A/N

Writing this chapter, the longest so far, felt like it took forever. I had no idea that the world I determined to give my readers a glimpse into is such a specialized subject. The sport of motorcycle racing, and all things related thereto, isn't something I think about every day in my native language, let alone in a second language. I've given everything I have to make this a memorable experience for you, and I sincerely hope I won't make a fool of myself. There are many fascinating technical details mixed into this chapter, neatly garnished with a twist of lime.

My utmost appreciation goes out to Scattered21 who had a fantastic contribution to this chapter, and Girl Of Chaos, for assisting me with technical issues and demanding a competitive Eric.

Disclaimer:

Nothing recognizable, including the characters, is mine. I lay claim to just the plot and Eric's victory in the race. And both are delicious.

Clarification of the timeline, which, along with the race regulations, can be confusing:

Eric and Sookie had their first encounter Friday morning, on the road from Bucharest to Sinaia. The same evening, Friday, they met at the Cabana Haiducilor restaurant, outside Sinaia. He picked her up from the dark forest road, and after a detour at Peleş Castle, Eric dropped her off at her hotel before sharing a night of passion with Andrei and Sofia.

Saturday morning he goes to the race track in Braşov to sign in, then perform the practice laps required for registration. After the next round of laps, the qualifying ones by which he earns his place in the starting grid, he roars back to his hotel in Sinaia, adrenaline surging. He somehow persuades both Sofia and Andrei to accompany him to Cheile Râşnoavei for bungee jumping, just because he likes having an appreciative audience. After his plunge he sees Sookie who had arrived earlier to learn Zorb rolling with her work colleagues. He dares her to take a jump, too. She does.

Sunday is the actual race day, with warm-up laps and the two rounds of the race.

Finally, the chapter:

7. SuperBiker

EPOV

Saturday morning.

Passing by Suzana's hotel at the crack of dawn this morning, I briefly consider stopping in to leave a message for her at the front desk. I'd thought last night I'd really like to see her at the race tomorrow.

But I waver just long enough that I miss the hotel's turnoff; purposely, I think. I suppose I resent her hot-and-cold attitude towards me last night. Is she trying to shake my confidence?

Instead I settle in for the long ride to Ghimbav, a small German town with its heavy fortified buildings, that hosts the airport, situated near the historical Braşov, where the race will occur tomorrow. I need to arrive early today to register, meet with my crew, and complete technical inspections. Then there will be time for a practice lap or two before the qualifying ones that will establish my place in the grid.

Several hours and many rounds later, I have secured a good place in the starting grid, as expected, the second in the leading platoon.

Two more competitions remain, including this one, for the National Championship. Last year I finished in second place, which is not good enough for me. This year, if things continue to go my way, I will finally be the national champion in the biggest class, the Open Superbike, the uncrowned king of motorcycles. I idly wonder if Suzana will be in the crowd tomorrow, watching my triumph.

I return to Sinaia to collect Sofia and Andrei. At my insistence, we leave immediately for the nearby bungee jump facilities. I'm desperate to blow out some of the tension coursing through my body after a morning spent piloting my bike safely between lesser riders. And once again, I find the woman from last night planted firmly in my path.

~o~

As I wait impatiently for the bungee basket to return me to the surface where Suzana stands after her jump, I reconsider my earlier reluctance to become involved. I have to admit, it is good to see the petite feisty blond here at Cheile Râşnoavei. I allow myself to recognize that it is better than just good; in truth, it's a treat!

It might be easy for others to overlook her, I muse, unless you have a trained eye, such as myself.

Flashy outfits and makeup haven't fooled me for some time now. I am good at identifying when a pushup bra will reveal a pair of lackluster breasts and make my apologies early as I'm out the door. And I don't really care for women tottering around in unstable heels. What can one man do with giraffe legs? Make a double knot? Not me. What I do care about is between them: THAT is what I want to find tight and welcoming.

Also overrated is a small waist and narrow hips, the fashion today; Suzana's slightly plump figure has many advantages in my world.

Although I have yet to hold her, I'm also sure she has nice tits, and guessing from the shape of her luscious mouth, a hot pussy underneath that shapeless gray cotton. But, surprisingly, I find I like her unusual personality best, even if she can be disconcerting at times.

She is sweet, sweet enough to eat. Just the sort of thing I would gladly do for her.

Especially as I have a better insight into her earlier hot-and-cold behavior. When Andrei made his jump, I saw the flicker of a haunted, empty look cross Suzana's features. It was readily recognizable to me, a shadowy sorrow I had observed many times darkening the features of Alcide, Tray, and especially my Godric. When I questioned them about it, each man had eventually admitted he was reliving painful, raw memories of the war.

But Suzana seems far too ... young? innocent? to be marred by such grief. At that moment, still high on adrenaline from my jump, I would have done almost anything to make her smile again. She does have such a charming smile. One I know I want to see bloom again and again on her lips, just for me.

I still don't believe the courage she just displayed! When I saw her looking down I was certain she would be too frightened to do it. Knowing she'd need a distraction or she'd change her mind, I had very impulsively kissed her, her lips parting in astonishment as I pressed home my advantage. It was a shock how much I enjoyed it; discovering she tasted of just-picked raspberries and icy mountain streams. I'd wanted more, but hanging in a cage as Sofia watched with interest was neither the time, nor the place. I was amused that both during and after our kiss, she kept her eyes wide open, a blazing blue fire that threatened to ignite something in me.

And yet, she hadn't faltered; had in fact, jumped, flying like a thing possessed into the open air, my hands instinctively reaching for her as I saw her spin away from me.

Of course it was her first jump, and each one will be easier than the last, but the feeling before the plunge will never be as intense for her as the first time. And I was there to experience it with her.

As I glance around at the narrow rocky valley and the sparsely forested areas below, I notice that Sofia, Andrei and their motorbikes are nowhere to be seen. I snort, guessing at the reason for their early departure: Sofia knows all-too-well the adrenaline from our activities should be plenty to keep me warmed-up for a couple of days. Which is inconvenient, as Sofia now seems reluctant to share Andrei with me. Apparently he was so enthusiastic about the whole experience last night that she has become jealous. Not that I would be all that interested in stealing away her new blushing boy toy. Even if he is a bonne bouche.

Maybe Suzana will have a change of heart towards me. She too will be high for a day or more from the endorphins generated by her leap. That might work in my favor. But I can't follow up any on my hopes for the girl any sooner than tomorrow.

Tonight must be an evening of rest and recuperation. I have a race tomorrow, for fuck's sake! I'm about to be named Champion in the Superbike.

Today I need to return to my room early, and avoid any more strenuous bedroom-related activities.

In fact, experience has shown me that bungee jumping served to relax me more than extra hours of sound sleep. And the added euphoria from it will only sharpen my senses.

I focus again on Suzana, observing her closely as she staggers about on the ground below me, safely back at the base of the mountain. Suddenly, I find myself shouting orders to the rope handlers, impatient to get back down. Tracking her from above, I leap the last few feet to swiftly follow after her retreating shape, eventually lowering myself beside her exhausted body, lying on the wooden platform to recover.

Flushed checks, harsh breathing, disheveled hair - ecstasy makes her flourish. I imagine this is how she must look like after having mind-blowing sex. Administered by myself, of course.

She appears dizzy, which is normal after the Bungee-experience. So it's my pleasure to embrace her, listening to her heartbeat slow, until she appears more coherent.

"Did you enjoy yourself, Suzana?"

"Mmm... Aha..." Guess she isn't too articulate yet. I definitely want to bring her to this state again, soon. In a bed, on top of a table, in the shower...

Damn, I am getting hard again!

This woman is so embedded in my thoughts, I keep forgetting about the race tomorrow. I remind myself that I've had more than my fair share of excitement before it. I should be focusing on cooling down.

Her words unexpectedly pull me out of my lustful reverie: "You can call me Sookie. My friends call me Sookie, as does my family." She pauses, still slightly breathless. "My brother was the first one to give me that nickname… Although I have very few family members left to call me that anymore. And even fewer friends." She is rambling now. I wonder if she is aware of how much she is revealing to me.

"Okay... Sookie." Funny name! "Do you think you can walk? Or at least drive?"

"I guess so. At least I can try to."

"I'd take you but I had my bike adjusted for the race. The passenger's foot stand had to be removed."

"Just gimme a minute. Or, come to think of it, an hour..."

"No problem. Relax." I placed my chin on top of her head, inhaling her relaxing sweet scent, and we both fall into a sort of downtime.

~o~

Eventually, after about an hour of sitting in silence, we are once again on the move, I on two wheels, she on four. She has this tiny car that looks, and moves, like a yellow tin can.

Her colleagues are already gone off to some club when we arrive back at her hotel. Much better this way, I think, than to see those sorry asses again. And, even better, there is plenty of grilled dinner leftovers for us to eat.

So, as I am never one to refuse a free meal, I end up wolfing down a huge steak while Suzana, pardon, Sookie nibbles on a chicken leg and some salad.

While we sit on the patio, enjoying our meals, and the view of sun setting behind the mountains, I have the opportunity to learn a bit about her work. She seem much more intelligent and qualified than her menial secretary position would warrant. I also confirm that she is mostly alone in the world, and that she isn't seeing anybody. Usually I don't care about these facts since I am not interested in anything long term. But this girl? She is nothing like the 'dollar a dozen' types I mostly encounter in clubs and at races, either.

When the hour turns late, with only the moon shedding light upon us, I'm astonished to realize I've forgotten all about the competition the next day. Regretfully, I excuse myself, first inviting her to come to see me tomorrow, giving directions and exchanging telephone numbers, 'just in case,' without any argument this time from her. Feeling I've made progress, especially as she seems quite attracted to me, I tell her again I'm glad we shared the intense experience of bungee jumping. After murmured wishes for a restful slumber, and a lingering kiss on her hand, I politely leave her in the lobby, and head back to my hotel, eager to collapse for the night.

~o~

After an uneventful night, I am awakened by the annoying buzzer on my cell phone's alarm. Sunday morning, finally! The day of the race has finally arrived. With little time to spare, I decide to take care of my almost painful morning wood in the shower.

This time I hope my dark-eyed ghost will spare me another manifestation as I relieve myself. But a certain blazing blue eyes and golden hair would be more than welcome in my shower this morning.

I close my eyes while soaping my chest. I can easily imagine a woman's small hands caressing me. Her fingers ghost over my nipples that harden under the cool rivulets of water that hit them. With increased pressure she circles them, then catches the left one with her lips, sucks it lightly and flicks it with her hot wet tongue. With a quick bite down on tender flesh, she releases it just as I moan.

I can feel the warm tip of a tongue instead of my fingertips trailing down my abs, dipping in my belly button, before making its way through the dark blonde path leading to my aching cock.

I picture a generous shaped form, her on her knees before me, her large round blue eyes shielded from the cascading water off my body, looking up at me. She wordlessly pleads with me to take me in her mouth. The cascade of her golden hair is slicked back from her face in long dripping strands over her shoulders, tantalizingly framing the top of her round tits. My fist tightly grips my stiff erection and starts to pump it with long rhythmic strokes. In my mind's eye, it is not my hand, but her full lips wrapping around by cock, bobbing her head up and down on my length, never taking her eyes off mine. She is so beautiful like this, and I feel myself becoming even harder, if that is possible.

Suddenly the image coalesces into a vivid vision of Suzana. It's her intense blue eyes locked on mine, her golden wet locks sculpted invitingly, and her red lips surrounding my cock. She feels so perfect here, in my shower, at my feet that I moan loudly as I imagine it is my Sookie who is moaning around me. With my left hand I cup my balls, seeing nothing but her in front of my closed eyes. One tug and I come hard, harder than I usually come by myself, spasm after spasm that feels like shock waves sending my spunk towards my fantasy partner, in long pulsating bursts, coating the blue tiles, as I gasp for air in the steamy stall.

Recuperating as quickly as I can manage, I rinse myself clean, washing my hair with the hotel's complimentary scentless shampoo. Drying off, my hair still damp, I dress quickly, grab my bags, a quick breakfast, Espresso coffee and some omlett, and then check out of the hotel. In less than twenty minutes, I'm headed out to the Braşov airport for today's race.

My thoughts focused on the race now, I still spare a few for my imaginary shower companion, hoping she will come to the race for me. And who knows? Perhaps after the race, she'll come for me in more ways than one.

~o~

At half past seven, I am waiting in the Paddock to meet up with my crew. After changing the tires and completing the checklist for the necessary final technical adjustments, I am ready for the warm up rounds. Still no signs of my crew, though. Searching the crowds for a familiar face, I catch sight of a small figure with long blond hair, and my heart leaps before I realize it isn't her.

My crews finally arrives, apologetic with anecdotal excuses about traffic delays, parking problems, disgruntled wives, and more. I've already tuned them out, my focus now on what I must do today.

And it begins.

At the signal of the green flag, we riders cross the Pit line, following behind the event's official lap car for a warm-up round. I am pleased to confirm that my Busa is running smoothly through the mandatory sighting laps, that had to be performed before the actual race.

I'm wearing my usual race number - '69', evocative of my skillfulness as a lover, a small luxury for which I have paid a premium to the race's handlers. Actually, the whole motorcycle hobby is an expensive one. Motorbiker racing is not a high profile sport in Romania, and sponsors are scarce. The sport's prizes are less-than-substantial; good thing my own company sponsoring me and I have Sofia's technical support.

After completing the warm up laps, I spot Sookie standing alone when there is a break in the crowd. She looks stunning today. I quietly whistle as I take in her tanned legs and her generous curves, emphasized in a form-hugging jeans skirt and a white top. Her long, blond, wavy hair is shining under the strong mountain sun. My day suddenly gets brighter.

"Hi! I'm glad you came." I say, walking towards her as I remove my helmet. She is watching me carefully with big, childish eyes.

"Impressive," she admits grudgingly, barely acknowledging my greeting. I know that such a gathering of horse power and testosterone can be an overwhelming sight. So I just nod, trying in vain to conceal my grin. There is a reason why so many guys choose motorcycles. The big machines with powerful motors are both impossible to miss and blatantly suggestive when cranked between a man's legs. Not that I personally would need any help in that department. My motorbike is just an expensive accessory.

"So, this is the next-to-last event in the Second-ranked National League, Individual Championship. You may not know that these races can only takes place on airport runways."

"Why only at airports?"

"Because they have the only suitable tracks available. The First-ranked National League events are held on real racing tracks, but there isn't a facility that meets the specifications here in Romania yet. So those races, or rounds as they are called, are only held outside the country on the Formula 1 race tracks in Hungary, Slovakia, and Greece. Even the training rounds must be held there. Making trips to those venues would take too much time and money. It' not like I make a living out of this; it's just an interesting distraction." That I intend to win! Plus these competitions offer more than enough head rush and hazard for me.

"You missed the juniors and the scooter class events, which were held earlier today. The next races, starting soon, will be the Supermoto Seniors, with three different categories - Pro S3, Pro Open, and Hobby. The last one will be the Superbike Open Hobby, only for experienced, qualified seniors, like myself. There are four rounds in total; this is the third. The National Champions are selected from the circuit participants with the most points in the four races spread on a twelve month period. At each round there are two races, the combined results will designate the winner.

She seems genuinely interested so I continue:

"My Suzuki Hayabusa, which is Japanese for falcon, also known by its serial designation GSX1300R, isn't a regulation racing motorcycle, like the Suzuki GSX1000R. Because of my Busa's superior displacement, it is relegated to the Open Class. She should be in a class all her own, of course, especially since I intend to add some Yoshimura race cams before the next round… "

I go on excitedly, sharing some of the other technical details about racing procedures, and how I intend to further tune my Busa, increasing its power. As her eyes haven't glazed over yet, I finish her education on my favorite subject with the hope that Sookie will understand at least a bit of what I am ranting about. What can I say, It is a real passion for me. My Hayabusa is Speed in all its glory.

During our rather one-sided conversation, my mates for the weekend, Sofia and Andrei, drift up and no doubt benefit from the event details I am sharing with my new friend.

It is clear by his demeanor that Andrei is excited by the whole racing environment, and like Sookie, is a greenhorn at such events. When there is a break in the conversation, I learn that the Yamaha Fazer he owns is a secondhand, which he bought last summer. "A good choice," I tell him. I can easily see him entering the competition next year, especially if he sticks with Sofia that long.

During our conversation, Sofia sneaks off and somehow manages to enter inside the restricted perimeter pushing her Harley. She knows it is in direct violation of all the rules, even for one of the race sponsors. As a small crowd gathers around her silvery V-Rod, I catch her smirking at me. With Sofia, her actions are always some combination of furthering her business and being the center of attention.

Eventually we walk to the Paddock, where we introduce Sookie and Andrei to my technical crew, which consists of Dan and Marius, two mechanics from Sofia's Harley motorcycle service. They are both very skilled technicians, and, thanks to my modeling contract with Harley-Davidson, I only have to pay them a quite insignificant fee for their services.

~o~

The six of us enjoy a light but delicious lunch, some take away from a Serbian restaurant, graciously paid for by Sofia, and comment endlessly about the motorbikes and their riders. After watching all the other races, happily without any major incidents, other than a couple of abandons due to technical issues, and a disqualification for doping, it is finally time for the Superbike Open Hobby, the last class in the race.

I steer my baby up to the grid, and take my position, the second place in the first row of the 4-4-4 echelon, waiting for the raise of the red flag, the signal of the start.

It is a false start because the rider to my left anticipates the start, and he is forced to make a ride through as we retake our starting positions. I catch the wave of the red fabric at the optimum moment and use the advantage to assume the leading position.

The first lap is always important because here you get to establish, or in my case, to maintain a leading position in the first group. My faithful motor responds beautifully, with the fire and precision of a young Arabic mare. Her hot, powerful body roaring under me is tremendously empowering.

How I enjoy the fluidity of leaning into the curbs, the braking by simply rising to take the wind in my chest! I truly thrive on feeling like a falcon gliding on wind currents on my Busa. Unsurprisingly, I finish first in this first round.

The second round doesn't begin as well for me. After running in second place for nine laps, behind Bogdan Vrăjitoru, my main competitor to the champion title, I finally force my way out into the lead, leaning in to the point of insanity at a sharp right turn, scraping my suit at my left knee on the concrete in the process. Having stolen the lead, it is time to give 1,000 percent! My heart is pounding so fast it seems to be on the brink of exploding. I feel my teeth clenched and almost hear them gritting. Eyes are narrowed on my target ahead. It's tunnel vision in the extreme, with my only exit crossing the finish line in first place My will, my mind, my entire being is focused on only one thing: seizing victory!

In a few short minutes, I am unequivocally the first one to cross the finish line, signaled by the flutter of the chequered flag. I slow, preparing to take a moment to wave to the crowd before taking a winner's lap. I must have been bearing down harder than I realized; it takes a moment before my fists relax enough on the rubber handle grips that I can remove my glove and raise my arm.

I pull back into the Paddock, victorious, and note with satisfaction that Andrei, Sookie, and Sofia are all three running towards me. Grinning as I remove my helmet, I know that I will get to kiss, well, if not all, at least one of them. The choice of which one of them to be the first is easy. I want to taste more of the lips I fantasized about worshiping my hard-on in the shower this morning.

I see that Sookie aims for my cheek so I turn my head a bit to the left, and she lands one right on my lips. It isn't the French, sensual kiss I wanted, more of a 'crushing lips' type. Still, it feels so fucking hot, and I want nothing more than to deepen the kiss, forgetting everything else. I fucking deserve it - I won!

But she stirs in my arms and, even if I am reluctant to let her go so soon, I do.

Andre jumps into my arms next, kissing me thoroughly, wet lips on wet lips, of course. I don't take the kiss further though. Unlike most times, today I do give a shit who is watching. For some reason, even if I am not at all ashamed of wide-ranging preferences, I don't want Sookie to see me kissing another. Thankfully Sofia is content with only a kiss on both cheeks.

We leave the Paddock, as the next event is scheduled to occur before the prizes are awarded. Prior to my race, I had run across the folks from Lemon Bikes, the premiere Romanian motorbike stunt crew. I am a high school friend of their leader, Marian, which makes me some sort of friend of the pack. Before he founded Lemon Bikes, Marian and I exercised stunts together in dark car parking at nights, and occasionally performed at few tuning exhibitions, when we were in our first year of university. Back then I was even more of a daredevil than I am at present.

My group chats amiably as we watch the stunt riders prepare for a demonstration. I conceal it from the others, but I'm impatient for the demonstration to be over; I want my prize for my win today. And, perhaps, some 'Sookie prize' later.

The stunt team assembles their bikes in formation on the track. I can see the number of trick riders has grown to ten, two of them women. One slim rider is his beautiful sister, who is no stranger to me; the other one is a pretty, curvy brunette I haven't met yet. And they have better equipment, and perform far bigger and more spectacular stunts than last year, the previous time I saw them. No longer restricted to only Circle Wheelies and Stoppies, they do now real acrobatics, aptly named the Hyperspin and Switchback.

I watch, amused as the awe of the crowd washes over the riders. I too used to love to show off like this as a teenager, but I grew tired of it shortly. The most visually shocking acrobatics are mainly a matter of skill and technical knowledge. The main risk is always to the motorbike; riders are rarely in any true danger.

But their performance is no less spectacular for it. Curiously, I feel a small twinge of jealousy as I see Sookie watching their show, clearly fascinated with the riders, especially with the male ones.

After the twenty minute exhibition ends with massive burning rubber smoke clouds amid the sounds of squealing tires from the last Merry-Go-Round Burnout, she noticeably relaxes and turns her attention back to me. Over her shoulder, I see Marian dismount from his bike and approach our group.

Andrei is ecstatic, of course, like any other young boy would be. He rushes forward to his new hero, using this opportunity to shower Marian with admiration and intelligent inquiries. I smile indulgently above his head at Marian, who winks in acknowledgment. But Marian seems far more interested in Sookie. He isn't bad looking for a biker, far from it, in fact. With thickly curled, short brown hair and beautiful green eyes, a muscular build and a witty personality, he was almost as successful with the ladies as I was at the time. Unfortunately, for me, he was as straight as an arrow but over the years we did share some girls in various cheap hotel rooms. Our history together ended abruptly with Pam's death, my decision to leave University, and my escape to France to enroll in the Legion Etrangere. As often happens, our paths parted ways permanently; he could never understand why I'd made the decisions I had. Is not like I could ever confide in him.

Marian now owns this club and a wildly successful mechanical shop while I am a partner at the biggest security company in the country. And soon to be Superbike national champion. We don't have as much in common anymore as one might think. Some days I still miss his easy friendship.

Still, I'm speechless at his audacity when I overhear Marian inviting Sookie to see and test his latest lime green Kawasaki bike. Allegedly it prior belonged to the famous Hungarian stunt rider Feri Potzner, who was killed in a car accident.

Instinctively, I assume a bit of a protective, possessive stance behind her. I feel a strong wave of emotion, recognizing it as the need to wrap her in my arms, to kiss her in front of everybody, and to claim her as MINE, for all to know. But she isn't, and the way this is going down is beginning to piss me off.

She turns to me, silently questioning my connection to Marian, and I am slightly mollified that she appears to be seeking my approval. I shrug nonchalantly, and give her a lopsided smile, even if my insides are screaming. I am almost never possessive, and can't fathom the surge of it right now. Not even with Godric did the green-eyed monster raise a hackle! Of course, back then I was more his that he was mine.

Placing his hand on the small of Sookie's back, the slick bastard turns his face to me and has the nerve to wink at me again. Does the fucker have a cinder in his eye? Grinding my teeth, I remind myself Marian was always the consummate ladies man. If my Sookie was some regular motor bunny, like the ones that are just now flashing their boobs at the Junior race winners that climb the podium, such behavior would seem normal. Only this time it is different, Sookie is different, and to see him handling her in this manner is filling me with a bloody rage. I swear that if he tries something inappropriate with her I'll be on him like white on rice.

Attempting to rein-in my unexpected reaction, I beg off from the group's antics and head to the Official booth. The scores are being announced, and I wish to distract myself by checking the detailed results.

After surveying my competitors' scores, and deciding that I am pleased with my results: 50 points from this race, which makes 147 so far this year. I turn back to seek Sookie, determined to ask for a winner's kiss from her. I'll let her know I expect a real kiss this time.

I eventually spot her standing alone again nearby. Seeing me approach, she smiles brightly, and begins to walk to meet me midway.

Suddenly I hear a loud screech of wheels, a bang, and several screams. In my peripheral vision, I'm simultaneously aware of a commotion and burst of flames to our left, jumping the barriers erected around the race track.

Sookie is only a few steps in front of me, still smiling, but her body is frozen, looking to the source of the noise. Spinning to my left, I'm horrified to see an out-of-control red car, the race's pace vehicle, aimed directly at her as she stands stunned in the middle of its path.

My nerves screaming, my body responds instinctively to the danger; I leap forward and somehow push Sookie out of the path of the approaching car, before stumbling and falling forward.

I hear her scream, and then all the world goes black.

A/N

The final scene is inspired by a sad incident that occurred at the real similar Championship, on Caransebeş airport, in August. An out-of-control drunk driver piloted his car through the persons on the track and the spectators, unaware of the havoc and injury he was causing the spectators. There were four severe injured that day, including one of the race's Junior Champions.

As always, there are links in my profile for this chapter. I've also added some new videos - an example of an airport race recorded from the perspective of a rider, a stunt demonstration, and news reports from the original incident that inspired the ending of this Chapter in my story.

I hope you had or have the time to read my one shots for I Write The Songs contest that you can find listed on my profile page.

Love The Way You Lie, an intense dark fantasy, a Sookie/Bill nightmare. I promise the Viking will make her feel better.

I Love You... Me Neither a romantic, fluffy French style lemonade. Related to it there is a pool in my profile. I had Eric's Gracious Plenty model for the "tiny red thing" to wear. And I really couldn't make up my mind which one I like it most. So I decided to make a pool, where you can vote your favorite red male scrap of fabric, 5 of them

Thank you all for reviewing and reading.

Please review this chapter to let me know your impressions, and your thoughts about it. I'mabout to hit the 100 reviews mark, all thanks to you.