Page 132 of Rogue Riders Duet

She’s not even celebrating. No fist in the air, no grin behind the helmet, no soaking up the roar of the crowd that’s still chanting some variation of her fake name.

When she reaches us, she swings her leg off the bike with a stiffness that makes my stomach drop.

What the fuck happened?

Dane moves to steady her, one hand on her shoulder as she passes him the bike. Even though I can’t see her eyes behind the goggles, there’s something in the way she sags just slightly under his hand that tells me she must be hurting badly.

“What’s wrong?” Dane crouches to be on eye level with her. “You okay?”

She shakes her head, a small, jerky movement, barely more than a flick beneath the weight of her helmet, then mumbles something I can’t fully hear over the crowd, but I catch the end.

“… watch the bike.”

With that, she pushes through the throng of people gathered at the finish, cutting a line through the noise. Hands reach out to clap her on the shoulder, to offer high fives and congratulations, riders and fans alike trying to pull her into the celebration, but she brushes past them all without slowing.

“Watch it, please,” Dane says, shoving the bike into my hands before he hurries after her.

Yeah, hell no.

I grip the handlebars and push the bike forward, following Dane, who reaches Alaina just as she’s heading toward the women’s bathroom at the gondola station. His hands come down on her shoulders, redirecting her toward the men’s, and she steps inside with him, her body curled in on itself.

I hesitate only a second before setting the bike down against the wall outside and following them in.

Inside, the air is cooler, the noise of the crowd muffled behind the heavy door, and a quick glance tells me we’re alone in here.

Alaina is panting at the sink, helmet already yanked off, one hand braced against the metal edge while the other clutches at her lower abdomen.

“Al,” Dane steps in close, worry bleeding out of him. “What’s happening?”

Alaina doesn’t answer, her whole body bowing under the weight of whatever is tearing through her.

And that’s when I see it, a dark trail of blood seeping down the inside of her blue race pants, staining the fabric along her thighs.

“Dane.” My voice comes out rough as I point toward her legs.

Dane’s head jerks around, following my gaze, and Alaina’s eyes snap down too.

“Fuck,” she hisses, then almost screams the word again. “Fuck!” She turns to Dane. “Get me Piper, please.”

“Who’s Piper?” I ask, already moving toward the door.

Dane barely glances at me. “The pretty blonde physio on Delacroix’s team.”

I push out of the bathroom and run back into the thick of things, my heart pounding as I scan the area. The leftover chants of the fans at the finish are slowly fading out when I spot Delacroix, his grin stretched wide, one arm thrown over Otis’s shoulder. Next to them stands a blonde woman in a pink team shirt, backpack slung over one shoulder.

Looks like a physio, I guess.

I go right to her. “You Piper?”

She glances over, looking annoyed. “Yes, Greer. We’ve been on the same circuit for five years now.”

I blink. “Right. Sorry.”

“What do you need?” she asks, eyebrows knitting as she registers the urgency I carry.

“It’s Al… len Crews. He asked for you.”

Delacroix pipes up at that. “Where is Petit? I wanted to celebrate him. He fucking did it!”