Page 60 of Twisted Trails (Rogue Riders Duet #2)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Alaina

Luc swears as he slips on a root, flailing dramatically and nearly yeeting poor Toulouse out of his hood as he grabs my arm for balance.

“ Putain , I hate track walk. I almost died.”

“You tripped.”

“I tripped almost to death.”

I have to suppress a huff.

If anyone almost died on this track, it’s me.

Just like always, Snowshoe is damp. It’s already chewing up soles and nerves with that loose Appalachian grit, and we haven’t even started riding yet.

Finn seems to think the same because he makes a noncommittal noise beside me, eyes already locked on the next rock section.

“He’s right, though,” Mason says with a chuckle. “This course is a menace, even if it’s sexy.”

“Just say the trail reminds you of Luc and move on,” I mutter.

“Unhinged but hot.” Mason snorts. “Yeah, that tracks.”

Luc looks as though he isn’t sure whether to be offended or flattered but ends up choosing both. “I’m wounded, Petite . Deeply. Come here and kiss it better.”

I smirk. “Later.”

He grins like that’s a promise, and fuck, I guess it is.

The slope ahead is wicked, roots threading down the incline, and I can already tell it’s going to be a bastard in the wet. But right now, I don’t care. I don’t care about the mud, the rain, the fact that I’m probably going to crash at least twice this weekend.

Because I’ve got my guys beside me. All of them.

And I’m still flying on the high that was yesterday.

The jet Dad arranged for us again dropped us an hour away from Snowshoe just before noon, and Dane and I decided that the whole crew would stay with us for the week.

Everyone seemed okay with that decision.

Even Otis was happy to crash at our place instead of the nice hotel his team would’ve put him, Piper, and Luc in.

Once everyone had claimed a room, Piper with Dane, Otis in one, Jim in another, Mason and Luc sharing one, and Finn very stealthily dropping his duffel in mine, we all freshened up and made dinner together like we weren’t just a bunch of mountain bikers who normally live off protein and shakes.

Piper made pasta and frosted cookies, while Luc burned the garlic bread and nearly set off the smoke alarm. He blamed the altitude.

Except, we’re not that high up.

After dinner, I kicked all their asses in my favorite MTB downhill console game.

Mason claimed the controller was rigged.

Luc swore I was cheating. So naturally, they ganged up on me, wrestled it away, and spent the next twenty minutes arguing over which one sucked less.

I made myself comfortable in Finn’s lap and demolished half a dozen cookies one by one while the guys trashed each other’s avatars .

When I was done, Finn caught my hand and licked leftover frosting off my thumb like it was the most normal thing in the world to do with an audience.

Later, we passed out tangled together on the couch like we’d always belonged there. I don’t even remember falling asleep. Just waking up to sunlight and silence, and all of them still there.

It felt like family.

Like home.

“Is that it?” Luc asks, voice hushed and almost reverent , pulling me straight out of my head.

We’re deeper down the trail now, almost at the finish, and the trees have thinned just enough to reveal a jump.

The jump.

I stop dead, boots glued to the dirt like my body is finally caught up to the moment and decided, nope, not doing this again.

Finn and Mason halt, but Luc keeps walking.

“ Is this the one?” he calls back, looking around as if he’ll see a commemorative plaque somewhere. “Come on, someone tell me where the fuck you almost died.”

My skin prickles, and Finn exhales through his nose. “Right here,” he says, eyes fixed on the trail.

Luc looks from him to me, then down the slope, brows furrowing. “Seriously?”

Finn steps off the path and crouches at the edge of the drop. His sharp gaze slowly goes distant, and it’s like he’s reliving the moment, like it’s burned into him too.

I take a tentative step closer, and the others move with me.

And there it is.

That tree, that fucking tree. Still standing, even after trying to break me in half.

Next time, I’m bringing a chainsaw .

Mason’s silence is loud behind me, but I can feel the weight of his stare.

My gaze locks onto the jump, the exact patch of earth where the lip used to be. They’ve reshaped it since then, smoothed it out, pretending nothing ever happened.

But I remember.

“I’ve watched it,” Finn says quietly. “The footage from the broadcast. The way you flew. You looked like you belonged in the air.”

“Before the rear shock blew out and the whole thing folded like paper,” Mason adds.

“ Merde ,” Luc breathes out.

My body wants to flinch, but everything in me is wound too tight. With just one look at each of the guys stationed around me, I finally pull it together enough to glare at the trail like it owes me something.

Because it fucking does.

Finn stands and threads his fingers through mine like we’re not standing in public. I glance around, expecting eyes on us, but the others on the track walk are far away, lost in their own lines and team chatter.

I squeeze his hand back.

“You okay being here?” he asks, thumb brushing mine.

“I’ve been here a lot since then.” My voice comes out clipped, like I’ve rehearsed this lie so many times I’ve convinced myself it’s the truth. “It doesn’t faze me anymore.”

“ Menteuse ,” Luc murmurs. He comes to my other side and kisses my cheek like he’s soothing the ghosts away, and without looking, I know Mason has stepped closer, too, his warmth seeping into my battered spine.

It’s almost too comforting, so I let go of Finn, shake out my hands, even if that sends a jolt of pain threw my bandaged fingers, and force my lungs to fill.

“We’ re here for track walk, right?” I step back from the edge and start walking down the track, right past the jump. “Finn, which line would you take?”

He smiles softly when he walks past me, then crouches near the ledge of the next section, brushing a finger over the moss-slick rock. “You see this angle here? I’d go in high, brake before the second root, then hop over the dip.”

I nod automatically, but my brain is half-idling because I know this trail like my own scars. I’ve ridden this track so many times in so many weather conditions, I could draw it from memory with a blunt stick and my eyes closed.

“Really?” Mason crouches beside him. “I would’ve thought the low line was faster. Better compression into the exit.”

“No, not when it’s this wet. You’ll drift.”

Mason shrugs, already reassessing. “Okay then.”

Gravel crunches behind us before I hear his voice.

“You don’t usually take no for an answer, Payne.” Raine’s voice is way too close to my back, smug and venom-laced.

My crash still echoes in the dirt like it just happened.

And now h e’s here.

Motherfucker.

Then Isla’s perfume hits. It’s sweet, perhaps to distract her unsuspecting victims from the rot underneath.

Mason stiffens beside me, and Finn’s head snaps up, his whole body on alert.

He’s the reason I shattered, and he has the fucking nerve to show up here at my graveyard .

When I finally turn toward him, Isaac is grinning like he didn’t just spit poison in public, and we’re too scared, too civil to fight back.

You thought wrong, asshole.

Luc barrels toward him with the kind of anger that gets people arrested, so I throw my arm out, catching him hard in the chest.

“Back.”

Isaac smirks, but then I pull my fist back before I punch him square in the fucking mouth.

No grace. None of the form Mason tried so hard to teach me. Just bone, rage, and seven years of fury.

His lip splits with a wet crack, blood blooming as fast as the pain in my knuckles.

Fuck, that hurts.

Raine stumbles back a step, crashing into Isla, who shrieks like this was somehow her trauma. He wipes at his mouth, his eyes wide and stunned like he can’t believe someone actually dared shut him up with something as primitive as consequences.

Then his eyes darken, and something savage flickers there.

Shit.

He’s taller than me, way stronger, and now he’s pissed.

I couldn’t even reach his nose—what I wanted to hit—and now he’s going to kick my ass.

Worth it.

“You little—” Raine surges forward, but Luc jumps in front of me, Toulouse clinging to his shoulder, ready to take a piece of Raine, too, and Mason is right there beside him.

“Please,” Luc grins, tilting his head. “ Comment dit-on? Ah, yes, fucking try me .”

Finn’s arm glides across my chest softly before he shoves me behind him, his other hand shaking at his side like he’s one breath from knocking Raine out himself.

“What, rookie?” Raine sneers, blood smeared on his chin as he cranes his neck to see me behind the wall of muscle. “Can dish it out but can’t take it? Pathetic.”

“Oh, I’ll show you pathetic,” I start as I try to push forward again, but Finn holds me back, knowing if I move again, I’ll lose more than just my temper.

“That’s what I thought,” Raine mocks, then turns to Mason, spitting blood at his feet. “You really think they’ll still stand by your side when they finally figure out what you really are?”

I lift my chin. “Oh, and what’s that, Raine? Faster than you?”

Luc’s laugh is full of delight, but Mason doesn’t even blink.

“Walk away, Raine,” Finn says in a deadly tone I have never heard from him before.

“Or what?” Isaac goads.

“Or you’ll find out what it looks like when someone actually doesn’t take no for an answer.”

“Crews! Raine!” a voice yells from farther up the track. The thudding of boots on dirt follows, and then a UCI official barrels down the track, red-faced and winded. “Both of you, with me. Now .”

Fuck.

Ten minutes later, I’m sitting on a plastic chair inside the officials’ tent, the air thick with the scent of plastic and stress sweat. Mine, probably.

Raine huffs beside me, arms folded and legs sprawled, doing a damn good impression of a rock with anger management issues.

I’m trying not to bounce my knee, but it’s twitching anyway, and every second we sit here waiting, my jaw tightens more.

Behind the canvas wall, the officials are deep in murmured discussion, and I’m sure they want us to squirm. They dumped us in here—their petty detention pen—and left us to marinate in muggy air thick enough to chew.

It’s a power play .

And I fucking hate power plays.

Raine huffs again and swipes his tongue across his busted lip. He’s been doing it every thirty goddamn seconds, and when he does it again, I finally snap.

“Say what you need to say, Raine.”

“What I need to say?” He turns to me, eyes hard. “I’m probably getting disqualified because of you. Seriously, are you brain dead? You don’t throw punches on official time. We could’ve handled this after the damn track walk, you dipshit.”

“Oh yeah?” I shoot back, heat crawling up my throat. “Then maybe don’t talk shit during the damn track walk, asshole.”

He lets out a short, bitter laugh. “If you can’t handle shit talk, you’re in the wrong sport, rookie. Ask your cousin, at least he knew how to throw it back. You’re more like his sister. That one couldn’t take it either.”

Fucker.

“That bullshit with Mason wasn’t shit talk. That was defamation.”

“You fucking dense?” Raine snaps, leaning toward me. He looks ready to finish what I started. “He raped my sister.”

The vinyl wall behind us rustles, and voices rise just enough to remind us we’re not alone. Raine clocks it, too, and when he speaks again, it’s quieter, but no less sharp.

“It’s a miracle I haven’t buried him already. Be glad I’m holding back. I could’ve done worse. I should have .”

I stare at him, and it’s not fury that’s burning anymore. It’s disgust.

“You can drop the act. I know he didn’t do it.” Raine shakes his head like I’m the idiot here, but I don’t stop. “We all know. It was her. She wanted him off the circuit so you could claw your way back on top.”

“Is that what Payne told you all to get you on his side? God, you’re all pathetic.”

“I’m saying it’s a pattern,” I bite out. “Same way you run your mouth at Luc every race, trying to get him riled up and disqualified.”

“Delacroix is just a fucking dick.”

“What about Finn’s fiancée?”

“She left him .” His face tightens. “She was done with the idiot.”

“And Dane?”

“He’s been gone for years, but is still talking about me, huh?”

“Funny, isn’t it? And conveniently, Payne lost his sponsors. Just as convenient as Dane’s sister crashing, him disappearing, and suddenly, you win the overall.”

He glances toward the vinyl wall again. “Why the hell are you dragging Alaina into this now?”

I stand without meaning to, panic crackling beneath my skin at hearing him say my name. Even worse, he said it like he has a right to, like I’m just a girl he used to know.

My fingers twitch as my breaths shorten.

Not now, not like this.

I swallow hard, but adrenaline punches through me harder than before any race, and it feels like my body is trying to outrun me. I try to get ahead of it, but I can’t do shit to stop it as a hiccup slips out.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Raine whips his head toward me, but I spin away from him.

Shit, does he remember?

There is a rustle as he stands and steps around me, and I glance up at the exact second I see it click.

“What the?— ”

Another hiccup slips out, cutting him off and making his eyes widen, disbelief blooming across his face.

“ Hiccups?”

The room spins as my skin goes cold. He knows.

He knows.

And all I can think is, I hate that nickname .

Every moment I’ve rehearsed, every fantasy where I ripped off the mask and smiled while the world gasped and he begged for mercy— poof.

Gone.

I was going to walk off that podium a legend, but instead, I’m shaking in front of the one person who already stole everything, and I’m losing it.

“ You tampered with the fucking bike ,” I grit out, dropping the fake voice, my real one trembling with a rage I’ve been choking down for seven years.

“I trusted that course. I trusted my landing, my lines, and my gear, but you took that from me. You shattered my hip, my ribs, my fucking life, and walked away like it was nothing.” My good fist clenches so tight my nails dig into my palm.

I want so badly to hit him again. “You made sure I crashed. You almost killed me. I lay in a hospital bed for weeks, wired back together with metal and screws, wondering why I wasn’t dead yet.

I couldn’t breathe without pain. I couldn’t sleep without screaming, and you? You won the fucking overall.”

His face goes pale. “Alaina? It’s really you?”

“Yeah, asshole ,” I yell. “I’m Alaina Crews. Back from the fucking dead.”

My throat burns as my vision blurs.

Fuck. This was never how it was supposed to go.

The tent flap jerks open, and two officials stand there, staring at me with wide eyes and slack jaws.

The world hit pause as my real name rings in the air like the goddamn confession it is.

Double fuck.