The ride takes almost half a day. We’re all packed in a black van — me, Calix, and five of his bikers. The back is filled with toolboxes, helmets, and spare bike parts that rattle every time the van hits a bump. Calix sits beside me, one arm resting on the window, quiet as usual. The others are loud, tossing jokes, arguing about who’ll win the tournament.Music plays from someone’s phone, loud and heavy. Even though it’s noisy, I’m lost in my own head. I still don’t know how I ended up agreeing to this, pretending to be Calix’s girlfriend.Every now and then, he glances at me, but I don’t say anything. I just stare out the window and watch the road blur past.Hours later, the smell of saltwater starts creeping in, and the breeze changes. When I see the stretch of blue in the distance, I know we’re close.The tournament is held by the beach, a massive place that looks like a vacation resort turned into a biker base. Rows of tents, metal barricades, and banners line the sand. Dozens of
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