Grayson smirked, his adrenaline still pumping, as the host—a man with a blond mohawk and a devilish grin—strode over, a bag of money in hand. "Winner of the night," he declared, offering Grayson the prize.

The man attempted to clap Grayson on the shoulder, but Grayson pulled back instinctively, the reflex of someone who had learned trust was a rare gift. The man only chuckled, unfazed, and handed him a small, sleek card.

"Impressive, kid. I'd love to see you in something bigger. There's a competition coming up, real stakes," the man said, adjusting his tinted goggles. "Give me a call if you're interested."

Grayson stared at the card, a slight rush of pride mingling with the lingering thrill of victory. Aiden slapped him on the back, laughing. "Dude! That's Eddie Race! He chose you!"