Throttled (Dirty Air Series Book 1)

by Lauren Asher

  He glances over at me. Crap. I forgot he said something in the first place.

  “He looks at everyone that way. Don’t bother getting annoyed.” I take a sip of my water, wishing to chug Santi’s beer instead.

  “No, he doesn’t. His eyes stay on you too long. I might tell him something because you’re my sister, and he’s a manwhore who needs to keep his hands to himself.”

  My brother is about fifty orgasms too late on his threat.

  “You’re making excuses because you want to like him, but you both have a dumb rivalry.”

  Some may call it a stretch, but they bonded over tequila. If that doesn’t scream future friends, I don’t know what does.

  He grumbles under his breath. “Thank God you’re not into guys like him.”

  Should I be afraid of how often my chest constricts around Santi?

  “Why?” I whisper.

  “Do you really need another reason besides the fact that he fucks everything that walks?”

  I fail to hide how my body cringes, but he misses it, too enthralled in glaring at Noah. Santi’s words stab at my armor and leave me bleeding.

  “Well, people change. I don’t want to cast judgments when he’s been nice to me this season.” I tip my chin up and cross my arms. People can only walk all over your heart if you let them.

  Santi lets out a bitter laugh. “This is one of the reasons I love you. You’re innocent and trusting of the world and the people in it.” His statement makes my heart deflate like a balloon.

  “Maybe you need to trust your teammate more instead of looking for everything wrong with him. You can learn something from me.” Woah. I have no idea where those words came from.

  Santi stares at me, unblinking and unmoving. He changes the subject after chugging the rest of his drink. But the air around us remains heavy, a dark cloud looming over me, guilt hitting me like hail.

  34

  Noah

  It takes everything in me to not explode. I grind my teeth and clench my fists as my feet stomp across the pavement, coming face to face with my father.

  And look, he brought a film crew.

  “Noah, just the man I was looking for. Sports Daily wanted to do a special on me, marking the twentieth anniversary of my last World Championship win.” His sinister smile makes a chill run down my spine like my nerves know what a slimy piece of crap he is.

  My head nods along like I give a shit. Cameras film me, making it impossible to hide my scowl at the unwanted attention, unlike any type of filming Maya does. My dad surprises me by coming back after I chewed him out during our dinner a month ago. He disregards how I told him to stay the hell away from me because he never does anything I ask. Lucky me. Looks like I got my listening skills from my dad.

  “Excited to compete in the Brazilian Grand Prix tomorrow?” His bright smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

  “Sure.” My lips remain a tight line, the least bit interested in this chat.

  I manage to walk one step away before he pulls me in, his thick arm wrapping around my shoulders and holding me in place.

  “Want to tell the cameras how you’ve been preparing for your racing lately? Fans wonder what makes you tick, what makes a winner stand out from the rest. Interesting strategy of taking a whole week off before the race.” His eyes glint in the sunlight. I hate the look on his face, a smug smile meant to intimidate and control me.

  “Just the usual, resting and prepping while keeping to my schedule. Don’t want to mess with perfection.” A weak smile breaks out across my face as I shrug my dad’s arm off me.

  “You better be careful. Don’t want secrets getting out about how you win races.” His sly smile makes my stomach roll.

  I step away from the bright lights of the camera, putting distance between my jackass of a father and me. First, the issue with Santi’s contract, and now he threatens me. A never-ending cycle with us. Me pushing, him punching. A screwed-up relationship that will never be normal, but thank fuck I have new sponsorships and a fresh start.

  His game doesn’t interest me, and for once, my decisions can affect someone else. I feel like an idiot for telling him about Maya and me because the way he looks at me tells me this thing with us won’t be over until he says it is. The ultimate control freak. And worse, he gets off on it.

  Fuck me, I really screwed up this time.

  35

  Maya

  A rainy race day. The worst kind of news for drivers and fans alike.

  Roads shine, slick from the downpour, which means tires will have limited traction. Less than ideal conditions pose a threat to drivers. It takes a lot of skill to successfully navigate cars with limited visibility and grip on the road.

  The pit crew scurries about with a nervous buzz as they prepare the spare parts needed for the cars. Extra pieces lay outside for any minor crashes, just in case the Bandini boys have a collision.

  Santi and Noah discuss game plans with Sophie’s dad. I linger, getting in the way of random mechanics who kindly work around me, not asking me to move until I knock over a power drill. They escort me to the computer area where I can wreak less havoc. Sophie sidles up to me.

  “My dad bet fifty bucks that Albrecht doesn’t make it past thirty laps. Want in?” Her green eyes shine, complementing her tan skin. She rocks French braids, a jean skirt, and another slogan T-shirt.

  I chuckle. “Do you ever learn from bets?”

  “No. That’s why I bet they wouldn’t make it past seventy laps.” She blows a pink bubble before popping it.

  “There are only seventy-one laps.”

  “Exactly. My dad raised a smart cookie.” She taps her temple, sporting a megawatt grin featuring her two dimples.

  The drizzling rain let up, allowing drivers to compete, but not enough for the roads to dry on their own. Sophie’s dad announces how the race will start in twenty minutes. Noah and Santi meet with engineers near the entrance of the garage, reviewing driving strategies for these conditions, both men in my life working together. Once the crew gives the all-clear, Santi comes to our spot in the computer bay.

  “It’s going to be fine. You worry too much lately. Just a little sprinkle, like a sun shower.” Santi pulls me in for a hug.

  Wet ground mocks me. I give the rain a death stare like I can change Mother Nature’s mind.

  “I wish they didn’t make you race in these conditions. It’s kind of dangerous. I think of Albrecht crashing every time.”

  Santi chuckles. “They wouldn’t let us race if the risk was that bad. Nothing more than the usual kind, like crashing into barriers with minimal damage.”

  “They prep for this. Plus, my dad will chat away with them, giving the best possible advice.” Sophie flicks a braid over her shoulder.

  I give them a tight smile. “Be safe out there. I’ll have headphones to hear everything with the Bandini team.” I leave out the part where I’ll also tune into Noah’s radio.

  “Atta girl. We’ll see you soon.” He taps my hat with his car number.

  I wave at Noah over Santi’s shoulder, wishing I could hug him before he goes out there. Our secret is wearing on me and messing up my sleep cycles. Two races left until I can tell Santi everything, and I’m praying for the best reaction because he gets rattled easily.

  Noah offers me a glorious smile before getting into his car.

  “Damn girl, I don’t know how you ended up with that one. Sex on wheels.” Sophie winks at me except it comes off like a twitch.

  I let out my first laugh of the day.

  Nothing special happens during the beginning of the race. The grid has Liam in P1, with Noah, Jax, and my brother following behind. I don’t know how the other teams don’t get bored being on the back of the grid. But I guess they live their best lives anyway, happy to compete and do what they love every day. F1 calls them the “best of the rest.”

  The racers take off, a few cars skidding and sliding across the wet pavement. Thankfully, both the McCoy and Bandini teams make it out of the
grid perfectly intact. Our boys drive down a narrow straight with Liam in the lead. Sophie smiles and claps her hands together when Noah fails to overtake him.

  Bad news rings through the radio and television. Santi turns rapidly, and with the slick roads, he crashes during a tight turn. His car stalls next to a barrier wall with the left wheel dislodged and rolling away. He retires as a one-lap wonder.

  My brother lets out his frustrations on camera. The radio buzzes with chatter as Sophie’s dad calms him down, soothing him like a parent would during a child’s tantrum. What a sucky job to work with hot-headed drivers.

  “My dad deals with anger like a champ; no wonder he handled my teenage rage so well,” Sophie mumbles.

  “He puts up with these two all season long so his patience must be endless.”

  I try to imagine Sophie’s teen outbursts, resembling something along the lines of Tinkerbell stomping her foot.

  My eyes remain glued on the television. “Santi’s going to be pissed for retiring early.”

  Santi stands next to his car, the camera crew catching him smacking the red metal frame.

  The safety car drops my brother off in the garage ten minutes later. I give him a quick hug and some words of encouragement before he heads on up to his suite, claiming he needs a break and meditation. My heart hurts at how defeated he looks, his shoulders hunched over as he disappears.

  Sophie nudges me. “That went better than expected, no thrown helmets or dramatic sweeping of tools off a rolling cart.”

  “Does anyone else comment on your vivid imagination?”

  “Duh, Liam—all the time. Says I should write stories and make money off my madness.” She nods like she has considered the idea.

  Liam and Noah fight for the first-place spot. They each pull off risky moves, trying to get around each other. Anticipation and nerves mix around inside of me. A few times their tires lose traction, but they regain momentum, pulling back onto the track before they stall. Liam’s car spins out once as he expertly misses a barrier and gains enough force to keep driving. Another ten laps to go. Noah attempts to overtake Liam at the turn, but the road looks too wet.

  My stomach rolls at the live coverage, a helpless witness to the noise of crunching metal and squealing tires, and the gasps from the pit. Sophie’s dad yells into his radio, but his words are hard to make out.

  Liam’s front wing and tire clip the underside of Noah’s car. My blood pumps loudly in my ears, making it impossible to hear shit out of the radio. I’m silently sitting on the edge of my seat as time slows down, frame by frame, and the crash happens.

  Noah’s car flips on its side and proceeds to barrel roll. Once. Twice. Three fucking times. It bounces again before it drags across the road, slamming into the barrier at an estimated one hundred and seventy miles per hour. Holy shit. The complete underside of his car is exposed, tires spinning and liquid leaking down the metal.

  Tears flood my eyes at Noah’s lack of response to any radio calls. Wetness streams down my face. Sophie’s dad speaks into the radio, the only voice in the quiet garage.

  Smoke billows from Noah’s car despite the drizzling rain. It rises, darkening the air above him. More silence from the radio. Orange flames lick at the red paint of the Bandini car, marring it, making it look all wrong.

  Noah speaks into the radio.

  “Fuck, there’s a fire. I’m upside down. Please get me the fuck out of here! Now!” My heart sinks at his heavy breathing, his voice betraying his fear.

  Flames engulf the cockpit of the car. Bile builds up in the back of my throat, my body fighting with everything to keep it down.

  Sophie’s dad speaks into his microphone. “They’re on their way. Keep calm, Noah! We’ll get you out of there. Take a few deep breaths. They’re bringing the fire extinguishers now.”

  “Where the fuck is the safety team? The crane? My suit is on fire! There’s a shit-ton of smoke coming from the car, making it hard to breathe.” His labored breaths garble the radio.

  Sophie’s dad takes control of the situation and asks if Noah has any injuries. My heart throbs at the panic laced in his voice.

  I can’t do anything but watch. I am helpless, out of control. The safety team finally shows up with fire extinguishers, white foam pouring over Noah’s car, running down the red paint like a cloud. They control the flames in record time, but it still feels like forever. I tune out the commentators on the television. My legs move on their own accord, sitting myself down before my knees buckle.

  The crew brings a crane to dislodge Noah’s car from the barrier.

  I sob at his desperate pleas to be let out, upset about how long it takes. God, it feels like torture. Knowing he feels weak, knowing I can’t do anything but sit, watching the safety team do everything. Not being able to help the person I love is ten levels of fucked up.

  I take a deep breath when the crane lifts his car. His body crawls out from under the hunk of metal with the help of crew members. An image I’ll never get out of my head. He throws his helmet across the grass, the headpiece bouncing around, body shaking as he takes in a lungful of fresh air.

  Invisible needles pinch at my heart, watching him get upset on the grass. He lies there vulnerable, no longer his usual tough, competitive, and brave self. Tears run down my face, mimicking the ones on TV. No privacy during a time like this.

  My sad tears turn into ones of relief as the safety team checks him out, giving the all-clear. It’s sheer luck to walk away from a crash like that unharmed.

  Sophie hugs me, her arms squeezing me tight, the smell of coconuts and summer wrapping around me. My nose runs and my vision clouds as the safety team drives Noah away from the crash.

  “He’ll be okay. The cars are built for these types of things, plus there’s all the new safety precautions.”

  I give Sophie another hug, grateful for her friendship in a time like this. My body freezes at Noah’s voice. I push Sophie away and hurl myself into Noah’s arms.

  His body tenses before his arms wrap around mine, not giving a shit who watches. He breathes in the scent of me, tears springing from my eyes again, hitting me with all types of emotions. I cry into his chest as he holds my shaking body close to him.

  “I was terrified. I’m glad you’re okay,” I mumble into his chest.

  “I’ll always be okay and come back to you. Those cars are built for a bomb. I love you.” He squeezes me as he whispers the words in my ear.

  I take another deep breath, Noah’s terrible smell invading my lungs. Like a mix of burnt rubber, smoke, and sweat. I try not to gag as I hold on to him.

  Once I calm down, I pull away from him and assess for any injuries. Besides his flushed cheeks, he appears okay. Thank God. His hazy eyes look down at me, shining under the fluorescent lighting.

  I let out a long sigh. My spine straightens at the buzzing of pit equipment. After everything today, I need to talk to Santi. With one race left, he deserves the truth because I care about both of my Bandini boys.

  We pull away from each other and my eyes fall to the floor.

  The slate color looks fascinating.

  I toe it with my sneakers while everyone congratulates Noah for making it out safely. His chuckle bounces off the garage walls. Needing a moment to collect myself, I head toward the suites, telling him I need to use the bathroom.

  36

  Noah

  Today’s crash is single-handily the worst one of my F1 career. Even nastier than Abu Dhabi two years ago. I hope they don’t release the radio tapes for my sake because what an embarrassment.

  Maya left ten minutes ago, not returning after saying she needed to go to the bathroom. That should have been the first warning sign that something wasn’t right. She would’ve come back after my shitty crash.

  A cold feeling trails up my spine as I head up the stairs toward the private suites.

  I walk into the hall, confronted with Maya’s tear-stained face, an angry Santiago, and my sneering father. Leave it to my dad to have i
mpeccable timing. Calculated, waiting for the perfect moment for my defenses to be down, and I can’t do anything to stop him.

  I dread looking at Maya. Her eyes hold mine for a second before they shift, looking back at Santi.

  “Noah, just the man I was searching for. You must be busy after that little tumble. But I was catching up with Santiago, giving him a few pointers, ways to do better on rainy days.”

  My fists clench at the sight of my gloating father. I thought I had already hit rock bottom, but man was I wrong. The man who disgusts me leers at me.

  “I’d like to speak to Santiago and Maya alone if you don’t mind.” Because I sure as fuck mind my dad standing here, getting off on all the drama.

  Tension cloaks the room. Uncomfortable, unwelcomed, and so fucking wrong on a day like today.

  “Actually, I thought we could all chat about the final Championship, mainly because you’re coming out about your relationship. How mature of Santiago to be okay with all of this.” My dad nods his head at Santiago.

  My stomach drops at the surprise etched on Santiago’s face. Maya covers her face with her hands, red creeping from her neck to her checks.

  “Shut up.” I glare at the man who is dead to me. Finished. Done. For-fucking-ever.

  Santiago’s head whips from my face to Maya’s and back to mine. His fists ball up as he puts the pieces together. He eats up the distance, pushing me against the wall, his fists gripping my race suit. Up close and personal with his flared nostrils and sharp eyes. I don’t put up a fight because I deserve this and more. He presses my body into the wall, my arms remaining flat against my sides.

  “You fucked my sister?” His words pass through gritted teeth.

  I hate how pissed he looks, how his lips curl and his cheeks redden. I hate causing him pain even though I love his sister.

  “Look at that, nothing like team bonding.” My dad’s voice drips with appreciation.

  I don’t need to look over Santi’s shoulder to know how much my dad enjoys this. Why use Viagra when he has a lifetime supply of drama to satisfy his urges?