Page 1 of Broken Breath (Rogue Riders Duet #1)

CHAPTER ONE

Alaina

Hiccup.

Fuck.

Laughter rings out behind me, slicing through the low murmur of the people gathered around. My helmet does nothing to mask the noise.

“What’s the matter, Crews? Acting all tough but getting nervous hiccups?” Isla Raine’s voice drips with amusement.

My nemesis. The girl who’s been breathing down my neck for years, waiting for me to slip. If she had a hobby outside of mountain biking and being insufferable, it would be manifesting my downfall.

My jaw tightens, and my gloved fingers clench around my grips.

Of all times, my body picks now to betray me.

I’m standing at the top of the biggest race of my life, the last of this year’s Junior Women’s World Cup in downhill mountain bike racing.

The air crackles with adrenaline, thick with the scent of dirt and sweat.

Every muscle in my body is primed, coiled, and ready to launch, and my goddamn diaphragm has decided to sabotage me as it always does when I’m nervous.

Isla laughs again behind me, and I glance back just long enough to catch her glaring through her lightly tinted goggles, then snap my gaze forward.

I’m second to last in line for the start, with only her behind me, but it doesn’t matter.

I always leave everything for the race, not the qualifying runs.

I try to calm down and breathe through my nose, but before I can stop it…

Hiccup.

More laughter. This time, it’s deeper, smugger, and belongs to Isaac Raine. Walking ego, king of unsolicited opinions, and Isla’s older brother.

“Sounds like she’s about to choke,” Isaac taunts. His words are mocking, but there is real loathing in his gaze when I glance back another time. “Maybe you should just call it quits, Hiccups. Make it easier on yourself.”

Asshole. I hate that nickname.

This isn’t just about today’s race. It’s about years of him coming in second, never first. Always losing to my brother and always living in someone else’s shadow. Now, I’m the one casting shadows over his sister.

Something tugs at my helmet, and a gloved hand hooks around my chin guard to pull my head to my left.

Finn .

He makes me meet his eyes. Steady blues that cut through the chaos swirling inside me. “Don’t let them get in your head, baby girl. Actions speak louder than words.”

My chest tingles with butterflies, another annoying reaction I haven’t been able to train out of my body.

I need to get my pulse under control, need to focus, but it’s impossible to ignore the fact that Finn Greer, my brother’s best friend, ten years older than me, and the guy I’ve had a stupid crush on since forever, is standing right here, supporting me, even though he’s probably just sticking around because Dane is here.

But with Finn’s fingers curled around my helmet and those blue eyes locked on mine, it’s easy to pretend otherwise.

I bite my lip as his gloved thumb brushes the edge of my chin guard, grazing the bare skin beneath. It’s nothing, a tiny touch, but it’s enough to send a shiver down my spine.

Oh, fuck you, hormones. Now is not the time.

I let out another breath, but it’s shaky, and this time when I hiccup, I’m not sure whether it’s because of the race or him.

Finn’s full lips tug into a slow, knowing smirk, his eyes gleaming with amusement, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

Then he lets go of my helmet but catches the end of my braid, giving it a light tug before letting it casually slip through his hand, as if it means nothing, and didn’t send my heart into a traitorous flip.

Heat floods my cheeks.

Nope, nope, nope.

Isaac laughs again, snapping me back to reality. “Better hope that isn’t a sign you’re about to blow it, Crews. Would be a shame if you crashed today.”

Finn turns, his shoulders squaring. “Fuck off, Raine.”

I’m still ogling his profile and the way his blond hair curls slightly where it escapes his red baseball cap, when my helmet gets jerked to the right.

“You good?”

I blink up at my brother’s warm brown eyes as he grips my helmet between both hands and scans me as if he can read every doubt and thought, like he’s always been able to.

It’s wild that he’s even here. He should be in the zone, locked into his own head, getting ready alongside Finn for their last race of the season. Instead, he’s here with me because that’s who Dane is—my brother first, a legend second.

If he wins today, it’ll be his fourth overall title in a row, something no one has ever done, and I’m so damn proud of him.

Yet, our dad isn’t here, never is. Not for him. Not for me. Too busy, too indifferent, too focused on whatever financial empire he’s deemed more important than his kids. But Dane? He’s always here for me, and he’s everything I have.

I’m about to open my mouth to tell him I’m fine when… Hiccup.

“God, she’s pathetic.” Isla snickers.

I grind my teeth and keep my mouth shut. She’s not worth it.

“Fuck them, fuck Dad,” Dane murmurs, reading my mind in the way only he can.

“Fuck everyone else. This is only about you. Your hard work. Your dedication. Your talent. Your skill.” Then he smirks.

“Go grab that title. I’ll follow your lead later.

” He lets go of my helmet and says loud enough for everyone around us to hear.

“Show them how a Crews kicks a Raine’s ass. ”

The announcer’s voice booms over the speakers. “Next up, Alaina Crews for Crews Racing!”

Dane’s hand lands on top of my helmet, a firm pat that echoes in my ears. “Send it, Speedbump.”

I shoot him a glare for the nickname, but he just chuckles because he knows. He knows I’m about to obliterate everyone’s time.

Muscles coiled, heartbeat finally steady, I roll my bike to the start. The world shrinks to the countdown, with only five more seconds until the gate drops. I take one last breath, the air scorching through my lungs, electric with adrenaline, and not even a hiccup dares to distract me now .

It’s always like this. The moment I’m at the start, nothing else exists.

Nothing but the line ahead, nothing but the win.

This is mine, and no one is taking it from me.

The gate slams down, and I’m gone. The world blurs as trees whip past, and dirt and rock crunch beneath my tires, while wind stings my face.

The first corner comes, and I take it wide, letting gravity yank me in, tires biting hard as I lean. I know this track, every rock, every root, every split-second decision. My focus hones in, instincts locking into place. There’s only speed and the brutal, beautiful chaos of downhill racing.

The next section is intense, and my tires dance on the edge of control, skimming past a near washout. My breath comes fast, my heartbeat hammering, but my line is clean.

Yet something feels off.

It’s a subtle difference, almost nothing, just a tiny shift.

A fraction of a second where my bike reacts slower than usual.

Maybe I’m imagining it, maybe it’s just nerves, but the back end feels looser than it should, like the suspension isn’t compressing the way it normally does.

I flex my fingers on the bars, pushing the thought down. This bike has taken worse.

It’s fine.

I’m almost there, the finish line is close, just the final jump left. Speed builds beneath me, the pulse of my bike syncing with the blood roaring in my ears. I push harder. Faster. My legs burn, my arms scream, but I don’t let up.

The jump approaches, and I brace a moment before that flicker of doubt surges up again.

Something is wrong, I can feel it in my bones.

Has Raine…?

He was near my bike.

He touched it .

The thought slams into me just as I’m airborne , and the world drops away, weightless, while I soar. For a breath, my arms and legs lock perfectly, and time suspends, my bike in perfect control.

Then I hit the ground, hard, and something gives beneath me with a sickening crunch of metal.

The world tilts. Sky, dirt, and trees blur together until impact shatters through me.

Agony detonates across my side, ribs, and hips, and a scream tries to rip free, but no sound comes.

There is nothing but searing, white-hot pain. Everything hurts. Every nerve screams.

I can’t move.

Black spots bleed into my vision, and there is ringing in my ears, drowning out the shouts and frantic pounding of footsteps. I try to make out who’s running toward me, but all I can see is my bike.

Lying off to the side in two irreparably broken pieces.

That’s not right.

Did Isaac fucking sabotage me?

I try to suck in a breath, but nothing comes. My lungs seize, locked tight, useless.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t ? —

I can’t do this.

My breath comes fast, and my chest feels tight as I press a palm against my ribs, just over the biggest scar left behind by my multiple surgeries, willing my lungs to cooperate, but it’s useless.

It’s been this way for seven years, ever since the crash, ever since my body decided that sometimes, for no damn reason at all, it would relive the feeling of a branch spearing through my lung and forget how to breathe.

I squeeze my eyes shut, grounding myself in the ache .

Focus, Crews.

Forcing my gaze up to the mirror, I find a stranger looking back, with brown eyes, full lips, and a braid that falls too neatly over one shoulder. Long, dark hair, the one thing I kept for myself all these years, the only softness I allowed. The one piece that still feels like me .

And now I’m about to cut it all off.

This isn’t just a haircut. It’s a death . A final, brutal goodbye to the girl in the mirror. Alaina Crews, the girl who flew too high and fell too far.

The scissors dig into my palm as if they know what I’m about to take from myself, and my fingers shake, making the black wildflower tattoos inked across my arms catch my eye. Two full sleeves of them creep over my skin.