off to the races-lana del rey

The sun burned high over the OBX, waves crashing just beyond the makeshift racetrack carved into the sand. The beach was alive with energy—cheering crowds, revving engines, the scent of cheap beer and saltwater thick in the air.

The annual enduro race was more than just a competition—it was a statement. A battle between Kooks and Pogues, wealth and grit, privilege and struggle. And at the center of it all? Two names that never backed down from a fight.

JJ Maybank. Rafe Cameron.

Both stood on opposite sides of the track, bikes at the ready, helmets tucked under their arms. Rafe, dressed in sleek, top-tier gear—his family’s money practically gleaming in the form of the newest, most expensive bike money could buy. He stood tall, smirking, a picture-perfect Kook golden boy.

Then there was JJ, all reckless confidence and undeniable charm, standing next to his dirt bike—old, worn, but fast as hell. No brand-new gear, no safety-first mentality, just raw skill and that cocky Maybank grin that sent your heart racing almost as fast as the bikes would.

And you? You were caught right in the middle.

A Kook by birth, a Pogue by choice—or at least, that’s what it felt like these days. You’d grown up in the world of country clubs and designer clothes, but somehow, JJ Maybank had pulled you into his orbit. The way he made you laugh, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered… you couldn’t ignore it.

But then there was Rafe Cameron—dangerous, intense, and fiercely protective over what he considered his. He had known you forever, always watching, always keeping you close. And now, with JJ in the picture? The rivalry had turned into something more. Something personal.

They weren’t just racing for the prize money. They were racing for you.

The tension was thick. The air buzzing with electricity.

Engines roared to life, the countdown beginning.

Three.

Your heart pounded.

Two.

You could feel both of their eyes on you.

One.

And then—they were off.