Throttled (Dirty Air 1)

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.