Throttled: Dirty Air (Book 1)(34)
“Copy. What happened to Liam?” I growl at his words because I’m not crashing into anyone today.
“Don’t worry about that now. Santiago is behind you by about five seconds. Be careful not to let him overtake you.”
“Got it, thanks.”
My defensive position at the head of the pack takes minimal effort to keep. Blurring crowds welcome me as I pass the starting point again, a wave of red and gold colors flying by me, matching the Spanish flag the Alatorres had earlier. Their cheers get louder as Santiago passes them while he closes the gap behind me. A few seconds away from me now. If I were Santiago, I would do anything to win this race.
He tails me the whole time, waiting for me to slip up.
The image of Maya and her family coming all this way to see him succeed flies through my mind. Shit. I try to push away the thoughts, but the invasive images don’t let up, accompanied by sounds of Maya’s laughs and cheers. My hands grip the steering wheel as I think about the sacrifices his parents made for his career. Sacrifices Maya made living in his shadow. Never being one to steal the spotlight, preferring to dance around in the dark while her brother gets all the attention. Unfortunately for her, people like me thrive in the shadows.
Fuck. I never think this much during a race, like ever, because thinking makes me stupid. Thinking leads me to come up with my rash, selfless plan in the first place.
A fucking anomaly.
On the sixtieth lap, I let down my defenses more. I do it slowly, making sloppier turns, allowing more space for anyone to overtake me, while I still stay in control of my car. Messing up too quickly would draw negative attention to myself.
“Noah, is everything all right? Santiago’s gaining speed. He wants to overtake you. Make your turns tighter.”
“Copy. I think something’s off with the car, but I can’t figure it out. Do you see anything on the screens?” I sure as shit know there is nothing wrong, but I have to milk it to the point where I believe my own words. Fans can tune into my team radio via live television.
“Nothing over here. Can you describe what’s happening? We can figure it out for you.” My engineer sounds hopeful.
“Not really. I think there’s something wrong with the steering wheel. It feels loose.” The lie leaves my lips easily as I make another bad turn.
“Got it. Just keep going and we’ll figure it out later.” They all buy it, my authentic display working on the team. I still want to land on the podium anyway.
By lap sixty-four, I make worse turns that leave myself open for an overtaking. To no one’s surprise, Santiago passes me at one of the corners, rattling my car as he zooms by.
My lips lift at the corners.
The crowd goes wild, releasing deafening roars when Santiago crosses the finish line first, red smoke billowing up into the air from canisters. I solidify my second place on the podium when I get the next checkered flag.
Better luck next time.
Santiago’s family celebrates behind the barrier next to the podiums as they watch us on the stage. His parents light up the entire stage with their smiles alone. Maya has decked herself out in Bandini gear, with a Spanish flag wrapped around her as she dances around to the music streaming from the stage speakers. Watching her happy makes my heart clench like a chick.
Usually, when I meet a woman, the first thing that attracts me is a set of perky tits, a tight ass, and seductive lips. But for the first time in my life, I’m interested in someone for a different reason. With Maya, the most beautiful thing about her is how her eyes light up with happiness when she grins, an infectious smile that makes my lips turn up every time. Her beam is hands down one of my favorite things. A bubble of positive energy, dancing in circles without a care in the world.
Does she have a great body? Sure.
But at this moment, her smile draws me to her. I want to keep them all to myself and bottle them up for the bad days. Don’t get me started on her laughs. I feel them all the way down to my cock, every single time.
Champagne sprays all around me, but I barely pay attention, too enamored by her.
And fuck, it scares me.
I smirk one last time at the sight of her before turning back to the rest of the crowd. They chant my name, and although it feels great to hear them, nothing beats the smile on Maya’s face as she watches us.
My dad paces the motorhome’s lobby after the winners’ ceremony. He follows me to the private suite area, his agitation evident in his jerky steps. The sounds of our shoes against the smooth floor distract me. I pull him away from others because we don’t need an audience for his explosion. He enters the suite first, and before I have a chance to close the door, he shoves me toward the center of the room. His dirty move catches me off guard. My feet trip on the slick tile, but I right myself before hitting a couch.
So this is how today is going to go.
“What the fuck, Noah? You call that racing?” His voice echoes off the walls. Someone’s cranky about my second-place win.
“Last time I checked we called it racing. But maybe the concepts have changed since you last drove. It’s been a while.”
My dad’s chest heaves up and down as his eyes dart around, wild and uncontrolled. It’s the same look he gave me every time I failed to land on a shitty kart podium or crashed my F2 car. A glare he saved for our alone time in his office before he smacked my ass into the next day. Lucky for us bruises aren’t visible when you wear race suits daily. Not a single scar was left on my skin except for the mangled remains of my heart, a mistrusting organ ruined by the man before me. A cliché of the worst kind.