Wrecked (Dirty Air Series Book 3)

by Lauren Asher

  “Oh? You thought this was for your benefit? More like I scheduled you two back-to-back interviews after your race because everyone knows you love the spotlight. Although the added blue balls to your morning is a plus.” She smiles wide.

  The way she plotted for me to have the worst day impresses me more than it annoys me.

  “You played me.”

  Elena shakes her head. “Think of this as an enlightenment.” She walks toward her room with the plate of what should have been my breakfast. “P.S. If you want breakfast, call room service for yourself. I’m not your maid.” Her smirk is the last thing I see before she shuts the door to her room.

  Elena motherfucking Gonzalez proved herself a worthy opponent.

  Game on.

  The crew runs around the garage, running last-minute checks before the Australian Grand Prix. The Xanax I took after breakfast has worked its way into my system, turning my anxiety into a temporary issue of the past. I take the right amount to dull the worries while staying alert because the last thing I need while driving a car at three hundred kilometers is a panic attack.

  Elena smiles at me from a corner of the garage, gloating about her move earlier.

  I take advantage of a busy Elías to talk to her. “So, that’s how it’s going to be between us? I push, you pull?”

  “That depends. Are you going to be an ass to me for the entire season?”

  “I don’t know.” I genuinely don’t. It’s not like I can predict when shit will hit the fan for me.

  “How reassuring.”

  I let out a low laugh. “Some call me unpredictable.”

  “Are those the same people who left you passed out next to a urinal? Because they’re not wrong.”

  Damn. She does not hold back. Somehow, I find it...refreshing.

  Woe is me. A rich boy who has everyone and their mother kiss my arse for fifteen minutes in the limelight. Hanging around someone like Elena reminds me of how very human I am. It’s humbling while also scaring the hell out of me.

  “Speaking of unpredictable, I could say the same about you. This morning’s show was something else… Did you pack all those nighties for me?”

  Her cheeks turn the best shade of pink. “It’s what you deserved.”

  “Do people know about this side of you?”

  “The one that doesn’t go down without kicking and screaming? Oh, yeah.”

  “I’d rather have you screaming than kicking, but I’m game if that’s your kink.”

  Her cheeks go from pink to blood red. “You can’t—”

  “Talk to you that way? I can’t tell you how, after your little show, I jacked off to the image of you bent over my bed while I fucked you? It sure was one way to get me high before a race.”

  Elena’s eyes roam around the garage, landing everywhere but where I want them.

  I snap my fingers in front of her face. “You can play your little games, but I can play mine. And I assure you I’ll get the better deal out of this.”

  A crew member calls me over to prepare for the race.

  “I better get going. Enjoy the Prix.” I love getting under her skin. Elena’s smooth, tan, wouldn’t mind kissing every inch skin.

  Yup. I’m so fucked.

  “Good luck,” Elena mumbles under her breath.

  I throw her a smile over my shoulder before hopping into my car.

  The crew pulls me up to my third-place qualifying spot. My P3 location lands me behind Noah and Santiago, the Bandini boys who battle with McCoy during every Prix.

  Flame retardant gear protects me from head to toe, ensuring my safety if anything were to go awry. My arse shakes from the rumbling of the engine.

  Lights above me illuminate before going black. My trainer presses against the pedal, and my car accelerates. I race down the first straight of the Prix. The wheels grind against the rough pavement as I recreate yesterday’s practice drive I completed in McCoy’s simulator machine.

  “Welcome back to the grid. Liam, Elías, and a fuck ton of others are behind you, so keep up the good work.” Chris, the team principal, speaks into the team radio. He’s a man of choice words and a no-nonsense attitude.

  “Tires feel good. Engine is hot as hell.”

  “Sounds like it’s working then. I’ll check in soon.”

  My car rips up pavement, lap after lap. I pit, giving the crew two seconds to change my four tires. Rubber meets the road, propelling me down the pit lane before I reenter the race. After pitting, I need to work my way back up the rankings.

  “Liam’s in front of you. On the next turn, go on the outside instead of the inside. Cut him off before you hit the straight road.” Chris’s voice reverberates through the tiny earpiece.

  My car creeps up behind Liam’s navy one. Everything in this sport is down to a millisecond, which means every turn—every goddamn tire rotation—matters. I pull up to the side of Liam’s car before I brake. He takes the inside like Chris thought, and I keep on the outside.

  My car surges past Liam’s, his engine no match against mine. I rush down the straight at over three hundred kilometers.

  “Now beat Elías back into his rightful place,” Chris snorts into the mic.

  “So, to the back of the grid?” I muster between pants, my breathing growing heavier as the engine warms behind me.

  Chris and my main engineer laugh as I cut in front of Elías at the next turn.

  “You only have Santiago and Noah ahead of you. Show them who’s their daddy.”

  I bark out a laugh. Bandini’s red cars shine, looking glossy as fuck under the hot sun. My car pulls up next to Santi’s at one of the turns, but he pushes me down again into third place. His car takes up the center of the road, but I inch up behind him, my front wing creeping up. At the next turn, I drive up to the side of his car before I push in front. His tires squeal at his sudden braking.

  “Nice work. Your move will be an interesting topic at my press conference. James Mitchell will have a fucking field day if you beat his boys.”

  Last but not least, Noah Slade. F1’s four-time World Champion and newly elected President of the Pussy-whipped Squad. He brake-checks me before the next turn.

  I fucking want this win. For myself, for the team, for my damn sanity. Winning means pushing past my self-doubts. Placing first means I’m worthy of the fans who care enough about me to wear my race-car number. A podium finish sets a bar and makes my time away from my mum worth it.

  Noah doesn’t make it easy for me. He meets my moves with resistance, giving me limited opportunities to push him out of first place.

  “Bloody hell,” I mumble under my breath.

  Chris unmutes himself. “Please show this man what McCoy cars can do.”

  Noah has won enough Championships to last a lifetime. It’s time for someone else to beat him down a peg…or ten. I don’t know how Maya deals with his ego.

  Tires rotate, car gears change, and my heart races to the thrum of the engine. I make it around Noah’s car at one of the last turns, pulling in front of him when it matters most. The crowd goes wild when I pass the checkered line. A shit-eating smile tugs at my lips because I fucking did it.

  7

  Elena

  I exit my room to find Jax sitting on the couch, bouncing his knee in agitation. He looks handsome and ready for the Shanghai gala in his black button-down shirt and pants. As if dressing up means conforming to society’s expectations, he ditched the bowtie. His muscles bulge against the expensive material of his shirt.

  Basically, Jax is the worst kind of temptation. For my job. For my mental health. For the insane, lusty feeling inside of me that wouldn’t mind taking him up on his offer to hook up. But good thing I value my job more than a quick fuck with Britain’s baddest bachelor.

  “Well, you don’t look half bad.” His lip twitches at the corner before settling on a scowl instead.

  I snort. “Your compliments suck.”

  “I’m the last person you want to compliment you.”

&nb
sp; “Because you lack any tact?”

  “Tact isn’t our issue.” His British accent enunciates his words.

  “It’s my issue with you.” I tap my pointer finger to my chest.

  “What would you like me to do about it?”

  “Would it kill you to be nicer to me? Hell, how about less moody?”

  He runs a hand across his stubbled chin. “You want the honest answer?”

  “Sure?” Except my voice sounds anything but sure.

  “We aren’t cut out for sweet moments and special words.” His eyes scan my body again as he closes the distance between us.

  I ignore the rush of energy coursing through me at his perusal. “Okay then. What kind of moments are we meant for?”

  His hand brushes across my face, eliciting the slightest shiver from me. He grabs a strand of my hair and rubs it between his fingers, analyzing it as if it holds all the answers. “The kind that only end in disappointment.”

  “I’m proud of you. Not all men can own up to their faults in the bedroom.” I tap his chest, hiding how much my heart races at his proximity. My hand warms as it trails down the buttons of his shirt to flatten a wrinkle.

  “Disappointing is the last word you’d use to describe me in the bedroom.” His voice drops low with a rasp.

  “Oh really?”

  His hand flexes as if he wants to touch me again before he places it in his pocket. “I’ve always been better at showing, not telling.”

  “Fitting since you have the emotional range of a five-year-old. They follow the same concept.”

  He throws his head back and laughs. “I can assure you in all the years I’ve been with women, I can safely say they haven’t complained.”

  “Probably because you’re the one leaving before they have a chance to speak.”

  “Ahh, learning my tricks already?”

  “Tricks insinuates they’re sneaky. You’re forgetting it’s my job to learn everything about you.”

  His eyes darken. “Even the bad parts?”

  “Especially those. It makes this job more interesting.” I push my palms together and wiggle my fingers, giving off my best evil genius impression.

  “Not the fact that I’m devilishly handsome and have a killer accent?”

  I roll my eyes. “Nope. I would label that a con.”

  Lies. His accent and looks are very much a pro in this situation.

  “Because you find it hard to resist me?”

  “Ehh. I’m not into guys who act like you do.”

  “And that is?”

  “Like they’re above me.”

  His mask of disinterest slips for a moment. “That’s not how I feel.”

  “That’s how you come across, which is all the same. It’s okay. I’m a big girl and can handle men like you. You’re not the first client who has treated me this way.” I walk toward the main door to exit the suite. My silk champagne dress clings to my body, making it difficult to make long strides.

  Jax catches up to me easily. He grabs onto my elbow softly, turning me toward him. “I can’t speak for other men, but I don’t think I’m better than you. Quite the opposite, actually. You’re too—” he bites down on his lip as he scans my body once more before lingering on my face “—good for someone like me.”

  “Someone like you?” I stare at his hand, trying to understand why my skin pebbles at his touch.

  His thumb lazily brushes across my skin. “I’m better suited to destroy someone’s happiness than be their reason for it.”

  I let out a deep sigh. “Are you always going to speak in statements shrouded in confusion?”

  “I’m like Jim Carrey’s Riddler.”

  “Out of all the movies you could reference, you choose George Clooney’s Batman franchise? I’m losing all my respect for you.”

  “The fact that you have a little respect for me at all is concerning.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s dwindling by the second.”

  He shakes his head, fighting his smile before settling for a scowl. “Let’s go. Time to get this shit show over with.”

  “Why do you hate sponsor events?”

  “I hate everything that isn’t racing my car. I’d much rather drop off the face of the planet than deal with a new crowd of people every week who ask me too many questions.”

  We both walk into the hall and toward the elevator. “I think you chose the wrong career path then. Racing and celebrity status are synonymous with one another.”

  Jax presses the button. “Trust me, I wasn’t thinking of the consequences when I was younger.”

  “Because you’re more likely to get anxious around others?”

  “Part of it.”

  Vague, but I let him keep his secret. The elevator doors open, and we enter.

  I press the button for the lobby. “How long have you been anxious?”

  “Since forever.”

  “And it’s gotten worse?”

  “You’re not a therapist. Stop poking around my brain searching for answers.”

  I laugh as I lean against the railing. “It’s called having a conversation. You should try it sometime with the opposite gender. You’d be surprised what women can talk about when you’re not fucking them into silence.”

  “You’re cute, goading me into more dirty talk. Does it get you hot and heavy thinking about me with other women, wishing it was you?”

  Oh, shit. Nice going, Elena. Enjoy talking yourself out of the mess you created.

  I roll my eyes. “Nope.”

  “Yet you like to bring it up. Why is that?” His smirk annoys me.

  My eyes narrow at his lips. “It’s called a joke.”

  “I can assure you sex with me is anything but.”

  I scrunch my nose in distaste. “Yuck. You’re like a five-star review from the owner of a sketchy Chinese buffet restaurant.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “No one should trust your glowing recommendation until they try it themselves.”

  A burst of laughter escapes him. “How the bloody hell do you come up with half the shit you say?”

  “I have a quick tongue. It’s a talent.”

  His eyebrow lifts as my words sink in. Well, shit, stupid tongue is more like it at the moment.

  I attempt to recover. “Let’s ignore that. And we’re going to be spending a lot of time together so maybe you can learn to speak about things other than sex.”

  “Are you always this bossy?”

  “I prefer the term assertive. Bossy tends to carry a negative connotation, especially for women.”

  His eyebrows raise. “You’ve gotten a lot of shit for being a woman working in F1, haven’t you?”

  “What gave it away? How there are barely any women around the racing paddock or how all the men ignore me in the press room?”

  He shakes his head. “Another reason to hate people.”

  “I don’t see it that way. I think of it as another reason to prove people wrong.”

  Jax and I walk into the Shanghai gala thirty minutes later. Crystal lights hang from the ceiling, casting us in a golden glow as Jax navigates us through the crowd. Luxurious doesn’t begin to cover it, with waiters walking around offering hundred-dollar glasses of champagne and food straight out of Gordon Ramsey’s kitchen.

  Jax’s attitude takes a nosedive once he’s forced to speak to strangers for longer than five minutes. I chalk up his irritability to unwillingly having to play nice for hours on end.

  “Ah, Elena. I thought it was you. I’ve been trying to find you for an hour, hoping you’d save one dance for me.” Elías’s voice gains my attention.

  “Elena needs to stay by my side this evening. Maybe you can try again—I don’t know—never?” Jax shoos him with his hand, conveniently extending his middle finger.

  “He’s joking. Ignore him.” My eyes narrow at Jax.

  “Good. I’m going to ask the DJ to play one of your favorites. I’ll be back.” Elías shoots me a secretive smile.


  “Stop leading him on.” Jax’s growl of a voice makes my blood run hot in my veins.

  “It’s one dance with a friend. Stop making such a big deal of things.”

  Jax’s jaw clenches, the shadows lingering where the chandeliers don’t shine. “Friend?”

  “It might seem like a foreign concept to you, but men and women can be friends without having sex.”

  “That’s bullshit. Liam and Sophie are a perfect example of what happens between two friends.”

  I roll my eyes. “Elías and I have known each other for years. It’s not like that between us.”

  “I didn’t ask for an explanation. Do whatever you want.” He walks away, dismissing me.

  I ignore my budding annoyance as I search for my friend. Elías is easy to spot near the DJ booth, striking up a conversation with the man working the turntables. He shyly smiles at the DJ as he walks away.

  He pulls me out onto the dance floor, spinning me in a circle to “La Bicicleta.”

  “So, you and the DJ?” I waggle my brows.

  He shakes his head. “You know how it is.”

  “I can’t even begin to imagine how you feel.”

  “It’s hard in a sport like this. I don’t want to be the first…you know.”

  No time will ever feel right for Elías to come out to the world. With his career, he remains secretive about his sexuality despite how much it pains him to hide a major part of himself.

  “I’m sure that’s scary, but times have changed.”

  Elías’s voice drops to a whisper I struggle to hear over the music. “I don’t know about that. I hate when guys assume I’m going to hit on them because they have a dick and a good ass.”

  “I would hope in today’s day and age, people would be more accepting.”

  “I don’t want to be the one to test it out. At least not yet. Definitely not now after scoring a contract with a top team.”

  “Whenever you’re ready, you let me know, and I’ll help you.”

  Elías smiles. “What would Jax and I do without you?”

  “While you may forget your answers to questions during a press conference, Jax might end up as the next trending Twitter hashtag. And not for a good reason.”