Leo’s Point of View
The roar of my engine fills the night air as I ride through the dark streets of Málaga. The wind whips against my face, cold and unforgiving, but I don’t feel it. All I can feel is the rage burning inside me. All I can see is her face. The way she looked at me. The way she told me I was nothing to her.
I grip the handlebars tighter, my knuckles white.
She’s ahead of me. I can see the flash of her silver bike, the gold flame catching the streetlights. She’s fast. She’s always been fast. But I’m faster. I’m more determined.
I watch her as she weaves through the streets, her dark curls whipping in the wind. She moves like she’s part of the machine, fluid and fierce. She’s so beautiful it hurts. She’s so broken it makes me want to scream.
I think about the way she snapped at me. The coldness in her voice. The hatred in her eyes.
I deserve it. I deserve every bit of her anger. Every bit of her pain. I was a coward. I was frozen. I let her burn.
But I won’t let her go. Not again. Not ever.
She slows down and pulls into a driveway. A garage. Sergio’s garage.
I park my bike a little ways down the street and watch from the shadows. I need to see where she’s staying. I need to make sure she’s safe.
She climbs off her bike and walks toward the door. Her shoulders are slumped. Her steps are heavy. She looks exhausted, defeated.
And then I see him.
Sergio Martinez.
The owner of the famous underground club in Malaga.
Sergio walks out of the garage, his warm hazel eyes fixed on her. He’s smiling, his sun-lightened brown hair slightly messy. He reaches out and grabs her wrist, his fingers wrapping around her skin like she’s his property.
I feel the anger rise inside me like a tidal wave.
He’s touching her. He’s touching my Aitana.
My vision goes red. My fists clench at my sides. The rage is so hot, so fierce, it consumes everything else.
I don’t think. I don’t hesitate. I just move.
I storm toward him, my boots heavy on the asphalt. He doesn’t see me coming. He’s too focused on her. Too focused on touching her.
“Get your hands off her!”
I roar the words as I lunge at him. He turns just in time, his eyes wide with surprise. My fist connects with his face, and I feel the satisfying crunch of bone beneath my knuckles.
He stumbles back, but he doesn’t fall. He’s stronger than he looks. He wipes the blood from his lip, and his eyes narrow with fury.
“You son of a bitch,” he snarls. “You think you can just show up here and—”
I don’t let him finish. I tackle him to the ground, my fists raining down on him. I hit him again and again, each punch fueled by months of guilt and regret and longing.
“You think you can take her from me?” I scream, my voice hoarse. “You think you can replace me?”
He laughs, cold and cruel. “Replace you? There’s nothing to replace. She doesn’t want you. She’s never wanted you.”
“Shut up!” I roar, hitting him again.
He shoves me off and scrambles to his feet. He’s bleeding from his nose, his lip, his forehead. But he’s not done. He’s just getting started.
He launches himself at me, his fist catching me in the jaw. I stumble back, tasting blood in my mouth.
“You want to fight?” he snarls, his eyes blazing. “Let’s fight.”
We crash together like wild animals, our fists flying, our bodies slamming against each other. The fight is brutal, savage, unforgiving. We hit each other again and again, each blow more vicious than the last.
But there’s something different about the way he fights. He moves with precision, with training. His strikes are calculated, deliberate. He’s not just some garage owner throwing wild punches. He fights like someone who’s been trained. Someone who’s been in wars before.
I feel my ribs crack. I taste more blood. My vision blurs, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop.
I think about the night she left. The way she walked out of the clubhouse with tears streaming down her face. The way I stood there, frozen, saying nothing.
I think about all the months I spent searching for her. All the nights I rode alone, chasing her ghost.
I think about the way she looked at me tonight. The coldness in her eyes. The hatred.
“You don’t get to have her,” I snarl, slamming my fist into his face. “You don’t get to replace me.”
He laughs, blood dripping from his mouth. “I already have. She chose me. She chose me over you.”
“Liar!”
“I’m not lying,” he says, shoving me back. “She came to me. She trusted me. She loved me. And you? You’re nothing to her. You’ve always been nothing to her.”
I feel the rage boil over. I tackle him again, and we crash onto the asphalt. The street is slick with blood. Blood from my face. Blood from his face. Blood from the cuts and bruises we’re giving each other.
The fight is getting out of control. But I can’t stop. I won’t stop.
“Leo! Stop it!”
The voice cuts through the chaos like a blade.
I freeze, my fist raised in the air. I turn and see her. Aitana.
She’s standing there, her blue eyes blazing with fury and pain. Her dark curls are wild and messy. Her face is pale and drawn. She’s shaking.
“Get off him,” she says, her voice cold and commanding. “Now.”
I look at her, my chest heaving. “Aitana, he was—”
“I said get off him!” she screams.
I slowly climb off Sergio, my hands raised in surrender. She walks past me, her eyes not meeting mine.
She kneels down beside him, her hand touching his face. “Are you okay?” she asks, her voice soft and worried.
He nods, his eyes flickering to me with something that looks like satisfaction. “I’m fine. I’ve been through worse.”
She helps him to his feet, her arm wrapped around him for support.
I look at her, my heart shattering in my chest. “Aitana, please. I’m trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need your protection,” she says, her voice cold and flat. “I don’t need anything from you.”
She turns to him. “Let’s go inside. I’ll get the first aid kit.”
“Of course,” he says, his voice soft and gentle. “Whatever you need.”
She leads him toward the garage, her arm still wrapped around him. I stand there, frozen, watching them walk away.
I remember everything. The way she used to look at me. The way she used to love me. The way she used to need me.
But now she doesn’t need me at all.
“Aitana, please,” I call out, my voice desperate. “Please just talk to me.”
She stops. For a moment, I think she’s going to turn around. I think she’s going to give me a chance.
But then I see her shoulders slump. I see her shake her head.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she says, her voice hollow. “You made your choice, Leo. Now live with it.”
She disappears into the garage with him, and the door slams shut behind them.
I stand there in the darkness, alone. The blood drips down my face, but I don’t feel it. The pain in my ribs is nothing compared to the pain in my heart.
I think about everything I’ve done. Every cruel word. Every moment of silence. Every chance I threw away.
I think about the way she looked at me tonight. The way she told me I was nothing to her.
I think about the way she chose him.
She chose Sergio.
The man who found her when she was broken. The man who gave her a home. The man who helped her rebuild her life from nothing.
And me? I’m nothing to her anymore.
I’m just a ghost from her past. A memory she wants to forget.
I turn to walk away, to leave this city behind, when I see something that makes my blood run cold.
As Sergio enters the garage, the light catches his hand. His left hand. There’s a ring on his finger. A thick, silver ring with a symbol I recognize.
It’s the insignia of the Culebras de Oro. The Golden Snakes.
The rival club.
The criminals who traffic in stolen bikes and weapons. The ones who have been encroaching on our territory for years. The ones who operate in the shadows, who don’t play by the rules.
I feel the world tilt beneath my feet.
He’s one of them.
Sergio isn’t just a garage owner. He’s not just some man who saved Aitana. He’s part of something much bigger. Something darker.
And Aitana is in the middle of it.
I stand there, frozen, my mind racing. This isn’t just about jealousy anymore. This isn’t just about losing the woman I love.
This is about her safety. Her life.
I think about the way he fought. The precision. The training. I should have seen it before. I should have recognized it.
She’s in danger. She’s in danger and she doesn’t even know it.
I feel the anger rise inside me, hot and fierce.
I’m not leaving. I’m not giving up.
I’m going to save her.
Even if it kills me.