Crashing Into My Alpha

My lungs are burning, and honestly, I live for this.

I’ve pushed sixty kilometers legs on fire, sweat in my eyes, and the only thought in my head is, “Faster, faster, faster.” The road twists high above the town, old asphalt still holding onto yesterday’s sun. I lean into a curve, tires hissing, heart pounding like it’s trying to break out and cheer me on.

This is the only time my brain really goes quiet.

Then I hear them.

Three bikes. Gears clicking. Loud voices are already floating up behind me.

“Yo — Vale!”

I don’t slow down. Maybe if I ignore them, they’ll leave. Probably not, but it’s worth a shot.

Nope. No such luck.

Marco pops up next to me, grinning way too wide. Behind him are Theo and some other kid I don’t bother naming. At no point he will be gone by next week.

“Didn’t think you’d be out here alone,” Marco says. “Where’s your daddy? Isn’t he usually right behind you, chasing you down with rules and a helmet?”

“Go home, Marco.”

“Oh!” He throws a hand to his chest, all offended. “Someone’s in a mood.”

Theo cracks up. Not the kind of laugh you get from something actually funny, he’s just piling on to feel like a part of the winning side. “Ease up, Anna. Girls built like you shouldn’t be going this hard. You’ll blow a hip or something, and then what? No guy’s going to want goods that are busted.”

I keep going. Breathing. Pedaling. Not giving them anything.

Theo edges closer, thinking he’s so clever. "I'm serious," he says, right next to me now, matching my speed as he thinks this is flirting. "Break something down there, and no man will ever marry you. Who wants a wife who can’t—"

“Finish that line,” I say, “and let’s see how many teeth you’ve got left.”

"There she is." Marco lights up, like he was just waiting for me to snap so he could really get started. "Come on, sweetheart. We’re just kidding around. Don’t get your panties in a twist. Oh, wait—" he glances at Theo, smug. "—can she even wear panties? Or does she just borrow her old man’s boxers?"

Something inside me goes still. Hot.

I hit the brakes. Hard. Gravel spits out behind my back tire, and before they know it, I’m off my bike, standing right in front of them.

“Anna—” Theo starts, but I don’t let him finish.

Four steps and I’ve got his collar. He’s still grinning, totally convinced this is all just banter until I yank him sideways off his bike. He smacks the ground hard and suddenly isn’t smiling anymore.

“Say it again.” My voice doesn’t even sound like mine. It’s lower, rough, edged out with something I can’t hold onto. Pressure builds behind my eyes. My skin feels tight, burning from inside out. “Say it again, and I’ll break something you actually need.”

Marco hops off his bike, fists up, looking tough now that Theo’s down. “You crazy bitch—”

I don’t wait around to see how tough he’s feeling.

I punch him straight in the jaw before his fists even get up. It’s chaos for maybe six seconds. Somebody’s elbow glances off my ribs. I could barely feel it through the fire under my skin.

When it’s over, Marco’s kneeling in the dirt, clutching his jaw. Theo’s still lying there, and that nameless kid? He’s smart enough not to move, just sits on his bike, ten feet back, eyes huge like he’s finally realizing monsters are real.

Good. Let him.

My knuckles are split, but I don’t care. My chest heaves. Under the anger, there’s this other thing: a deep, golden thrum I only feel when I let myself off the leash. Dad calls it “losing control.” I call it actually feeling alive.

For a second, I let them see it. Whatever’s moving behind my eyes, I let it stare right back at them.

Marco stops talking.

That’s how you know. Marco never shuts up. But something in him, that animal instinct just told him to stay down. He listens, even though he has no idea why.

Whenever they call me a bitch, a freak, not enough of a girl, or too much of one, they never mention this: When it matters, they listen.

“Get up,” I said to Theo. He scrambles up, cradling his shoulder. “And the next time you want to talk about what I’ll never have, be ready to lose your mouth.”

I’m still catching my breath, blood roaring in my ears, when I hear an engine.

Not a bike.

A car. A door slams.

And just like that, my stomach is gone.

Dad.

Of course. This is his route, every single morning. Of course, he shows up one day three idiots decide today’s the day. Of course, he walks up just after the punches fly, not before.

He doesn’t yell. Honestly, that’s worse. He just scans Marco in the dirt, Theo is holding his shoulder, my split knuckles, and his jaw tightens.

I know that look, the lecture won’t even start until after we’re home. Right now, he’s too angry (or disappointed) to waste the words out here.

“Get in the car, Anna.”

“They started it—”

“I said get in the car.”

I want to argue. I want to unload everything Theo said, all the things they always say. But what’s the use? I know how this story ends.

Doesn’t matter who threw the first punch.

Only matter that mine was last.

I toss my bike in the trunk myself so he doesn’t have to touch it like maybe if he does, he’s part of this mess too. I dropped into the passenger seat and slammed the door harder than needed.

We don’t talk the whole drive home. I watched the ridge in the side mirror, golden energy in my chest finally fading into silence and plain bone-tired.

At the last stop sign, just before we get home, he finally speaks. Doesn’t even look over.

“Your advisor called yesterday. Before this.”

His hands grip the wheel. “And the club called this morning.”

Something cold sweeps straight through me. "What did they say?"

He’s careful, almost too calm. “They said if there’s one more incident, one more fight, one more suspension, one more call about my daughter’s temper, they’re pulling your racing license.”

It takes a second to hit. Then it crashes down a wrecking ball into the chest.

“They can’t. I’m not a kid—they can’t just—”

“You’re on a university program that I’m still paying for. Yes, they can. And they will.” He met my eyes. No heat in them this time, just worry and something a little haunted.

“You’ve got one shot left. Get it together. Or you lose the only thing you really care about.”