Chapter 9
9
LENA
Deep Dive - Zaryah
The night is thick with tension, and the purr of the engines fills the air, vibrating through my bones as I prepare for the race. I can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on me, and the anxiety clings to my skin like a second layer, suffocating me. My heart is pounding in my chest, too loud in my ears. My palms are slick with sweat inside my gloves, but I don’t let it show.
Not yet. Not when right now I feel the closest to Cruz that I have since his death.
The Demons are gathered together in the crowd, their presence magnetic and impossible to ignore. Their stares press into me, heavy with judgment, concern, and curiosity. I want to look away, to focus solely on the bike beneath me—the steady growl of Cruz’s engine, the hum of power vibrating through the cold, hard metal—but I can’t. It’s like the weight of their attention is rooting me in place, refusing to let me escape.
Revel stands by my side, tall and annoyingly composed, like he’s got the whole world figured out. His piercing green eyes gleam under the low light, sharp enough to cut through steel, and his blackout sleeve—a solid wave of ink from shoulder to wrist—looks like it was made to match his effortless swagger. His stance is so casual it borders on cocky, like he owns the ground he’s standing on without even trying. When he catches my gaze, he shoots me one of those infuriating grins, teeth gleaming against his perfectly tanned skin.
“Relax, short stack,” he says, his voice light and teasing.
I roll my eyes, but the nickname warms me in a way I’d never admit. He’s been calling me that for as long as I can remember. It used to irritate the hell out of me, but now, it’s just... Revel. Familiar. Safe. Like a tiny piece of the old days that refuses to let go.
“Relax? Is that your professional advice?” I quip, arching a brow. I try to sound confident, but there’s a tremor in my voice I can’t quite ignore.
The thumbs-up he throws my way is so smug it’s practically a challenge, and I scoff, rolling my eyes for effect. “If you’re gonna stand there grinning like that, at least try not to look so damn smug about it,” I shoot back, straightening my shoulders.
But my hands betray me, trembling slightly as I grip the handlebars of Cruz’s bike. I pray he doesn’t notice. Revel’s unshakable confidence makes my nerves worse—like he believes in me more than I believe in myself. And even though I want to fire off another snarky comment, there’s a part of me, small and quiet, that clings to his steady presence.
I glance past him, letting my gaze sweep over the others. Bexley is perched on Talon’s bike, her petite frame leaning against him as if the world itself couldn’t shake her. Her dark hair falls like a curtain over one shoulder, and there’s a casual elegance to the way she moves, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the handlebars. Talon stands close, tall and imposing, his sharp blue eyes watching everything with a quiet intensity. Beside him is Sayshen, his brother, with his haunting whiskey brown eyes and a softer demeanor, his gaze flicking toward me occasionally, assessing but not unkind. Bexley is caught between the two of them in a way that looks effortless, but there’s no mistaking the strength it takes to hold her own with both Shaw brothers.
Cece stands a few feet away, her lavender hair catching the light and gleaming like a beacon against the darkness of the night. Her leather mini-skirt hugs her figure, exuding confidence as usual. Arms crossed, her sharp eyes are watching me closely. But when I meet her gaze, her expression softens. She gives me the smallest smile, an unspoken reassurance, and it makes my chest tighten.
Revel leans in, his voice low but unmistakably playful. “Damn, Cece’s looking good tonight. Think I should go say hi? Maybe charm her a little?”
I snort, laughing despite myself. “Cece can’t stand you, Revel. But hey, if you’re in the mood to get told off, be my guest. Might actually be entertaining.”
He grins, unbothered. “A man’s gotta try, right? Who knows—she might surprise you.”
I roll my eyes, shaking my head. “Sure. Let me know how that works out for you, Romeo.”
I didn’t realize how much I missed them all until now. Seeing their familiar faces, the way they move, the unspoken bond between them—it’s a reminder of everything I’ve tried to leave behind. Cece’s smile feels like a lifeline, and I cling to it, even if I know it won’t last.
And then there’s Reign. He’s standing off to the side, his arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes unreadable as they lock onto me. His jaw is set, and his usually relaxed posture is tighter, like he’s holding something back. Reign’s presence is different from the others—it always has been. He doesn’t look at me with judgment or pity. Instead, his gaze feels heavier, like he’s trying to see through the walls I’ve built around myself. It makes me feel exposed, like he knows exactly what’s going on inside me even when I don’t.
For a moment, our eyes meet, and I can’t look away. There’s something in his expression—something unspoken but painfully familiar. It’s worry, yes, but it’s also frustration, anger, and a flicker of something softer, something that feels too close to the grief I’ve been struggling with.
I force myself to break the stare, my throat tight as I look back at the bike beneath me. Cruz’s bike. Just touching it makes me feel like I can breathe again, like he’s still here in some intangible way. Sitting on it, gripping the handlebars, hearing the engine’s low rumble—it’s as if I can feel him with me, guiding me.
But the bike also carries its own weight. It’s not just metal and mechanics; it’s history. His history. Ours. And I’m afraid of what happens if I can’t live up to it.
Bexley catches my eye, her expression warm but laced with concern. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t have to. None of them do. I know they’re worried about me—about the choices I’m making, about how I’ve pushed them all away. But this? This is something I have to do. Being here, on this bike, in front of them—it’s my way of holding onto Cruz, of proving to myself that I can keep going, even if it feels impossible most days.
It’s too much. All of it. The weight of their stares, the sound of the engine, the memories of Cruz, the pressure to prove something—not to them, but to myself. I clench the handlebars tighter, my knuckles white against the dark metal.
I glance up one last time, letting my eyes sweep over the group again. The field is packed, a dense crowd of people milling about, their conversations muffled by the thrum of loud music blasting from the stereos. Smoke from grills and bonfires fills the air, mingling with the smell of gasoline and rubber. The night is electric, charged with anticipation, and I can feel the weight of every eye on me. The group of Demons is gathered on the outskirts, still watching, still waiting. I can see the mix of emotions on their faces—concern, curiosity, maybe even a little doubt. Except for Reign. He’s not waiting for me to fail or succeed. He’s just watching, silent and steady, like he always is.
I pull my helmet off the seat of the bike, my fingers trembling just a bit as I slide it on. The cold, hard plastic feels foreign against my skin, a reminder of the danger I’m about to throw myself into. I fasten the straps tightly, the Velcro of my gloves locking into place as I secure them. The sound of the engines revving in the background sends a shiver down my spine, mixing with the roar of the crowd. I can hear the low growl of the bikes, the deep rumble of high-powered machines that make mine feel like a toy in comparison.
In front of me, the racers are already lined up, each one revving their engines in preparation. One of them is a guy I’ve seen around before, a massive brute of a man with a scar running down his face. He’s riding a custom-built Kawasaki, all black with neon green trim that makes it look like it’s been forged in fire. The other racer, a woman with short, spiky red hair, is on a sleek Yamaha, the chrome of her bike practically shining in the moonlight. The competition is fierce, and it’s only making the tension in my chest grow tighter.
Revel stands beside me, his usual cocky grin plastered on his face. He pats my shoulder, his confidence somehow rubbing off on me, but it’s like a mask over my own uncertainty. “Don’t worry,” he says, his voice full of that over-the-top bravado that’s as much a part of him as his swagger. “You’ve got this. Just breathe, keep your head, stick to your line, and you’ll finish this race like a pro.”
I nod, forcing a smile, but my stomach is in knots. “Yeah, I got it.”
The engines roar louder, and I glance at the starting line. The lights flicker, the smoke thickens as the crowd pushes forward. It’s showtime. But as I stare ahead, the reality of it all hits me like a freight train. I don’t have it. I know I don’t. But it’s too late to back out now.
With one last deep breath, I rev my bike, the engine roaring in response, and pull it forward to the starting line, the crowd’s energy vibrating beneath my feet. The noise of the other bikes fades as I focus, blocking everything out, all of it—except for the road ahead.
The countdown starts. My breath hitches, my nerves tightening with each second that passes. The roar of the crowd fades into the background as I focus on the track ahead, my eyes locked on the starting line.
It’s just me, the bike, and the road.
“Three... two... one…”
The flare gun shoots, and I’m off, the engine screaming beneath me as I shift into gear. I can feel the power of the bike surging forward, and for a split second, it feels like I’m flying. But then the competition hits, and I realize— I’m not ready for this.
The other bikes zoom past me, the riders handling their machines like they’ve been doing it for years. One of them—a tall guy in a black leather jacket with a red stripe down the side—passes so close I almost feel the air shift as he cuts me off. The noise from his engine roars in my ears, but all I hear is the pounding of my heart, the screech of my tires as I fight to keep control.
I try to push myself, to keep pace with them, but it’s like they’re in a different league. Their bikes are faster, their movements more fluid, while I’m stuck jerking and jolting, barely keeping my wheels from slipping out from under me. The track is unforgiving. The turns are sharp, the asphalt rough. I can hear the tires of the other riders squealing as they slide through the corners with ease, while I’m desperately trying not to lose my grip.
The crowd’s noise is growing, and I realize I’m not just racing against the others—I’m racing against myself. I’m fighting to stay in this, to not look like the amateur I know I am. I should’ve trained more, prepared better, but I didn’t. I didn’t listen to them. I didn’t want their help. And now I’m paying the price.
I take a turn too wide, the back wheel spinning out from beneath me. I fight to regain control, and for a moment, I think I’m going to crash, but somehow, I pull it back. My hands are shaking so hard I can barely keep a grip on the handlebars, but I force myself to focus.
Another rider—a guy in a black helmet with neon yellow accents—whips past me, and I can feel the whoosh of air as he speeds by. I’m not even close to keeping up. But the rush is there, an adrenaline shot straight to my veins, and for a fleeting moment, it makes the fear feel a little lighter, a little easier to bear.
I take a deep breath, my vision blurring as I round another corner, and it hits me: What if I just... didn’t make it? What if this was it? What if I crashed, just for a second, and in that moment of pain and loss, I could be with Cruz again? The thought is chilling, but it’s there, hovering at the back of my mind, offering a strange comfort. I shake my head, trying to clear it, but it lingers. The thought doesn’t make sense, but it’s there.
The finish line comes into view, and I push myself harder, trying to make up for the lost time, but it’s too late. I cross the line, barely holding onto the bike, and my stomach drops as I realize— second to last.
I pull off the track and roll into the makeshift pits. My helmet feels heavier than it should as I slide it off, my breath ragged, my legs shaky as I dismount. Revel is there, waiting, his grin wide, his arms open for a hug.
“You did it, Lena! You actually made it through without eating asphalt! I’d call that a win,” he says, clapping me on the back with a big, sarcastic grin.
I want to smile, want to let his praise sink in, but it doesn’t feel right. I didn’t win—I didn’t even come close. But for a moment, that doesn’t matter. The rush of the race is still buzzing in my veins, and my heart’s pounding like I’m still out there on the track. I didn’t take first place, but I got what I needed. For a fleeting second, I felt closer to Cruz, like I was back with him, riding beside me. The void he left behind feeling just that little bit less empty. But as I try to process the mix of emotions swirling inside me, the voices of the others cut through the haze.
The team is already gathering around me, their faces a mix of concern and frustration, and the weight of their stares feels like a thousand pounds pressing down on me. Talon’s expression is unreadable, but the way his jaw is set and his body is stiff, I know he’s angry. Thorne’s eyes are cold, narrowed, and calculating, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. The rest of the Demons stand behind them, watching with various degrees of judgment and worry.
“What the hell was that?” Talon demands, his voice low and menacing. “You just looked like you were waiting for a crash out there.”
I open my mouth, ready to argue, but the words get stuck in my throat. The race is still playing out in my head—the near-crashes, the fear, the rush. It’s hard to process it all in one go.
I don’t have a chance to speak before Draygon pipes up, his voice rough and cutting through the tension. “Being a backpack doesn’t make you a racer, Lena,” he says, his tone harsh, but there’s an underlying concern buried beneath it.
My stomach tightens. I know they’re right. I was reckless, unprepared, and I can feel that shame creeping up, threatening to swallow me whole. But before I can respond, Bexley steps forward, her petite frame like a sharp contrast to the looming tension. Her long dark hair catches the light as she looks at me with a mix of empathy and frustration. She’s always been able to read me like an open book.
“We’re just worried about you, Lena,” she says, her voice soft, but there’s a sharp edge to it. “We miss you. Why didn’t you just come to us? If you wanted to race, we could’ve helped you. The guys would’ve prepped you, got you ready. You didn’t have to do this on your own.”
The words hit me harder than I expect. I’ve been pushing them away for so long, shutting them out. I can’t help but feel a pang of guilt. They’re right. I could’ve reached out. I could’ve let them help.
“I know,” I mutter, the frustration bubbling under my skin. “I’m sorry. But sometimes it feels harder being around you guys. Like... like it’s too much, you know?”
I see their expressions soften, a flicker of understanding passing between them. Reign, who has been standing quietly off to the side, steps forward, his usual cocky grin gone. There’s no humor in his expression now, just determination and something that feels almost protective.
“I’ll help you,” he says, his voice firm, but not unkind. “I’ll train you. If you want to keep racing, you need proper training. I’ll help you get there. No more running solo.”
I blink, thrown off guard. “How? The season’s about to start, and you’ve got a race to prepare for.”
He shrugs, but there’s a brief flicker in his eyes, something I don’t quite catch. “I’m not racing. Haven’t been cleared,” he says, his voice smooth, but there’s a hint of something behind it.
The others exchange looks—quick glances that I’m not supposed to catch—but I do. I feel the weight of their unspoken thoughts, the way they all seem to share the same silent conclusion. But no one says anything. It’s like they’ve agreed to keep it to themselves for now.
I don’t press it. I don’t need to know why. I’m just relieved, in a strange way, that he’s offering to help.
“Fine,” I say, my voice still laced with reluctance, but there’s a sense of resolution in me now. “I’ll take your help. But just so you know, you’re not getting off easy. You’re gonna have to teach me how to ride better than I did today.”
Reign’s lips twitch, a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t worry, Lena. You’ll be doing laps around these guys in no time. Just wait.”
As I nod, agreeing to what I know is the right decision, I can feel the weight of the tension starting to ease. It’s not gone, not completely, but it’s lighter now. The hostility that was crackling in the air between us starts to fade, and for a second, it feels like we might be okay.
Talon, however, isn’t ready to let it go just yet. His eyes are still sharp, his posture rigid. He’s not the type to back down, but the situation is clearly evolving in front of him.
Revel and the rest of the guys exchange words under their breath, the conversation picking up speed and heat, but Talon holds up a hand to stop it. “Enough,” he says, his voice low but carrying weight. “Revel’s a Demon now. We don’t fight amongst ourselves.”
There’s a tense moment of silence as we all look around, the team processing the order, and then slowly, one by one, the guys nod in reluctant agreement.
I can’t help but let out a deep breath, the anger and frustration bubbling under my skin slowly settling into a tight knot of acceptance. Things are changing, but maybe that’s what we all need—a little shift, some realignment.
“Tomorrow morning,” Reign says, his voice cutting through the quiet. “Be ready. We start then.”
I nod again, this time feeling a little more resolute. Tomorrow, I’ll be back on the bike, closer to Cruz, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll feel like I’m finally starting to find my way again.