The roar of the crowd crashes over me like thunder, a wave of sound that shakes the very ground beneath my wheels.
The lights are blinding, the dust thick in the air.
I can barely see through the sweat dripping into my eyes.
But I don’t care.
I won.
I actually won.
I slow my bike, the engine rumbling beneath me as I glide to a stop.
My hands are shaking on the handlebars.
My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears.
My chest is heaving, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I pulled off my helmet, and the cool night air hits my face.
I’m grinning so wide my cheeks ache.
I feel like I’m flying.
I feel like I’m invincible.
The crowd is chanting my name.
A thousand voices rising together, filling the night sky.
“Vengeance in Metal!
Vengeance in Metal!
Vengeance in Metal!” I feel the tears prick at my eyes.
I don’t wipe them away.
I let them fall, hot and fast and uncontrollable.
I won.
I beat him.
I proved myself to everyone who ever doubted me.
I proved myself to myself.
Revenge taste sweet when you win your opponent, and he/ she didn’t see it coming And I call it Sweet Revenge.
Sweet Revenge tastes like gasoline and victory.
It’s burning and sharp and intoxicating.
It fills my lungs like fire, courses through my veins like poison.
I love it.
I love every second of it.
I look across the track, and I see him.
Leo.
He’s pulling off his helmet, his jet-black hair matted with sweat, his amber eyes fixed on me.
He’s breathing hard, his jaw tight.
His leather cut is torn, and I can see the edge of a scar on his ribs.
A long, jagged scar that looks recent.
He looks defeated.
Shocked.
Like he can’t believe what just happened.
Like he can’t believe I beat him.
Good.
Let him feel what I felt.
Let him know what it’s like to be broken.
Let him taste the bitterness of losing everything you thought was yours.
I stand there, my feet planted firmly on the ground, my helmet dangling from my hand.
The wind whips through my dark curls, and I feel the sweat cooling on my skin.
I think about everything I’ve been through.
The betrayal.
The pain.
The nights I spent sleeping on the streets, shivering in the cold, wondering if I would ever find my way back.
I think about the way he watched me break and said nothing.
The way he let me walk away without a fight.
The way he never even tried to stop me.
I feel the anger rise inside me, hot and fierce.
But I also feel something else.
Something I don’t want to feel.
Something that aches deep in my chest.
I push it away.
I don’t have room for that.
Not anymore.
The crowd is still cheering.
The lights are still blinding.
But all I can see is him.
I don’t say anything.
I don’t walk toward him.
I just stand there, letting him see me.
Letting him see what he lost.
Letting him see what I’ve become.
I am not the broken girl who left Granada.
I am not the girl who cried herself to sleep every night.
I am not the girl who loved him and got nothing in return.
I am Vengeance in Metal.
I am a fighter.
I am a survivor.
And I just beat him.
I turn away from him.
I don’t give him the satisfaction of a word.
I don’t give him anything.
I walk back to my bike, my steps steady and sure.
I climb on, grip the handlebars, and rev the engine.
The roar fills the night air, a sound of victory and power.
I ride off into the darkness, leaving him behind.
I don’t look back.
— Leo’s Point of View — I pull off my helmet, and the world comes crashing down around me.
She won.
I lost.
I can’t believe it.
I can’t believe she actually beat me.
But she did.
She beat me fair and square, with fire in her eyes and steel in her spine.
I stare at her across the track.
She’s standing there, her dark curls whipping in the wind, her blue eyes blazing with victory.
The crowd is chanting her name, a wave of sound that fills the night.
“Vengeance in Metal!
Vengeance in Metal!” She’s famous now.
She’s a legend.
She’s everything I always knew she could be.
I think about the moment I saw her bike.
That silver frame with the gold flame.
I recognized it immediately.
I knew it was her.
I heard the rumors.
The whispers about a female rider in Málaga.
The stories about her beating every opponent who dared to challenge her.
They called her Vengeance in Metal.
They said she was unstoppable.
I had to see her.
I had to know she was okay.
So I entered the race.
I didn’t want to win.
I just wanted to be close to her.
To see her alive.
To see her thriving.
I wasn’t expecting this.
I wasn’t expecting the coldness in her eyes.
The anger.
The hunger for revenge.
I watch her as she stands there, her face hard, her body tense.
She’s not the same girl who left Granada.
She’s not the sweet, shy girl I used to torment.
She’s something else entirely.
Something fierce and untouchable.
I feel a chill run down my spine.
She looks at me, and I see nothing in her eyes.
No love.
No forgiveness.
No mercy.
Just the cold satisfaction of victory.
She turns away from me.
She doesn’t say a word.
She doesn’t walk toward me.
She just turns and walks back to her bike.
I watch her climb on.
I watch her rev the engine.
I watch her ride off into the darkness without looking back.
I feel the tears burn in my eyes.
I blink them away.
She’s gone, I think.
She’s really gone.
I think about everything I’ve done.
Every cruel word.
Every moment of silence.
Every time I watched her break and did nothing.
I never expected her to be hungry for revenge.
But she is.
She’s more than hungry.
She’s ravenous.
And I’m the one who made her this way.