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

by Masters, Colleen

  “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.

  “At least his driving is under control, unlike his temper,” my dad grumbles to Gus, “See, Siena? Nothing to worry about. Hey—Siena! Where are you going?”

  There’s no time to stop and explain myself to dear old dad. Not now. I take off like a shot through the pit, ducking around moving parts and hassled technicians. There’s no way I’m going to get a direct line to Enzo at this stage in the game. I can’t reason with him while he’s tearing around the track, he could lose control. I need t
o intercept my brother the second he pulls into the pit, I have to get him to hear me out, even for a second.

  “Hey! Siena!”

  “Watch out!”

  “What are you doing down here?”

  I hear the harried voices of Ferrelli’s pit crew members barking all around me, but I’m not about to let them boot me out. I’m Siena Lazio, dammit—daughter of Alfonso Lazio, sister of Enzo, and soon to be one of the owners of the team itself. I have just as much right to be here as anyone else, more even.

  But just before I can hurdle over a spare tyre, a strong hand closes around my arm, and I turn to find myself face-to-face with Gus. His usually amiable face is stern and clouded.

  “You’re going to get yourself hurt if you don’t cool it,” he tells me.

  “You don’t understand—”

  “Hell if I don’t! You think the rules don’t apply to you, just like your brother and father. But this is still my pit, Siena. And I won’t have you getting yourself hurt on my watch.”

  “Let go of my arm, Gus,” I shout over the riotous noise.

  “Not on your life,” he says, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you and your brother today, but whatever it is, you need to settle it some other time. Do you know how dangerous it is for you to be underfoot down here?”

  “Underfoot? Please don’t talk to me like I’m still a child, Gus. I’m a part of this team, too. Why doesn’t anyone treat me like I am?”

  “Because you insist on getting involved on your own terms! If you’d just do your job and leave it at that—”

  “How could you let him get into that car, Gus?” I cry, wrenching my arm out of his grip, “You’re supposed to be in charge around here. You’re supposed to keep him safe.”

  “He’s as safe as he ever is, Siena,” Gus says, exasperated, “Just look.”

  I turn to the gigantic screen that hangs above the track. The cars may be out of sight, but their progress is transmitted through the towering monitor. On the other side of the course, Enzo’s holding onto his lead. His car hugs the inside track steadily, and the other cars are hanging back—even Harrison’s. He’s whipping around the course at breakneck speed, but it doesn’t seem like he’s driving erratically. His steering and control are perfect as ever—or so it seems from where we’re standing now.

  “See?” Gus says, “He may have a temper, but he can drive through anything. Everything’s going to be OK.”

  “Everything’s always OK until it’s not,” I tell him.

  “This has been an emotional season for your brother,” Gus tells me, “With your dad’s condition—”

  “You know about that?” I ask.

  “I’m your father’s best friend. Of course I know. You should cut your brother some slack. He’s got enough to deal with right now.”

  I don’t say another word to the Ferrelli manager. My feet carry me as close to the track as I can get without leaping onto it. I keep my eyes glued to Enzo’s car as lap after lap goes by. F1 races are incredibly long affairs, but the laps fly past. Time loses all meaning as I wait anxiously to steal my brother’s ear for a moment. His temper on the track is like a ticking time bomb. If one little thing doesn’t go his way out there, it could all be over.

  It isn’t until a quarter of the race has gone by that I start to become aware of anxious murmurs in the pit around me. The pit crew members stand around, looking anxiously out onto the track. Dad and Gus are standing side by side, wearing almost identical grimaces.

  “What?” I say, turning toward my dad, “What’s wrong?”

  “He should have come in by now,” Dad mutters, his brow furrowed. “That was the strategy we agreed on. But he just keeps moving.”

  My chest tightens as I whip my gaze back around in time to catch Enzo soar past the pit at top speed. It’s almost as if he’s in the race alone, he’s outpaced most of the other cars by so much distance. There’s only one other car that’s neglected to drop back yet—and of course, that car belongs to Harrison Davies. Harrison’s gunning for Enzo’s first place spot, and Enzo is not about to back off. Not today, of all days. Not when he’s just discovered that Harrison’s been whisking his little sister away in the dark of night...regardless of the fact that his little sister was more than happy to go.

  “Give him space, Harrison,” I whisper, my fingernails biting into my palms, “Don’t do anything stupid...”

  But of course, the two of them are too far off to hear my pleas. They probably wouldn’t heed them even if they heard me. They soar on past, racing laps around the other cars. Just when it seems that they’ve reached the peak of their baseline speeds, they seem to pick up the pace even further. They’ve both decided that they’re going to take home first today. And I don’t want to know what extremes they’re both willing to go to make that happen. My head is absolutely swimming with anxiety and fear, but I refuse to look away from the race. No matter how lightheaded or fearful I get, I need to be on hand when Enzo pulls into the pit.

  “Finally,” Gus sighs, as my brother gets ready to soar into the pit for a spell.

  I hold my breath as Enzo and Harrison simultaneously disperse, way too far into the race for anyone’s comfort. They break off from their trajectories in almost perfect unison and head off to their respective pits. As the vibrant green car screeches to a halt before us, pit crew members fall upon the vehicle like a swarm of worker bees. As I lunge toward my brother, Dad steps in my way, blocking me.

  “Leave him alone Siena,” he cautions me, “Your worrying isn’t going to do him any favors now.”

  “Dad, I have to talk to him,” I plead, “You have to let me—”

  “He knows what he’s doing,” Dad interrupts, “He’s been racing incredibly so far, whatever mood he might happen to be in. If you interfere now—”

  But I don’t stick around to hear the rest of his protestations. I tear past my father and push my way through the thick crowd of pit technicians. The smell of sweat and exhaust overwhelms me as I battle my way to the side of Enzo’s car. I place my hands firmly on his ride, planting my feet lest any crew members try and shake me off. I watch Enzo’s dark eyes swing my way as I latch onto his car, holding on for dear life. I’m almost scared speechless by the furious anger that smolders behind his dark gaze. I know for a fact that my brother’s never been this angry with me. I just wish that he would let me explain.

  “Enzo!” I scream, knowing he can barely hear me over the chaos that surrounds us. I’ll just have to hope that he can read my lips and know my heart “Enzo, I’m sorry. Please be careful,” I shout, “We can talk about everything after the race, just please keep your head on straight. You’re doing an amazing job, just don’t do anything stupid out there. I love you so much. I would never do anything to hurt you.”

  His mouth moves furiously for a moment, but I can’t make out what he’s said.

  “What?” I scream, squinting to read his lips.

  “You already have,” he repeats, his gaze freezing the blood in my veins.

  He tears his eyes away from me, having decimated me with three little words. I take a quivering step back from the car, numb in the wake of Enzo’s dismissal. With a mighty roar, his engine kicks up to full strength and carries him away from me, back onto the track. I hope for a second that he’ll just finish this race without incident. That would be enough of a blessing. I don’t care if he wins, as long as he makes it through unhurt. But when Enzo sails back into the race from his pit stop, something crucial has changed.

  Harrison’s taken the lead.

  “No...” I breathe, backing away from the track, “Harrison, no...”

  But no amount of wishful thinking can derail the course of events unfolding before my eyes. Harrison is soaring around the track, his car hugging the inside track. He’s unseated Enzo from that coveted spot, and I know that he’s not going to give up easily. Harrison has no idea what state of mind Enzo’s in, no reason to think that he might need to be more careful than usual. He’s got his e
yes on first place, and there’s no way he’s going to back down. Why should he? In his mind, this is just another race. He has no idea that Enzo’s just discovered us. No idea that he should be afraid for his life.

  Around and around they go, Enzo gunning to close the distance between him and Harrison. My brother inches up little by little, and I can practically feel the heat from his outrage scorching along the track. Only one of them can come out on top, here, and I’ve completely lost track of who I’m even rooting for anymore. I don’t care which one of them wins, as long as they both make it through OK. That’s the only sort of victory I’m interested in.

  By the time the final laps of the Grand Prix are underway, Enzo’s almost entirely closed the space between his and Harrison’s cars. They’ve outpaced the rest of the pack by a long shot. Rafael Marques has taken third place, but he’s too far back to pose any sort of threat to Enzo and Harrison. Landers and Rostov are vying for fourth and fifth place, but no one can be bothered to keep an eye on them, what with the drama unfolding at the head of the pack. Harrison and Enzo are practically on top of each other. My heart is lodged in my throat, but the closer they come to the finish line, the more relieved I feel. So far their driving has been remarkably even. No dirty tactics, nothing. Maybe I misjudged the situation? I should give my brother more credit where credit is due. What kind of a lunatic would he have to be to endanger himself over—

  “Look out!” I screech, as Enzo veers sharply toward Harrison on the track.

  The sudden attack comes out of nowhere, and a collective gasp goes up in the stands. Harrison drops back, trying like hell to avoid a collision. Enzo roars into Harrison’s abandoned spot, stealing the lead back with the most aggressive move I’ve ever seen him make. Enzo’s car jerks wildly as he takes the lead—he’s lost some of his control in his eagerness to get back in front of the race.

  Harrison is not about to let Enzo get away with playing dirty. He abandons decorum and decides to take on my reckless brother. The red car swings around and draws even with its green rival. Enzo and Harrison are racing neck and neck, barreling ahead at an insane speed. They’ve left behind any consideration of safety or predetermined strategy. Harrison’s looking for an opening, trying to get back into the lead. It’s clear that he’s trying to win without engaging in any more foul play. Is he holding back for my sake, I wonder?