Chapter 1
Alex tightened the strap on his helmet and exhaled. The air smelled like gasoline and dirt—just the way he liked it. Redwater Springs was nothing like his old town. It was hotter, dustier, and the track sprawled out like a battlefield waiting to be conquered.
Las Nevadas Competitive Dirt Biking—LNC for short—had taken him in after he moved here. New town, new team. He was ready.
"Alex, right?" a voice called out.
He turned to see a man in a red windbreaker with LNC’s emblem on the chest. The guy had graying hair and a clipboard in one hand. His face was creased with the kind of lines that came from years of squinting into the sun, watching racers fly past.
"Yeah, that’s me," Alex said, shifting his helmet under his arm.
"Name’s Hector Reyes. I run training for the new guys." The man looked him up and down, eyes sharp like he was trying to measure Alex just by looking at him. "You’ve raced before?"
"A couple years."
"Good. But here, we do things different." Hector motioned toward the track behind them. "See that?"
Alex turned. The Redwater Springs track was massive, with jumps that seemed almost too steep, turns that curled like a snake ready to snap at anyone who wasn’t quick enough. But the easy track—closer, smoother, with lower jumps—was where Hector pointed.
"You’ll start there," Hector said. "It’s not about speed yet. It’s about control."
Alex held back a grin. Control? He had plenty of that.
"Go on," Hector said, stepping aside. "Let’s see what you’ve got."
Alex slipped his helmet on, walked over to his bike, and swung his leg over it. The engine rumbled to life beneath him, steady, like a heartbeat. He revved it once, twice, then kicked off, rolling onto the track.
The easy course was, well, easy. Too easy. The jumps were tame, the turns wide and forgiving. He leaned into them, took them clean, but his hands itched for more. More speed, more height, more—
A sharp curve came up ahead, and just beyond it, he spotted the hard track, separated by a small dirt embankment. And on that track—racers.
Alex barely had time to process it before his body made the decision for him. He took the curve hard, gunning the throttle. His bike shot forward, and just as the embankment loomed—
He launched.
For a second, there was nothing but air. The roar of his engine was gone. The ground was far beneath him.
Then he landed.
Hard, but clean. The tires gripped the dirt, the suspension absorbed the impact, and he was already moving before he had time to think.
The racers around him barely had time to react. Some turned their heads, surprised, others just kept going, laser-focused. But Alex? He was grinning.
This was where he belonged.
He leaned into the next turn, faster than before. The bike beneath him hummed like it knew exactly what he wanted. Riders ahead of him were already lined up for a jump, their backs hunched, their movements practiced.
He wasn’t just going to follow. He was going to pass them.
Alex cranked the throttle and surged forward.
The first jump—he cleared it. The second—he landed smooth. The third—
Someone was right beside him now. A bigger rider, with a dark blue racing suit, “MANBERG” stamped across the back. Number 22.
Johnathan.
Alex didn’t know the guy, but he’d heard of him. Eight years of racing, one of MCD’s top guys. Serious. Focused. No-nonsense.
Johnathan turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at Alex. Then he faced forward again, like he didn’t care.
Alex grinned.
Fine. If Johnathan wasn’t going to take him seriously, he’d make him.
The next jump was coming up. A big one. Alex braced, timed it just right, and launched.
This time, he didn’t just land clean. He landed ahead.
For the first time, Johnathan actually reacted. He twisted the throttle, catching up fast, his front wheel nearly brushing Alex’s back tire. The two of them tore through the track, kicking up dirt, weaving between other riders like they weren’t even there.
Alex didn’t know how long they went at it. Seconds? Minutes? All he knew was the rush. The speed. The thrill.
Then, up ahead—Hector. Standing by the track, arms crossed. Watching.
Reality hit Alex all at once.
He wasn’t supposed to be here.
His bike skidded as he slowed, pulling off to the side. His heart was still pounding as he yanked off his helmet. The other racers shot past, Johnathan included, but Alex was done.
Hector walked over, slow. His face was unreadable.
"That," he said, voice even, "was one hell of a jump."
Alex swallowed. "I, uh—"
"Don’t do it again."
Alex blinked. "Wait, what?"
"You think I’m mad?" Hector said, shaking his head. "Kid, you just cleared jumps half the new guys wouldn’t dare touch. But that wasn’t control. That was you showing off."
Alex bit the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t wrong.
Hector sighed, then gave a small smirk. "Come back tomorrow. We’ll do this the right way."
Alex nodded.
As he walked off the track, helmet in hand, he swore he could feel someone watching him.
Johnathan.
Alex turned his head, just in time to see Johnathan glance away, like he hadn’t been looking in the first place.
Alex grinned.
This was going to be fun.
Alex was still grinning when he felt a shoulder bump into his. Not hard, but not exactly friendly either.
Johnathan.
The guy didn’t stop, didn’t even look at him at first—just kept walking past like Alex wasn’t worth his time. But as he passed, he muttered, just loud enough to be heard,
"You keep pulling stunts like that, you won’t make it."
Then he was gone, striding off toward the rest of the MCD riders without a second glance.
Alex turned, watching him go.
The grin on his face didn’t fade. If anything, it grew.
"Oh, I’ll make it," he said under his breath. "You’ll see."