The Sierra Nevada mountains loom in the distance, their snow-capped peaks watching over Granada like silent guardians.
I should be nervous.
I should be focused.
Instead, I’m just angry.
Leo Perez stands beside his black and gold Harley, that cocky grin plastered across his face like he’s already won.
His jet-black hair is messy from his helmet, and his amber eyes catch the sunlight in a way that makes my stomach flip—which only makes me angrier.
“Come on, princess,” he calls out, straddling his bike with practiced ease.
“You’re not going to back out, are you?
I know you’re shy and all, but this is just pathetic.” I clench my jaw so hard my teeth ache.
“I’m not backing out.” “Could have fooled me.” He revs his engine, the sound echoing off the whitewashed walls of the clubhouse.
“You’re just standing there like a lost puppy.
What’s wrong, chunk chunk?
Scared you’re going to lose…
again?” My blood boils at the nickname.
Chunk chunk.
He’s called me that since we were kids, ever since I tripped over my own feet during a race and he laughed so hard he almost crashed.
It’s stupid.
It’s childish.
And it makes me want to punch that perfect face of his.
“Fucking son of a—” I mutter under my breath, but I catch myself.
My father’s voice echoes in my head: “The people love you, Aitana.
They respect you.
What would they think if they heard you cursing someone like a common street rat?” I exhale slowly, forcing the anger down.
I am their princess.
The jewel of Granada.
The daughter of Rafael Fernandez, president of the most respected motorcycle club in Andalusia.
And princesses don’t curse.
Princesses smile.
Princesses behave.
Princesses also don’t lose.
Leo tilts his head, that infuriating grin widening.
“Did you just curse at me?
Oh, that’s rich.
The princess has a dirty mouth.
What would your daddy say?” “He’d say you’re an asshole,” I snap.
“But he’d be too polite to actually say it.” Leo laughs, loud and carefree, and the sound sends heat rushing to my cheeks.
He always does this.
Always pushes my buttons until I’m ready to explode, then laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the world.
He’s been doing it since we were seven years old, and I hate him for it.
I hate how he makes me feel small.
I hate how he always has control.
The worst part is, he’s the second commander.
My father’s best friend’s son.
His orders carry weight.
His voice carries authority.
He’s practically royalty in this club, just like me—but he’s the heir everyone actually listens to.
The one everyone respects.
And he knows it.
“Alright, enough chit-chat,” Leo says, pulling on his helmet.
“You ready to lose, chunk chunk?
Or do you need me to go easy on you?” “Don’t you dare go easy on me,” I growl, yanking my helmet over my dark curls.
“I’ll wipe that grin off your face.” “You can try, princess.” He winks at me.
“But we both know how this ends.” I don’t answer.
I just straddle my bike and grip the handlebars, feeling the familiar hum of the engine beneath me.
My mother taught me to love this feeling—the power, the freedom, the way the world blurs when you go fast enough.
She used to hold my tiny hands over the engine and whisper, “Feel that, Aitana?
That’s freedom.
That’s power.
Never let anyone take that from you.” I miss her every single day.
“On my count,” Leo calls out, his voice cutting through my thoughts.
“Three…
two…
one…
GO!” We tear across the asphalt, engines screaming, the world blurring into a mess of color and noise.
The wind whips against my face, and for a moment, I feel alive.
I feel like I can win.
Like I can beat him for once and wipe that smirk off his stupid, handsome face.
But he’s faster.
He’s always faster.
He pulls ahead on the final turn, his bike kicking up dust that stings my eyes.
I push harder, leaning into the curve, but it’s not enough.
He crosses the finish line a full three seconds ahead of me, his fist pumping in the air like he just won the goddamn championship.
I slow to a stop, my chest heaving, my hands shaking on the handlebars.
I don’t want to look at him.
I don’t want to see his face.
But I can hear his laugh from across the lot.
“Better luck next time, chunk chunk!” he shouts, pulling off his helmet and running a hand through his messy black hair.
“You almost had me.
Almost.
But you know what they say—almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.” I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood.
“Shut up, Leo.” “Come on, don’t be a sore loser.
I’m just trying to help you improve.
You need to train more.
Way more.” He grins, hopping off his bike and walking toward me.
“You’re too slow on the turns.
Too cautious.
You need to trust your instincts.” “I trust my instincts just fine,” I mutter, swinging off my bike.
“You just got lucky.” “Lucky?” He laughs again, and the sound grates on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.
“That wasn’t luck, princess.
That was skill.
Pure, unadulterated, mind-blowing skill.
You should take notes.” I glare at him, my hands curling into fists at my sides.
“You’re insufferable.” “And you’re adorable when you’re angry,” he says, leaning in close enough that I can smell the leather and gasoline on him.
“That little fire in your eyes?
It’s cute.
But it’s not going to win you any races.” I want to hit him.
I want to scream at him.
I want to tell him exactly what I think of him and his stupid smirk and his stupid amber eyes and the way he makes my heart race even when I hate him.
But before I can say anything, a voice cuts through the tension.
“Aitana!
There you are!” I turn to see my childhood friends rushing toward me across the lot—Diego, Sofia, and Carmen.
Diego’s dark hair is messy, his hazel eyes wide with urgency.
Sofia’s fringe frames her face, her light brown eyes hopeful.
Carmen’s thick waves are clipped up, her sharp brown eyes assessing the situation like she’s ready for a fight.
“We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Sofia says, slightly out of breath.
“Your father needs to see you.
Now.
Immediately.” I blink, my anger fading into confusion.
“What?
Why?” “He didn’t say,” Diego replies, shrugging.
“Just said to find you and bring you to his office.
It sounded important.” “Sounds like someone’s in trouble,” Leo says from behind me, his tone dripping with amusement.
“What did you do, princess?
Break something?
Curse someone out where your daddy could hear?” I shoot him a glare that could melt steel.
“Shut up, Leo.” “Giddy up, chunk chunk,” he says, grinning like he just won the lottery.
“Don’t keep your daddy waiting.
And try not to trip on your way there.
That would be embarrassing.” If looks could kill, Leo Perez would be dead and buried right now.
I’d stand over his grave and laugh while he rotted.
“You’re the worst,” I hiss at him.
“And yet you keep coming back for more,” he says, winking at me.
“See you around, princess.
Try not to miss me too much.” I don’t give him the satisfaction of a reply.
I just turn on my heel and march toward the clubhouse, my friends falling into step beside me.
I can feel Leo’s eyes on my back, burning into my skin like a brand.
I hate him.
I hate him so much it feels like I’m going to explode.
But as I walk away, I can’t help but wonder why my chest aches every time he smiles at me.
— The clubhouse is buzzing with activity as I push through the doors.
The smell of fried olive oil and cigarettes fills the air, mixing with the distant sound of laughter and clinking glasses.
The white walls are covered in photos of races and rides, decades of history staring down at me like ghosts.
My father’s office is at the end of the hall—a small, cluttered room that smells like leather and regret.
I knock twice before pushing the door open.
Rafael Fernandez sits behind his desk, his silver-streaked black hair catching the light from the window.
His cold eyes soften when he sees me, just a little.
“Aitana,” he says, his voice rough with age.
“Close the door.” I do as he says, my heart pounding in my chest.
“What’s wrong?
Sofia said it was urgent.” “Nothing’s wrong,” he says, rising from his chair.
He’s so tall he has to duck under the doorframe when he stands.
“I just…
I have something to tell you.” I study his face, searching for clues.
He looks tired.
Older than I remember.
His beard is streaked with silver, and there are bags under his eyes that weren’t there before.
“Dad,” I say slowly.
“What’s going on?” He runs a hand over his face, letting out a heavy sigh.
“I’ve met someone, Aitana.
A woman.
Her name is Isabella.” The world tilts slightly.
My mother’s face flashes in my mind—her gentle smile, her warm hands, her voice whispering: “These people are your tribe.
Never let them go.” “Met someone?” I repeat, my voice hollow.
“What do you mean?” Rafael looks at me, and for the first time in my life, I see guilt in his eyes.
“I’ve been alone for a long time, hija .
Your mother has been gone for years.
I thought…
I thought maybe it was time to move on.
To find some happiness.” The words hit me like a punch to the chest.
“So you’re…
getting married?” “Yes,” he says softly.
“To Isabella.
She has a daughter, Elena.
They’ll be moving in next week.” I stare at him, my mind reeling.
My mother’s face.
Her voice.
Her love.
All of it feels so far away now, like a dream I’m waking up from.
“What about me?” I whisper.
“What about us?” Rafael crosses the room and places his hands on my shoulders.
“Nothing will change, Aitana.
You’re still my princess.
You’re still the heir to everything I’ve built.
I love you.
I will always love you.” But you’ll love her too, won’t you?
The thought is bitter on my tongue, but I don’t say it.
I just nod, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“Okay,” I say, my voice flat.
“Okay, Dad.” He pulls me into a hug, and I let him.
But I don’t hug back.
I just stand there, frozen, staring at the wall behind him.
My mother’s face is fading.
And I’m not sure if I’ll ever get it back.