Three other cars drive alongside us—each one like a predator ready to pounce on its prey at any moment. In one of them, a purple one, sits Ivan. I only catch a glimpse of his face, but that is enough to see that he is confident. Too confident. He hopes to overtake us, to win this race, but does he even have a chance? I don't know. I only know one thing: if we lose, everything will fall apart. And that fear, cold and sticky, tightens around my throat.
I turn my head and see her—Katrin. My girl. Her face is focused, her brows slightly furrowed, her lips pressed tightly together. She handles the car with such ease, as if it were an extension of herself. Every turn of the wheel, every movement—it is all perfect. I can't take my eyes off her. She is beautiful. And I am happy to be here, next to her, instead of somewhere in the stands, watching her car from afar. Here, in this cabin, I feel her energy, her determination. And it makes me stronger.
We round another turn, and for a moment, I think we might pull ahead. But no—two cars are still on our tail, like shadows we can't shake. Their headlights glare in the rearview mirror, and the roar of their engines merges into one continuous hum that presses on my ears. Katrin, however, doesn't give up. She skillfully blocks their attempts to overtake us, shifting left and right as if playing a game of cat and mouse. But I can see her fingers tightening on the wheel. Rebel is feeling the tension too.
Suddenly, one of the cars swerves to the right. I expect it to try to overtake us, but instead, it just takes up a position next to us. A couple of minutes later, Ivan does the same. His purple car is now on our right, and when I look over, I see his face. He is smiling. That smile is like a knife to the heart. It tells me he has a plan. And that plan is clearly not going to be pleasant.
"What are they up to?" I mutter, feeling the anxiety growing inside me.
Katrin doesn't answer, but her gaze becomes even more focused. She knows something is wrong, but she is ready. And then everything happens too fast. The car on the left suddenly swerves into us, hitting us from the side. Metal screeches, sparks fly into the air, and I feel our car jerk to the side. Before I can even recover, Ivan's car does the same on the right. We are pinned between them, like in a vise. They are pushing us, trying to force us off the track. My heart is pounding wildly, and thoughts race through my head. What do we do? How do we get out of this?
"Katrin!" I shout, but she is already acting.
Her face is like a stone mask—no fear, no doubt. She slams on the brakes, and our pursuers, not expecting it, shoot ahead. But it is only a temporary reprieve. They are already turning around to attack again. I can see Ivan's smug smile, as if he is enjoying this game.
"Hold on," Katrin says, her voice calm but filled with steely determination. "We'll show them who's in charge here."
And I believe her. Because she is Katrin. My Rebel Girl. My hero. And as long as she is behind the wheel, I know—we have a chance.
My heart skips a beat as I realize what is happening. We are trapped. Cars on both sides are closing in on us like a vice, their metal sides grinding against ours, sending sparks flying that light up the dark night road. I feel our car shudder from the impacts, like a living creature trying to break free from a snare.
I look at Katrin, trying to catch her gaze, but her eyes are fixed on the road. The car trembles from the blows, metal screeches, and the vice of our rivals' cars tightens around us. I can feel fear creeping closer, tightening my throat and clouding my mind.
"Katrin, what do we do?" My voice trembles, though I try to sound calm. "We're not just going to lose—we could die here."
Her face is like a mask—cold, focused, impenetrable. Only her hands, gripping the wheel tightly, betray the tension. She keeps driving as if she doesn't notice we're being squeezed from both sides. Ivan on the left, his purple car growling like a beast ready to pounce. On the right—another rival, his headlights blinding, his engine roaring as if mocking us.
"Katrin, answer me!" I'm almost shouting, feeling panic wash over me.
"The only thing you can do is shut up and hold on tight," she finally says, her voice like the crack of a whip—sharp, clear, full of confidence. "I'll handle this. They can't beat me. Hold on."
I nod, though she probably doesn't even see it. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. We can't lose. Not now. Not after everything we've been through. I remember what will happen if we don't win this race. This isn't just a competition—it's a fight for our lives.
Ivan's car closes in again, his purple monster growling like a predator ready to strike. He's smiling, that jerk, his face twisted into a smug grin. He knows what he's doing. He's enjoying this.
Katrin jerks the wheel, and our car swerves to the left, narrowly avoiding a collision with the car trying to push us. The asphalt screeches beneath the tires, smoke rises, and I feel adrenaline surge through me.
"They're trying to force us off the track," Katrin finally says, her voice cold as ice. "But they won't succeed."
Her words hit me like a punch. I fall silent, feeling her confidence seep into me. She speaks as if she can already see the finish line, as if she knows we will win. And I believe her. Because she is Katrin. My Rebel Girl. My hero.
She hits the gas again, and the car shoots forward like a predator escaping its pursuers. I feel myself pressed into the seat, a strange mix of fear and exhilaration spreading through my chest. Katrin is incredible. She handles the car as if it's an extension of her body, every move precise, calculated, flawless.
"Katrin, Ivan..." I start, but she cuts me off.
"I know. Hold on tight."
She jerks the wheel again, and our car swerves to the right, barely missing Ivan's car. He flinches, but only for a moment. His face twists with anger, and he starts closing in again.
"They won't stop," I whisper, feeling fear tighten my chest.
"Then we'll do something they don't expect," Katrin replies, a hint of defiance in her voice.
She hits the gas once more, and our car shoots forward like an arrow released from a bow. We fly past the car on the left, barely grazing it, and surge ahead. Ivan tries to follow, but Katrin is faster. She expertly navigates the next turn, and for a moment, I feel my heart stop with exhilaration.
"You're a genius," I breathe, unable to suppress a smile.
"Not time to relax yet," I notice the corners of her lips twitch into a slight smile.
We race forward, leaving our rivals behind. But I know it isn't over yet. Ivan won't give up so easily. And when I look in the rearview mirror, I see his purple car gaining speed again, like a demon chasing us from the darkness.
"He's on our tail again," I warn.
"Let him try," Katrin replies, a note of challenge in her voice.
But Ivan doesn't fall behind. His car pulls up beside us again, and he begins to close in, trying to force us toward the shoulder. I see his grin widen as he realizes we are trapped. We are racing forward, and I can feel every nerve in my body stretched to its limit.
Yet, at the same time, I am happy. Happy to be here, next to her, in this insane race where our lives are on the line. And I know that as long as she is behind the wheel, we have a chance. Because Katrin never gives up.
The atmosphere on the track is tense. The roar of the engines is deafening, and the speed makes my heart race. Sitting in the passenger seat, I clench my fists, watching as two cars—a purple one and a dark brown one—begin to close in like predators preparing to strike. Katrin, behind the wheel, holds her course with cold precision, her eyes locked on the road. The purple car hugs our left side like a shadow, while the brown one presses against the right. They move in sync, narrowing the space as if trying to trap us. Katrin feels the tires screech on the turn and gently presses the gas, trying to break free from the vice.
"They're trying to pin us again, but we won't let them," she informs me.
I nod, feeling the adrenaline pulsing through my veins. The purple car suddenly surges forward, attempting to cut us off on the next turn, but Katrin, with a sly smile, sharply reduces her speed, letting the rival slip ahead. The second car, caught off guard by the maneuver, hesitates for a moment, and that is enough.
"Now!" I shout, pointing to the narrow gap between the cars.
Without hesitation, Katrin shoots forward, expertly slipping through the opening. The tires screech, and the cars on either side, like irritated predators, try to close ranks, but it is too late. We break free, leaving our rivals behind.
"That's how it's done," Katrin says with satisfaction, glancing in the rearview mirror. "Thought they could handle us? They were wrong."
I relax slightly, feeling the tension gradually fade. I know that with Katrin behind the wheel, we can overcome any obstacle.
A new turn appears ahead. I know this is our chance. Katrin seems to read my thoughts. Just before the turn, she slams on the brakes. The car jerks, the tires squeal, and I am thrown forward. If I hadn't held on like she told me, I would've flown out the window. But I grip the seat tightly, feeling the adrenaline surge through me. Our car comes to a stop, but theirs doesn't. One of the cars, losing control, skids into the ditch, kicking up a cloud of dust. The other car, Ivan's, manages to stay on the track, but he loses precious seconds. Katrin is already moving again. She turns her head toward me, and I see her smile. It isn't just a smile—it's a challenge. To the world. To Ivan. To fate.
"Now let's win this race!" Her voice sounds like an order, and I silently nod, feeling a spark of hope ignite within me. She hits the gas, and we shoot forward. The car roars like a beast unleashed. I watch Katrin, her focused face, her hands gripping the wheel with such confidence. She is incredible. And I know that as long as she is behind the wheel, we can do anything. Even win this race. Even beat Ivan. Even save ourselves. We race forward, leaving behind dust, fear, and doubt.
Ahead is only the track, the finish line, and our victory. And I believe in it. In Katrin. In us. We continue our race, and the tension in the air becomes almost tangible. My heart is beating so loudly that it seems to drown out the roar of the engine. Katrin, my Rebel Girl, grips the wheel so tightly her knuckles turn white. Her eyes, filled with determination and fury, are locked on the road, but I can see sparks of anger flashing in them.
Katrin begins confidently closing in on the guy, her movements precise and calculated, as if she can feel every vibration of the car, every turn of the wheel. The guy, noticing us in the mirror, jerks his shoulder in surprise. His car howls like a wounded beast, and he surges forward, trying to maintain his lead. But Katrin just smirks—that cold, ruthless grin speaks for itself. She presses the pedal again, and the engine roars in response, obeying her will.
The car shoots forward, pulling alongside our rival, showering the asphalt with sparks from the screeching tires. And then she does it. The window rolls down with a creak, her hand shoots out, and her middle finger, raised in a silent cry of victory, hangs in the air for a moment. Her eyes burn with fire—a mix of triumph, defiance, and fierce exhilaration at having outplayed him. The guy, falling behind, slams the wheel in frustration, his face twisted in a grimace—whether of anger or admiration, we can't tell. We race forward, leaving behind dust, the roar of the engine, and the bitter taste of victory on our lips.
"You'll pay for what you did to my baby, you bastard," she hisses under her breath, and her voice is so full of rage that I feel a chill run down my spine. Katrin is ready to tear that car apart if it means getting back at him. Her fury is so intense that the air around us seems charged with electricity.