Faster Deeper (Take Me...#2) (New Adult Bad Boy Racer Novel) (11 page)

Still, no time to dwell on things I can’t change. Our past
circumstances have already been written, it’s only the future that we can
control. I try to imagine how all the different mysteries at play in my life
right now will resolve, in the end. But between Dad’s illness, my secret with Harrison,
the outcome of the season, and the whims of our blackmailer in play, it’s just
too much to guess. I know for certain that it’s not going to be rainbows and
sunshine, but I can’t help but hope for a silver lining, all the same.

The rest of the team has already assembled by the time Bex,
Charlie and I make it to the course. Our corner of the sprawling F1 ecosystem
is buzzing with activity as the race draws ever closer. Dad is standing off to
one side of the frenzied effort, looking out over the course. I go to him and
wrap my arms around his waist without saying a word. He looks down at me and
smiles sadly. We don’t need to say anything about yesterday’s revelation. He
knows that I’m here to support him, how dearly I love him.

“Where’s Enzo?” I ask.

“In his trailer,” Dad replies, “I think he wanted a little
time alone to clear his head.”

“That’s odd,” I say, “He usually feeds off the energy of the
team right before I race.”

“I know,” Dad says, “But what with the, uh, extenuating
circumstances...maybe he needs a little more peace and quiet than usual.”

“That makes sense,” I say. Surely, Enzo’s headspace is going
to be different today, what with the news we’ve just gotten. “Do you need
anything, Dad?”

“I’m fine, Siena,” he says, “Don’t you start treating me
like an invalid, now.”

But as I give him another quick squeeze, I can’t help but
wonder if his firm chest is starting to feel a bit less muscular, if his body
feels just a little smaller than usual. I give him a kiss on the cheek and
hurry off to get a lay of the land, see how the other teams are doing.

I set off alone through the teeming space, surveying the
drivers as they prepare for another race. Landers and Rostov are chatting
animatedly as their pit crews make sure their cars are in ship shape. And just
beyond them, at the heart of the McClain camp, Harrison surveys his speed
machine, a wide grin on his face. Even after all these weeks, the sight of that
face takes my breath away every time I catch sight of it. I’m just about to
raise my hand and wave when I feel the sudden presence of someone behind me. A
hand grazes the small of my back, and I whip around, furious. A familiar pair
of light brown eyes look down at me, full of mischief.

“Hello, Siena,” Rafael Marques drawls, “You’re looking
stunning today, as ever.”

“Should you be prepping yourself for the race, Marques?” I
ask, ignoring his unwanted flattery, “You could stand to do a little better,
you know.”

“I’m feeling pretty good about today, actually,” he says, “I
was just hoping that you might wish me luck before we start.”

“Drive safe,” I tell him. I may loathe the guy personally,
but I make a point never to wish ill upon any driver. They’re tempting fate
enough as it is without any bad vibes coming from me.

“Care to seal it with a kiss?” Marques asks, taking a step
toward me.

“Not on your life,” I tell him, “Enzo gets a good luck kiss
on the cheek. I’m saving the rest of my good luck for him.”

“Huh. How interesting,” Marques says, rolling his eyes.
“Well, I’m sure I’ll see you after the race, Siena. I’ll be the one guzzling
down champagne after I win.”

“That sure is a lot of confidence for someone who has yet to
take first,” I point out.

“What can I say?” Marques laughs, “I’ve got a good feeling
about today, is all.”

He struts away from me, blowing a kiss in my direction. I
bat the unwanted smooch away and hurry back to my own camp. Something about the
Spanish driver’s manner has me on edge. After the way he behaved at the club
the other night, I already know full well that he’s no gentleman. But something
about his gleeful attitude today, his cockiness about the race that has yet to
be run...it just makes me uneasy. All I want is to get back to my own people
before the race starts, watch as my two favorite drivers take off. Either Enzo
or Harrison is bound to take first again, the way they’ve been racing. I’ll
call that a win-win.

“Where’s Enzo?” I ask Charlie and Bex as I make it back to
our post.

“I think he’s just about to head to the pit,” Charlie says.

“What?” I exclaim, “But I haven’t wished him luck yet! Enzo
never starts a race without his good luck kiss on the cheek from me.”

“He’s probably a little preoccupied,” Bex says pointedly.

She’s right, of course. How can I expect my brother to keep
his head on straight when he’s dealing with my Dad’s news and the task of
winning his next big race? I need to remember that he’s just one person, as
much as he’d be the first to say otherwise. I can’t imagine the pressure he
must be feeling to live up to my dad’s wildest expectations this year, of all
years.

 “You might still be able to catch him before he goes,”
Charlie says. “The race doesn’t start for a few minutes or so.”

I dart away from my friends, over to the pit where the rest
of Team Ferrelli mills about. I cast my eyes around for Enzo, but he’s nowhere
to be found. By rights, he should be consulting with the pit guys, making sure
that everything is good to go before the race begins. He must really be buried
deep in his thoughts if he’s still hanging out in his trailer.

Just as I draw to a stop by the emerald Ferrelli racer, a
loud crashing sound catches my attention. I whip around to see Enzo storming
out of his trailer, his face a stormy red. He looks harried, not at all
composed, and absolutely livid. I watch as Dad and Gus try to approach my
brother, and gasp as Enzo pushes them away. How could he be so dismissive of
Dad at a time like this? My brother looks like a man possessed, a wild animal
ready to bite the head off whoever comes near first. As my brother stomps
across the pit toward his car, I hurry over to intercept him.

“What the hell is up?” I ask, planting myself between Enzo
and the vibrant green car. “You can’t treat Dad that way. Not after—”

My stomach turns over as my brother’s eyes land on me. The
seething disgust I see there sends a wave of nausea through me. Never in my
life have I seen such a look on my brother’s face, especially not when he has
his eyes on me.

“Enzo, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” I ask, “Is it
Dad? What—?”

“Get out of here, Siena,” Enzo growls.

“Wh-what?” I stammer. I reach for my brother, but he smacks
my hand away, none too gently. The sting of his fierce strike is nothing
compared to how hard his anger hits me in the gut. His fiery gaze is locked
onto my face, his mouth a straight, furious line.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Enzo growls, “If you don’t know how
to conduct yourself, you have no business being a part of this, Siena. Now get
out of my fucking way.”

“I’m not letting you get in that car like this,” I tell him,
planting my feet.

“You’ve got no say in the matter,” Enzo roars, “You have no
right to a say, Siena. Get out of my face, this second.”

“Enzo?” Dad calls, finally catching up with his son, “Did
something happen? What’s the matter with you?”

“Oh, nothing at all is the matter with
me
, Pops,” Enzo
fumes, “I’m just a little distracted, is all. A little bit unsure of what the
fuck universe it is we’re living in...”

“You’re not making any sense,” Gus says gruffly, taking Enzo
by the shoulders.

“Well, that makes just about everything,” Enzo spouts
nonsensically. He shoves his hands through his jet black hair, his chest
heaving.

“I know you’re probably upset about what I told you
yesterday,” Dad says, trying to calm Enzo down.

“It’s got nothing to do with that!” Enzo roars. “All of you,
just leave me alone. I can’t look at any of you. It’s just too fucking much.”

“Enzo...” I say softly, swallowing hot tears, “Talk to me—”

My brother lunges toward me, and I leap away. I look toward
him, eyes wide. He really looks like he could strike me right now.

“What the hell has gotten into you?” I demand.

“Siena,” Dad says to me, “Go get your brother some water
from his trailer. Or a goddamn tranquilizer dart, whichever you find first.”

 I rush away, baffled by my brother’s behavior. The race is
just about to begin, and he’s in a total state of crisis. My stomach is
churning in the face of Enzo’s outrage. Why did it feel so personal? Surely, I
could never do anything to inspire such rage in my brother. He’s got to be
lashing out about something else. All that rage couldn’t possibly be directed
at me.

Darting into Enzo’s trailer, I start looking around for
something, anything, that might calm him down. I grab a water bottle, a towel,
a paper bag. Hell, I’d bake him a cake on the spot if I thought it would soothe
his mood before the race. He can’t take off, as angry as he is right now. Who
knows what could happen if he got behind the wheel of a Formula One car? A big
part of this sport is mental. Racing lap after lap in a heaving metal
exoskeleton at triple digit speeds can get to a person, after all. If Enzo’s
head isn’t in the game, he shouldn’t be racing at all. Period.

I look around the small space, searching for a clue about
Enzo’s behavior. Everything seems perfectly in its place, here. There are no
signs of struggle, nothing out of the ordinary. What could have set him off
like that? He’s not the kind of guy to lose his cool under pressure. He gets
nervous, sure, but those weren’t nerves back there. That was pure, white hot anger.
Is he just railing against the universe for dealing us such an awful hand with
Dad’s diagnosis? Or could something else have happened since I saw him last...

Just as I’m turning to leave Enzo’s trailer, I hear a little
chirping sound from under a heap of discarded clothing. It’s Enzo’s text tone.
I turn toward and spot the device as it lets out a second little sound,
indicating that another message has been received. His phone is half-buried on
the couch, flashing insistently. Maybe Enzo’s been fighting with that horrible
Shelby person? A heated volley of texts would certainly explain why he’s so
steamed up. I cross the room and snatch up Enzo’s phone, peering down at the
screen with warring curiosity and wariness.

It takes a moment for my eyes to focus on the screen. The
dimness of the trailer is a bit of an adjustment after the bright light of day.
But as I’m finally able to see the newest message that’s arrived on Enzo’s cell
phone, I drop the device in horror. The screen splinters into a thousand shards,
obscuring the image that’s plastered there—a single photo of me and Harrison,
locking lips in the Moscow garden behind our hotel.

Enzo
knows.

I snatch the phone back up, peering through the cracks. My
eyes haven’t deceived me one bit. A perfect, devastating close up of the two of
us blooms across Enzo’s screen. Feverishly, I look back through his texts.
Image after image of me and Harrison are catalogued here, each more illicit
than the last. And every single photo has arrived by way of that same goddamned
mystery number. The unknown blackmailer who’s out to ruin everything I care
about.

A wild cheer goes up from the stadium beyond Enzo’s trailer.
The racers must be moving into position. That means that the Grand Prix is
about to begin. I sprint out of the trailer, dropping everything I’d gathered
for my brother’s sake. I make tracks toward the pit, running as fast as my feet
will carry me. I have to explain myself. I have to tell him that I’m sorry,
that he has every right to be angry. I can’t let him start this race without
knowing that I was going to tell him the truth. I
was
.

But I’m too late. By the time I make it back down to the
pit, I see that Enzo’s already gone. Dad and Gus stand together, looking across
the track with crossed arms. Sure enough, Enzo’s car has moved into pole
position, the spot he’s secured once again after yesterday's preliminaries. I
have the mad urge to run across the course, throw myself in front of Enzo’s
car, anything at all to get him to stop. But I know it’s useless. There’s no
way I can get his attention now without derailing the entire race. He’s going
to run this thing, as furious as he is. And there’s nothing I can do to stop
him.

A flash of ruby distracts me as the second car rolls into
position. There, right beside Enzo, is the bright red race car that carries
Harrison Davies. The man who Enzo has just discovered to be my lover. Of
course, he placed second in the qualifiers. That means the two of them are
starting the race side by side. Harrison has no idea that Enzo’s just
discovered us. I watch as my lover raises a hand to Enzo in a friendly wave. I
can practically feel the ice-cold, venomous glare that Enzo returns. This goes
beyond a fictional rivalry, a narrative constructed to entice drama-hungry race
fans. This feud just became real in Enzo’s mind. And Harrison is completely in
the dark about it.

“Dad!” I scream, racing to my father, “Why did you let him
go?”

“Have you met your brother?” Dad shoots back, “What choice
did I have?”

“But he’s a mess,” I insist, “We’ve got to—”