before slamming back down. Liam pulls back, unable to pass me, as my car
surges forward.
A mechanic talks into the radio. “That was a dangerous turn. Relax out
there, you still have fifty-two more laps to go. No reason to drive cocky.”
I chuckle at the advice. After a grueling season fighting off Liam,
Santiago, and Jax, I have one last Grand Prix between me and the World
Championship win.
“Santiago cut in front of Liam at the last turn. Don’t underestimate him,
he wants the win.” More chatter echoes through the radio.
Speak of the devil, Santiago’s royal blue car shows up in my side mirror.
I shake my head as my car hugs another turn. He acts like a young shit who
tries to show off a little too much, attempting to make a name for himself
with his team and the F1 circuit. His skills are decent for a new guy, but one
too many close calls during this race season make me hesitant to let him get
close.
The fucker races right up to my rear wing, closing the gap between our
cars—unwise for the narrow set of twists coming up. My heart pumps
rapidly. Hands clench around the steering wheel as I take a few deep
breaths. Inhale, exhale—yoga shit. I don’t fold on my first-place spot,
having no interest in letting Santiago overtake my car. Gray pavement blurs
past me. On the next straight road, Santiago pulls up to my side, our wheels
nearly touching. Just a few inches apart.
Both engines rev as the accelerators hit their maximum. I push into first
place again at the next turn, my front wing creeping ahead of his.
Fuck me.
Instead of Santiago jerking back, he speeds up. Motherfucking idiot.
The whole situation happens in slow motion, like a movie, playing frame
by frame. Me, a useless bystander. Bandini’s team principal yells in my ear
about pulling back, but the sound of crunching metal tells me I’m too late.
Santiago’s car makes contact with mine at about one hundred and ninety
miles per hour, a catastrophic hit I won’t recover from. I curse as the wheels
of my car lift off the ground and I end up airborne. Fucking flying before
making contact with the road.
My race car flips over twice and drags across the pavement, sparks
flying around my head, cement within touching distance. Thank fuck for the
protective halo. The shrill sound of scraping steel hurts my ears until my car
