Take Me Series (COMPLETE BOX SET)

by Masters, Colleen

  “You’re saying...you aren’t interested in me, romantically?” I ask.

  “No...No, I’m not,” Charlie tells me.

  “That’s...wonderful!” I laugh, crossing the room in three long strides and hugging Charlie tightly as I can. After a faltering moment, he returns my embrace.

  “I knew you’d be relieved,” he begins, “But what—?”

  I can’t tell him, of course, why his admission has me so thrilled. This means that he’d have no real reason to try and set me and Harrison up to fail! Sure, he’s still a Ferrelli loyalist, but team spirit only goes so far. I don’t know anything for sure, but my gut tells me that I was wrong to ever think Charlie would do something so sinister. He’s a boy scout, for god’s sake. My best guy friend in the world. I should have known better than to suspect him.

  “You’re like a brother to me too, Chuck,” I tell him, pulling away, “Only took us twenty-five years to sort this out, huh?”

  “Well, I guess I had a little bit of help,” he says.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Well, lately, I’ve been figuring out what it means to really fall for someone,” he says with a grin.

  “Oh my God, of course!” I exclaim, “You and Bex?”

  “That’s right,” he says, “Or, me, anyway. I’ve never met anyone like her before, Siena. I don’t really know if she feels the same way—”

  “But she does,” I tell him, clapping my hands together, “Don’t you see the way she looks at you?”

  “I guess it felt like too much to hope for,” Charlie laughs.

  “Don’t be crazy,” I tell him, “You guys would be great for each other. She’ll put that ego of yours right in place when need be, and you’ll rein in that devil-may-care thing she does if it gets out of hand.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Charlie smiles, “You really think she’s into me? As more than a season fling, I mean?”

  “No offense, Spano,” I say, laying a hand on his shoulder, “But you’re much more the marrying type than casual fling material.”

  “I have no problem with that,” he says, “But thanks, I guess?”

  “You’re welcome,” I say, “And...You know, I’m sorry too. I know I’ve been pretty harsh with you this season—”

  “Yeah, just a little,” he says sarcastically.

  “I was just taking my frustration out on you,” I tell him, “I can’t really go into specifics, but I’ve been making things a lot harder on myself lately than they need to be. I guess I was kind of projecting stuff onto you. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he says, “Just put in a good word for me with Bex and we’ll call it even. Now come on. I believe we’ve got a race to watch.”

  Charlie and I head downstairs together and meet up with Bex. As I watch them, I’m at once relieved and a little saddened. It’s wonderful that they’re hitting it off so famously. What could be better than having my two best friends get together? But at the same time, I feel a little lonely, seeing how easy it is for them. If only Harrison and I had that luxury.

  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.

  Chapter Nine

  Pulling A Win

  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 a 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—”

  “Don’t worry about your brother,” Dad says, putting an arm around my shoulder, “He’s a consummate racer, Siena. If he thought he couldn’t handle a race, he’d say so.”

  A jolt goes through me as the announcer heralds the start of the race. I look on in horror as the score of F1 cars roar to life, engines ripping deafeningly, sending a thick cloud of exhaust up into the clear blue sky. This can’t be happening. I have to stop them. I have to go to Enzo and explain myself, beg his forgiveness for having kept such a secret from him. If something happens to him—if he’s too distracted to drive, too angry to keep from crashing...how could I ever live with myself? There has to be some way—

  But the flag comes down, and the race is underway. The cars take off in a pack, and I’m too late to do a damned thing.

  Chapter Ten

  Race To The Death

  I stand paralyzed in the midst of utter chaos. The cacophony of roaring engines and screaming fans is drowned out by the pounding of my own heart. Each car on the track seems to be moving in slow motion as I look on, fearing the worst. It’s like my every cell is digging its heels into the ground, trying to keep the earth from spinning onward. But it’s a useless endeavor—I’ve missed my chance to keep this race from happening. Whatever goes down next is out of my hands.

  Enzo’s emerald green car easily secures the inside track, having rocketed into the race from pole position. But Harrison’s car pulls up right alongside Enzo’s, already giving my brother a run for his money. The rest of the pack fills in around the only two drivers I give a damn about today, and I lose sight of my boys. In a rush, the world surges back into real time. In a haze of sound and fury, the cars disappear around the first turn in the track.