Prolog
“Come on, Emanuel! Let’s go another round — or are you too scared? Afraid you’ll hurt those delicate legs of yours and won’t be able to play tomorrow?”
The guy named Samuel Álvarez sneered and pointed at my legs, clad in dark jeans already soaked through from the rain. The others around me joined in his mocking laughter.
We were near the airport, on a little-used street where the city’s gangs often held illegal races. The neon letters on the building behind me flickered and reflected in the puddles at my feet. The acrid smell of cigarettes from the man opposite me filled my nose, the biting smoke making it almost impossible to breathe.
I knew perfectly well I shouldn’t get back on that bike. I’d already raced three times and been lucky enough to finish unscathed each time. Now the rain was coming down in sheets, and I was sick of mounting the motorcycle, tearing from the garage to the intersection and back again. But that was the game. This was how I could finally earn the respect of those who’d seen me only as some wannabe young football star since my arrival in Madrid.
Carlos, a good friend of my father’s and the man who had taken me under his wing — as if I still needed that at twenty-one — clapped me on the shoulder.
“You’ve got this. Just do it like before,” he said with an approving nod. Easy for him to say; he wasn’t the one racing one of these maniacs.
Without protest, I gave a curt nod. It was already decided — I’d be in the final round.
If I won here tonight, I could impress them at tomorrow’s test match. My whole family would be there, and I could finally prove to them they’d made the right choice — that it had been worth sending me to Madrid, to one of Spain’s most prestigious training academies, and investing their savings in my future.
“Please, Emanuel. Don’t get back on that bike,” Sara pleaded as she stepped up beside me just as I was about to pull on my helmet. She grabbed my hand to stop me. Her cold fingers intertwined with mine, pressing them hopefully. Her long dark hair, tied back in a braid over her shoulder, was already drenched. Droplets fell from the strands clinging to her forehead and ran down her soft features. I cupped her cheeks in my hands and pressed my lips to hers passionately. Our tongues met, and instantly the chill the rain had caused fled from my body.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be right back,” I whispered against her lips, pressing my forehead to hers.
“Come on, Ramirez! We don’t have all night!” a demanding voice barked behind me. Reluctantly, I pulled away from her and gave my girl a warm smile, which she returned shyly. I tugged my helmet over my damp hair and climbed onto the bike.
The roar of the engine drowned out the excited shouts around me. Out of the corner of my eye, I dared a glance at my opponent, who watched me with a challenging grin. That bastard didn’t stand a chance against me, and he knew it.
In the next moment, the beams of the streetlights reflected off the wet asphalt as they flew past. The wind whipped around my knuckles and lashed at my face. Adrenaline spread through me like wildfire, my racing heartbeat pumping it into every inch of my body.
A quick glance over my shoulder told me I’d left Álvarez behind; he probably had no chance of catching me before the turn. If I slowed just a little, I’d make it safely despite the slick road. And that’s exactly what I did. With slightly less speed, I drifted into the curve, the wet surface helping me along.
Then I accelerated again, managing to exit the curve just ahead of my opponent. With a quick hand signal, I let him know the race was already mine. He stared at me, eyes narrowed in challenge, and I twisted the throttle once more.
When I shifted my focus back ahead, the wet asphalt reflected a light that didn’t come from the streetlamps lining the road. Instead, two new beams approached, growing larger with every meter I covered. The light blinded me, and I could barely see where I was. My jaw clenched so tight my teeth almost ground together. I curled my hand into a fist and squeezed the brake lever as hard as my fingers could manage. Ear-splitting screeches echoed through the cool night air, swallowing the roar of the engines.
Somewhere farther off, I heard the panicked cries of people’s voices. The tires beneath me lost their grip and the bike began to skid. Everything that happened next occurred at the speed of light — and at the same time, in agonizing slow motion.
The images unfolding before my eyes would haunt me for the rest of my life. I slid across the ground, feeling every jagged edge of the uneven asphalt cut into my side. Then came a dull, metallic thunder, like two vehicles colliding.
When I was little, I used to love jumping off the swing at its highest point. That queasy sensation spreading through my stomach for just a few seconds was intoxicating.
That same feeling filled my gut now. But this time my helpless body was being hurled through the air at double the speed and completely out of control.
Then I lost consciousness.
Unbearable pain…
Screams…
Screams that sounded like mine. Screams from other voices…
The wail of sirens…
Pain like pure fire coursing through my body…
Silence…
Crushing, endless silence, threatening to pull me under and never let go…
