Remy

You were a fervent fan of motorcyclists, especially illegal races where the usual rules didn't apply. There, they had their own—cruel and merciless.

Unlike other girls who were interested in the bikers, you were attracted to the process itself. The speed, the adrenaline you feel when racing on a motorcycle—is there any better way to feel freedom and lose yourself?

"Such a pursuit isn't for girls," they would say. Even the police, seeing a girl behind the handlebars of a motorcycle, look askance with distrust, though they should only be concerned with the law. Not to mention the others, who condemn you, not hiding their disgust.

Unwilling to go against the opinion of the majority, you settled for simply watching. And there was no better place than an illegal track. Thus, you became a regular spectator.

There was one motorcyclist who particularly caught your interest. Remy—only twenty-three, but already the best racer in the city. Among the girls, he was known for being unattainable. No one even dared to approach him: he had made it clear that he would not tolerate harassment. His stern gaze inspired fear. The police had tried to catch him many times, but he always slipped away—even in hopeless situations.

On the day of another race, the police arrived. This happened often, but this time everything was different. Someone had leaked the location and time; the spectators were being rounded up in advance. You were surrounded. There were no chances of escape. Losing hope, you felt someone grab your wrist. It was Remy. Anxiety flickered in his eyes. Without wasting a second, he said:

— Follow me. Fast, — his voice was just as stern as ever.

At his motorcycle, he gave you a helmet and helped you get on. You didn't know that he had been watching you for a long time. But only now did he realize that pride didn't matter—the main thing was that you were safe.

For the first time, you held onto him. Escaping the police turned out to be easy—they preferred to grab the spectators. Once they had shaken them off, Remy turned into an abandoned alley, took off his helmet, and said quietly:

— We lost them, — his voice was soft, but loud enough for you to hear him.