RIVALS | MxM MPreg

Prologue

Fifteen Years Earlier:

Alpha Landon McCoy gripped the steering wheel of his C6 Chevrolet Corvette until the knuckles under his gloved fingers had surely turned white. "One winner, forty-two losers," he whispered, his deep brown eyes staying pierced on the track as the flashing neon numbers in the center of the field counted down the seconds for the race to take off: 20, 19, 18... "What do I do with losers?" He looked to his left at the driver beside him, a veteran racer. He rolled his eyes through his helmet when the veteran gave him a friendly nod, and then his focus shifted back to the track, more concentrated, more determined. "I eat them."

The clock ticked down as adrenaline piped through Landon's veins as he and the other drivers started their engines—the sound thundering across the track, and echoed far off into the crowded grandstands.

05, 04, 03, 02, 01, GO!

Off they went!

The race started slow for the first two hours with a three-car mashup on the track. In the third hour, slowly the racetrack began igniting as the remaining forty cars took off, tailing beside and behind each other at a semi-lightning speed; all the racers now battling for the top spot.

Half an hour later, Landon's spotter commented into his earpiece—he didn't even bother remembering the man's name; Dale Rivers? Yes! Dale announced, "Troy is in the lead." Troy Rivergton was a seasoned veteran. Landon smirked into his helmet, his car jerked forward; focused—he sped up, catching up to the top ten racers easily. Dale made another announcement, "It's looking good. You're in the top ten and we only have twenty more laps to go."

Landon's smirk deepened; he was going to win this. He snuck up to the ninth place and the eighth; he reached fifth place with ten more laps to go. Excitement pumping in his chest, with five laps more to go, he timed the racer in front of him before breaking into the corner and slipstreaming past the other rookie. He was in fourth place—he drifted past the other racer, putting him into third place. The Floridian crowd cheered! And then, bang! A car from behind crashed, and merely a second later, the racers are escorted off the track for timeout until the track gets cleared.

"They're taking everyone in," Dale said into the earpiece. "Come into the pit so we can get those tires changed and gas you up."

A huffing sound left Landon's mouth before he rolled his eyes. Who did Dale think he was talking to? Landon didn't need a pit stop, he got this. "Not necessary," he said.

"Are you crazy?" Dale replied, sounding panicked. "You didn't come in in a good hour—you gone blow a tire out there, boy. I'm trying to help you."

"Like if I need your help—I pay you, remember?"

Landon turned off his earpiece, he didn't need this type of negativity. He was a one-man show, he was the star, and he didn't need a pit crew; they were to serve him not lecture him. He needed to fire Dale and the others after he won this race. Yes, he needed to win. This was his moment! He gritted his teeth and set another pace.

Focused.

The track was cleared and the racers were back, faster than fast and speeder than speed.

Landon's eyes were trained on the yellow car in front of him.

Breathe: in-out, in-out.

He slid into the corner track and sped forward. Within the blink of an eye, he drifted past the two cars in front of him, putting him in first place—the crowd went wild!

For a moment, he wished he had friends and family there to cheer him on. He snapped out of it in seconds, his attention never wavered as his car roared and rambled with a maddening force. He glanced at the neon sign at the center field, one more lap. He got this. He sped up, two veterans trailing him, Troy Rivergton and Danny Das.

Landon pushed forward. He felt the pressure building, his blood boiling as he entered the final lap. His engine roared louder, and suddenly his surroundings blurred; no one existed except for him and his undeniable victory. Troy Rivergton and Danny Das were right on his tail, but Landon knew those losers' time was up; it was time for a new racer in town. He smiled with teeth as sweat dripped down his face when he caught sight of the checkered flag waving in the distance. "What do I do with losers?" he whispered, breathless. "I eat them."

This was his first race.

His first victory.

He would become a legend.

Forever unstoppable.

With a burst of speed, Landon crossed the finish line, the crowd erupting into thunderous applause.

The feeling was indescribable, he felt free and alive—surely he could never forget this day. He made a quick turn into the empty track and performed a spinning maneuver, the victory donut. When he stopped and got out, he removed his helmet, slithering his fingers into his dirty blond hair to loosen the strands before he kissed his palm and placed it on top of his red Corvette, the car stickered big and bold with his sponsor's logo on the hood, DriveEase, along with dozens of company logos from FedEx, McDonald's, Tide, Yahoo!

When he turned his attention toward the crowd, the cheers of racing fans were deafening as hundreds of flickers from camera lenses flashed into his eyes. "Unbelievable!" the racing commenter announced as fireworks exploded into the sky. "For the first time in three decades, we have a rookie win the Daytona 500. Landon McCoy, everyone!"

Landon smiled.

He knew he was better than the other racers, simply better.

They were losers.

He was a winner.

He made a fist bump into the air at his bright future.