“Don’t jinx it,” Gus warns, appearing suddenly at my side.
I hold my breath as the trio bears down on the finish line, praying to every god who might be listening that one of my boys comes out on top. Time loses any meaning as they soar along toward the race’s conclusion. It looks like they’re flying a foot above the track...
Until all at once, Enzo and Harrison’s momentum sputters.
The red and green racers screech to a halt as if they’ve run over quick sand. Marques speeds on ahead over the finish line as my boys come to total stops. I can practically feel their outrage ripple out over the track. What the hell just happened to their cars? I’m just about to grill Gus about what possibly could have happened, but in the split second I turn away, everything changes out on the track.
Landers veers out of the way, trying to avoid slamming into Enzo and Harrison’s stalled cars head on. But his sudden jerking maneuver gets away from him, and the nose of his car catches Rostov’s head on. The two cars go spinning away toward the wall, turning end over end until they smash against the concrete, crumpling into smoking heaps of rubble.
The crowd erupts into a panic as flames begin to engulf the twisted wrecks of Rostov and Landers racers. The Ferrelli and McClain emergency workers rush onto the track after Enzo and Harrison, pulling them out of their cars and away from the smoldering jumble of auto parts encasing Rostov and Landers. I watch as my brother and Harrison hesitate, reluctant to leave without helping their friends and fellow racers. But as the rest of the drivers speed around the discarded cars, my boys finally give in and let themselves be led away.
I dash to the edge of the pit, watching as ambulances rush toward the wrecked cars of Landers and Rostov. I’ve gotten to know these two drivers so well over the years. They’ve been Enzo’s closest friends and competitors, best friends on their own and damn fine drivers. Please, I pray, please let them be OK...
But my silent prayers trail off as black, oily smoke clouds the track. This wreck is far more serious than the tangle Enzo and Harrison got into in Moscow. This is the kind of wreck that not everyone walks away from. I gasp as bright orange flames swell up to engulf the two cars. The sight is like something out of a nightmare.
“Siena,” I hear Enzo’s ragged voice whisper.
I whip around to see my brother standing beside me, his eyes bewildered and full of sorrow. In an instant, our feud is forgotten. I throw my arms around his shoulders, a ragged sob ripping out of my throat. He closes his arms around me, wordless with shock. We hold each other as the world spins around us, and I feel for the first time in so long like Enzo’s little sister again. As much as we may fight and disagree, this man is still my brother. I’d go to the ends of the earth and back for him, gladly.
“I’m so sorry,” I weep, my shoulders shaking in my brother’s arms, “Enzo, I’m so—”
“Me too,” he mutters, hugging me tighter, “Siena, can you ever forgive—?”
But a deafening sound rips our attention back toward the track. Something’s exploded in the heart of the wreck, sending a smoldering fireball up into the foggy sky. Every person in attendance is paralyzed in the face of such destruction. The only people that move a muscle are the rescue workers, doing their best to tame the fire and pluck the drivers out of their cars. But as the seconds crawl by, the solemn truth settles in. There’s very little chance that Rostov or Landers will survive this wreck.
I bury my face against Enzo’s chest as the two fallen racers are finally pulled from their cars. I only catch a fleeting glimpse of them—their charred jumpsuits barely even recognizable, their faces even further damaged. I’m filled with grief for my friends, of course, but an equal part of me is so relieved that Enzo and Harrison escaped this horrible wreck. How can I be so devastated and elated all at once?
None of us register the news that Enzo, Harrison, Rostov, and Landers are being marked down as having not run the London Grand Prix at all. We’re told later that Marques’s first place win has put him neck and neck points-wise with Enzo and Harrison, but none of us can bother to care much. In times of crisis and sorrow, no decent driver is going to give a shit where he stands in the rankings. All we can do is band together in honor of our friends.
When I finally find my way into Harrison’s arms later that night, I’m pretty sure I clutch onto him for hours. Why do we all have to be enamored with such a dangerous world? Why can’t we be content with the safe, the ordinary?
Would we even be ourselves if we could?
Chapter Seven
Devastation
“It is truly a heartbreaking day for the Formula One community,” the somber newscaster says, “After yesterday’s bizarre and tragic wreck at the London Grand Prix, two drivers have been hospitalized.”
Harrison and I sit side-by-side in the living room of his London home. We’ve been sitting motionless on his sofa for hours, each clutching a glass of scotch and waiting for more news as it comes in.
“Alexi Rostov and Sven Landers each sustained very serious injuries in yesterday’s crash,” the newsman goes on, “They are both in critical condition at this moment, but both teams report that doctors are doing everything they can to save the lives of these two brave men.”
My hand trembles as I lift the glass to my lips once again. There’s no use in trying to think of anything else but the horrible wreck I witnessed yesterday. Every time I close my eyes, visions of that oily smoke, those red hot flames, the chaos and noise crowd back into my mind. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget the devastating finale of the London Grand Prix.
The hours after the race passed by in a blur. Enzo and Harrison finally found their way out of their stalled vehicles and back to my side. I think that yesterday was the first time I saw the two of them stand side-by-side without exchanging nasty barbs and scathing looks. It was all any of us could do to look out across the track as Rostov and Landers were taken away in their ambulances. Howling sirens filled the air as the flaming wreckage of their cars was extinguished, and the screaming crowd wailed on for hours. It was the worst crash I’ve ever seen in all my years as an F1 kid. I can’t even begin to imagine what a more catastrophic crash would look like.
“Race officials are still unsure as to what caused this terrible wreck,” the newscaster says on Harrison’s flat screen, “Technical issues are most likely at fault, but authorities have not ruled out the possibility of foul play. We’ll keep you posted as we receive more information on this developing story.”
Harrison snatches up the remote and mutes the droning TV. The silence of his townhouse is overwhelming after the screeching din of yesterday. The ice cubes in our glasses clink delicately in the quiet space. Neither of us can think of anything to say, for a spell.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay at the hotel with your family?” Harrison finally asks, his voice rasping harshly.
“And leave you alone? Not a chance,” I tell him.
“Thank you, Siena,” Harrison says, grabbing my hand and squeezing tight.
“Of course,” I whisper, moving in closer to him on the couch. “Enzo and I got a minute alone after...the race. He has plenty of people looking out for him. You, on the other hand, are all mine, Mister.”
“Enzo must be pretty torn up,” Harrison says, pulling me tightly against his side, “I barely knew those guys, but they were his buddies, weren’t they?”
I nod, unable to speak around the lump in my throat. Rostov and Landers have always been my brother’s best friends in the F1 universe. They’ve known each other since their box car days. So many of my F1 memories star Alexi and Sven as younger, carefree men. Just a few weeks ago in Moscow, we were all out on the town having a grand old time. They have to pull through. They just have to. Because if they don’t...it means that such a tragedy could befall anyone brave enough to race in this sport. Including two of the people I care most about in this entire world.
“Don’t you worry about my brother right now,” I say to Harrison, �
�He’s a tough one. And besides, there’s every chance in the world that Sven and Alexi are going to be just fine.”
“Siena,” Harrison sighs, “I wouldn’t...get your hopes up. About their chances.”
My stomach tightens at Harrison’s words, and I try my best to deny the truth behind them. “You don’t know those guys,” I say, “They’re hard as nails. They’re—”
“They’re just men, like the rest of us,” Harrison says gently, “I’m sorry, baby. I know you’re trying to keep your chin up about this, but now is no time to start lying to yourself about the nature of this sport. Even the best drivers aren't fire-proof.”
“Can’t you let me hold onto my defense mechanisms?” I ask, trying to laugh. But instead, a little jagged sob rips out of my throat. I swallow it back down as best I can, burrowing against Harrison’s side. “What if...what if it had been you?” I ask quietly.
“It should have been,” Harrison says, his teeth gritted.
“What?” I gasp, looking up in astonishment, “What do you mean it should’ve—?”
“Someone was out for me and Enzo,” Harrison goes on, “It was our cars that were tampered with. We were the targets. But it was Landers and Rostov who paid the price.”
“So you really think someone messed with your cars?” I ask.
“Absolutely. And I think you know it in your heart, too,” Harrison says.
“You’re right,” I tell him, anger rising to supplant my sadness, “I know you’re right. I just don’t know how to believe it. Who could be so coldhearted as to put your lives in danger?”
“Whoever’s been trying to ruin us from the beginning of this season, of course,” Harrison replies. “At least the police are looking into it now. Maybe they’ll be able to figure something out.”
“Harrison,” I say, pulling myself to sitting beside him, “You don’t...you don’t think that this, all of this madness, is because you and I...?”
“Absolutely not,” he says quickly, “This is much bigger than us, Siena. And I have no doubt that whoever is behind all this would've been out for blood whether we got together or not. Hell, it probably doesn’t even matter to whoever it is that it's me racing for the championship rather than Naughton. These tactics are toward one goal, Siena. Knocking the leading contenders out of the running for the world championship.”
A shudder runs through my body. To think that someone might be so desperate to control the outcome of this championship that they’d be willing to kill? It’s terrifying.
“You could walk away you know,” I say quietly, “You could quit the tour right now. Maybe save your life in the process.”
“Quit the season?” Harrison repeats.
“Is it such a ridiculous suggestion?” I ask. “There’s clearly something very messed up going on in this year. Can’t you just throw in the towel before anything else goes wrong?”
“You can’t really be asking that of me, Siena,” Harrison says.
“I think I am,” I tell him, “Will you at least consider bowing out?”
“No,” Harrison says flatly, “I won’t do that. I’m sorry.”
“But why?” I ask, fighting to keep my chin from quivering, “Harrison, you could be killed out there.”
“I could be killed walking down the street, but you don’t see my barricading myself in my home, hiding away from the world,” Harrison says heatedly, “Life is full of risks, Siena. We’re just not aware of most of them. Each time you head out the door in the morning, you’re risking everything. That’s the beautiful thing about being alive.”
“But what’s the point if you don’t stay alive?” I ask, turning my gaze from him, “What the hell would I do if I lost you, Harrison?”
“You’d keep on living,” he says adamantly, “You’d brush yourself off and keep on moving, because you’re strong, Siena. You don’t need me to make your life worthwhile.”
“I don’t know about that,” I tell him softly, “Now that I’ve met you...I don’t know how I could possibly go on if something happened to you.”
“I can’t imagine what I’d do without you either,” he says, wrapping an arm around my waist, “But what’s the point in imagining a thing like that, eh? You can’t live that way, always planning for the worst case scenario. You have to live in the moment, Siena. No matter what happens. It’s the only way to be. Otherwise, all you’ll have to look back on at the end of your days is a fog of worry and fear. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”
“God...” I mutter, “Why couldn’t our dads have been golfers, or something? Good luck wrecking a golf cart and getting seriously injured.”
“You know as well as I do that we were made to be part of the F1 world,” Harrison says, “We were born into it, but that’s not the only reason. People like you and me, we’re not meant to play it safe. We’re meant to look fear straight in the eye and tell it to fuck off. We were built to live life at top speed. It’s why we’re so good together, Siena. I wouldn’t trade that for the world. Or a 401K and a backyard, for that matter.”
“I just don’t want to lose you,” I whisper, climbing into Harrison’s lap.
“You never will,” he tells me, laying a kiss on my cheek, “I love you, Siena. Nothing that happens from here on out will ever change that.”
I wrap my arms around his broad, strong shoulders, clutching onto him with all my might. How can this man make me feel safe in the midst of such terror?
“I thought this was just going to be another season,” I laugh shortly, “When we started in Barcelona, I figured the most exciting thing to happen to me would be buying a new pencil skirt or something. But look at us, would you? Look at all that’s happened.”
“I can’t believe it myself,” Harrison says, running a hand lightly along my side, “Very few things have surprised me in life. But you are certainly one of them.”
“Is that so?” I ask, pressing myself into him.
“I thought for sure I’d end up one of those loathsome F1 bachelor types,” Harrison goes on, fingers grazing along my ribs, “Or worse, I figured I’d become my father, one way or another. But then you happened along.”
“And made an honest man of you?” I ask, running my fingers through Harrison’s sandy blonde hair.
“Something like that,” he says, grabbing onto my hips.
I pivot to face him, straddling him there on the couch. The sadness that hangs over us both after yesterday’s wreck only magnifies my need for him. I want to enjoy every single moment that we have together; because who knows how many more we'll have?
Harrison’s right—even if we were civilians, there would always be the chance of fate intervening and stealing us away from each other’s loving arms.
“No matter what happens,” I whisper, running my hands down Harrison’s hard chest, “I’m so glad we met, Harrison.”
“That makes two of us,” he smiles, circling his arms around the small of my back, “But why don’t we set words aside for the moment. I think we’ve moved past them.”
And he’s right, of course. I lower my lips to Harrison’s, kissing him as deeply as I can. My hips rock against him as I feel his tongue glide against mine. At the first taste of him, I’m already done for. I press myself into him, feeling my breasts balloon against the firm panes of his chest. Living at full throttle means letting your desires move you. And right now, all I desire in the world is Harrison Davies—all of him.
I grind my hips against him, straddling his built body on the living room couch. Harrison slides his hands down over the rise of my ass, pulling me tightly against him. I can feel him growing harder with every passing second. In these dire times, there’s no room for propriety or denying ourselves the things we want. And it seems that Harrison knows this just as well as I do.
Keeping my mouth firmly on his, I seize the hem of my short cotton dress and draw it up around my hips. Harrison’s desire strains at the confines of his blue jeans as I move above him, tugging my dress ever further up al
ong my body. Harrison’s hands find their way to my bare torso, his fingers practically encircling my small waist. I’ve never considered myself to be a particularly small woman, but next to Harrison I feel like a featherweight.
I gasp for breath as Harrison tugs the dress from my hands and rips it away from my body. Though his touch is always measured and perfect with me, it’s thrilling to know just how much power is wrapped up in those rippling muscles of his. I’ve watched him tear around a race track, fly into attack mode, and make love to me with effortless grace. There are so many sides to this incredible person, and I’m the only one who gets to see them all. And that is the greatest gift he could ever give me, letting me be close to him. As close to him as I like...
He holds me perched on top of his strapping body, wearing nothing but the thinnest cotton bra and panties. But with his eyes on me, these simple garments feel like the height of elegance. I tug at his ever-present tee shirt, baring his powerful chest and arms before me. He hurries to free himself of his jeans, sliding them down from his rock hard ass and powerful thighs. Now all that’s left between my throbbing sex and his staggering member are a few flimsy undergarments. The friction of the cotton between my tender flesh and his pulsating manhood makes my head spin.
“I need you,” I whisper, bringing my gaze to his gorgeous blue eyes.
“Is that right?” he grins, “Why didn’t you say so?”
I groan as Harrison’s hands slide beneath my bra. My hands fly to unclasp the garment as he cups my breasts in his hands. I let the fabric fall away, closing my eyes in bliss as Harrison runs his thumbs over the hard peaks of my nipples. I plant my hands on his shoulders and press myself up, raising my chest to his mouth. His eyes flick up to mine as he brings his lips to my erect nipple and closes his mouth around it.
“Oh my god...” I moan, as he bites down with just the right amount of force. The shocking spark of sensations runs straight through me, down to where I grow wetter for him with every passing second.
Faster Longer (Take Me...#3) (New Adult Bad Boy Racer Novel) Page 7
