CHAPTER 19: DON'T HATE THE PLAYER. (PART 1)

MAYA.

One excruciating week. Seven endless days since my world collided with his. Seven sleepless nights since we shared a bed, our bodies inches apart, yet emotionally miles away.

The memory of his words still stung: "Nothing happened between us." A statement that felt like a rejection, even though I had never mustered the courage to confess my true feelings.

For days, I wallowed in self-pity, surrendering to the anguish that threatened to consume me. But as the hours ticked by, I grew tired of my despair. I was done with the sulking, the endless what-ifs, and the crippling heartache. It was time to take control, to shatter the chains of melancholy that had held me captive for so long. With newfound determination, I vowed to do whatever it took to exorcise him from my mind and reclaim my shattered heart.

My quest for distraction led me down a dismal path, forcing me to confront a painful truth: my social life was woefully lacking. Outside of Sasha and Eric, my interactions were few and far between. It was a bleak realization, one that highlighted the monotonous nature of my daily existence.

With a sense of desperation, I scoured my meager list of hobbies, searching for something - anything - that could provide a welcome escape. But as I scrolled through the paltry options, one activity stood out, its memory stirring a long-dormant excitement within me. Street racing. The mere thought sent a thrill coursing through my veins. It was street racing?

Yes, you heard that right - street racing. The rush of adrenaline, the roar of engines, the thrill of pushing speed limits... it was a passion I thought I'd long abandoned, but its allure still lingered, tempting me to revisit the thrill of the ride.

The irony wasn't lost on me - I'd chosen the one activity that linked me to the person I was desperately trying to erase from my mind. It was a cruel joke, really. How pathetic was I, clinging to the very thing that reminded me of him? You might be thinking, "Maya, this is a recipe for disaster, don't do it!" And, honestly, you might be right. But I couldn't help myself. Racing had a hold on me, a siren's call that I couldn't resist.

Racing was more than just a thrill or a hobby - it was my escape, my sanctuary. When I was behind the wheel, the world melted away, and all that mattered was the rush of adrenaline, the roar of the engine, and the thrill of the ride. My worries, my fears, my heartache - all of it faded into the background, replaced by a singular focus on the road ahead. In those moments, nothing else existed, and that was liberating.

The night beckoned, a siren's call to the racing world. I could lose myself in the thrill of the ride, the wind whipping through my hair, the roar of the engine drowning out my worries. But, alas, fate had other plans. Tonight was the night of Noah's friend's party, a Friday night extravaganza that promised to be a chaotic mess of drunken revelry and hormonal angst.

And, of course, Sasha would be there, her eyes shining with excitement at the prospect of seeing her crush. She'd never let me get away with skipping the party, not when school was out and the weekend had officially begun. To survive the night with my sanity intact, I needed an antidote, a way to steal myself against the mayhem that awaited. Racing was my only hope.

"Damnit!"

I muttered a curse under my breath, swiftly ducking behind the pillar under the bridge as I spotted Andrew and his group of friends huddled in a circle, their animated chatter carrying through the air. Wait a minute... "Why am I hiding?" I whispered to myself, double-checking my disguise for the night. The hoodie, the sunglasses, and the messy hair - I was almost unrecognizable.

I took a deep breath, attempting to calm my racing heart. "It's alright, you're okay. You got this!" I whispered, trying to psych myself up. I tugged on my hoodie, ensuring it wouldn't slip off when I merged with the crowd or mounted my motorcycle. With a newfound sense of determination, I stepped out of my hiding place, my eyes scanning the area for any sign of 'you know who' and his friends. I knew that if our eyes met, Hossein would instantly recognize me. His piercing gaze seemed to see right through me, and I couldn't risk being discovered.

As I walked by, a voice that sent a shiver down my spine responded to Min's question, its familiar tone making my heart skip a beat. "Think he would agree to do it?" The group erupted into a cacophony of excited chatter, their words tumbling over each other in a frenzy of speculation. I wondered what had sparked their enthusiasm, but before I could satisfy my curiosity, the street race organizer's booming voice cut through the din.

"Alright, everyone, gather around!" he bellowed, clapping his hands together to emphasize the importance of the moment. The crowd fell silent, their faces turned toward the organizer with rapt attention.

"One of you proposed something that's never been done here before," he announced, a sly grin spreading across his face. "And after giving it some serious thought among ourselves and the racers, of course!" He paused for dramatic effect, surveying the crowd with a gleam in his eye. "We decided this might turn out to be one of the most exciting races ever seen on these streets!" The organizer's words were laced with infectious enthusiasm, and the crowd began to buzz with anticipation.

What kind of madness were they cooking up now? My curiosity was piqued, and I leaned in, my ears perked up to catch the organizer's next words. "So, without further delay, I would like to officially call for the start of the betting for the legendary race to the North Side to begin!" The crowd erupted into cheers and chants, but I stood frozen, my mind reeling in shock.

Had he really just announced a race to the North Side? Was he out of his mind? The North Side was notorious for its treacherous terrain, narrow alleys, and hairpin turns. It was a death trap, not a racing circuit. "Am I the only one who didn't know about this?" I blurted out, my voice barely above a whisper. The excited chatter and cheers of the crowd provided a jarring contrast to my growing unease.

The 'North Side,' infamous for its ominous nicknames 'Dead North' and 'No Good North,' was a lawless, gated community that struck fear into the hearts of even the most hardened individuals. As one of the oldest communities in Abuja, its reputation for brutality and thievery preceded it. Outsiders dared not tread its streets, lest they fall prey to the community's notorious gangs, who would steal anything of value and mercilessly beat those who crossed their path. The police themselves approached the area with trepidation, knowing that even they weren't immune to the community's wrath.

Who in their right mind would suggest racing through this war zone? I wondered, my incredulity growing by the second. The announcer's booming voice cut through my thoughts, sending the crowd into a frenzy. "As usual, one of our top riders has agreed to race anyone daring enough for a whopping sum of twenty million!" The crowd's roar was deafening, but I stood frozen, my mind reeling with the sheer audacity of the proposal.

My eyes widened in horror as I scanned the crowd of thrill-seekers, wondering who among them was reckless enough to risk their lives and a small fortune on this perilous race. The announcer's booming voice cut through my thoughts, shouting, "Drew, my man, come up here!" as he beckoned Andrew to the front of the crowd.

My mind screamed in exasperation as Andrew made his way to the stage, a confident smirk plastered on his face. Of course, it had to be him - the psycho who lived for this kind of adrenaline-fueled madness. But why? What could possibly drive him to take on such a perilous challenge? Our eyes met briefly, and I felt a jolt of surprise. He smirked, while I scowled beneath my mask, suddenly realizing that he was doing this because of me - or rather, because of the hooded rider. But what was his motive? Was he seeking to prove something, or was this just another one of his reckless stunts?

Was this really about the two times I'd left him in the dust on the racing circuit? I narrowed my eyes, my mind racing with suspicion, as Andrew leaned in to whisper something in the announcer's ear. The announcer's eyes went wide, and he took a deep breath before making the shocking announcement: "The winning prize has just been upped to thirty million!"

Pandemonium erupted as the crowd surged forward, everyone clamoring for a chance to take on Andrew and claim the lucrative prize. But Andrew remained unmoved, his smirk growing wider as he locked eyes with me, his gaze daring me to back down. It was a silent challenge, a taunt that seemed to say, "You're the only one I'm interested in racing. If you don't show up, you'll be the loser by default." The air seemed to vibrate with tension as I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest.

One advantage of this high-stakes race was that Andrew had the sole discretion to choose his opponent, which meant I could still walk away unscathed, except for the sting of defeat. Andrew would retain his prize money and, more importantly, his life. For a fleeting moment, I considered retreating, but then my gaze fell upon a cluster of rough-looking men huddled together, their whispers and sidelong glances radiating an air of malice.

I recalled the altercation between Andrew and one of those men just last week. If that brutish individual managed to catch Andrew's attention after I walked away, I did not doubt that Andrew would take the bait. His pride would be at stake, and the stakes would escalate from a simple race to a battle of egos. Andrew's competitive nature would cloud his judgment, putting his life at risk. I knew I couldn't let that happen.

A chilling realization crept over me: this was no longer just about Andrew reclaiming his title from the mysterious hooded rider. The group of rough-looking men had a score to settle, and their thirst for revenge would stop at nothing - including taking Andrew's life. The thought sent a shiver down my spine, and before I could process my emotions, my legs seemed to move of their own accord.

The crowd's deafening roar grew even louder, a cacophony of cheers and chants that threatened to consume me whole. Andrew's slight nod was all it took to confirm that he'd accepted me as his opponent. My heart sank, and my mind reeled with the implications.

What was I getting myself into? And then, like a ton of bricks, it hit me: I was doing this because I cared deeply for Andrew. After all, the thought of him in harm's way was unbearable. Damn! I am head over heels in love with this idiot, aren't I? The realization was both exhilarating and terrifying.