Faster Harder Page 10

  The roar of the crowd picks up as Enzo, Harrison, and the others speed into their final lap. My breath is shallow, my head pounding.

  “Ow,” Bex cries, pulling her hand from mine, “You trying to break my arm off? Just breathe, Siena.”

  But her words fall on deaf ears. My eyes are glued to the green and red streaks of light that are Enzo and Harrison’s cars. Enzo is drifting inexplicably toward the center of the track, leaving his coveted position wide open. Harrison inches toward the inside track, vying for a shot at the window that will let him get past my brother. Is Harrison going to overtake Enzo at the last second? I’m thrilled and terrified by the prospect, and I couldn’t look away if I tried.

  “What the hell is he doing?” Charlie cries, as Enzo edges further away from the inside position, “He’s going to blow it!”

  I hold my breath as Harrison lines himself up just behind Enzo, on the verge of jetting into his abandoned position of power.

  “He’s gonna go for it,” Bex squeals, “He’s gonna—”

  Harrison’s car surges forward on a sudden burst of draft momentum. He flies ahead, about to slide past Enzo. But just before Harrison can secure his place, Enzo veers hard toward the inside track. A scream rips from my throat, echoing among the cacophony of the crowd around me, as the two cars careen toward each other. Harrison spins away across the track, struggling to keep from colliding with Enzo. My brother surges ahead as Landers and Rostov speed around the out-of-control red car. Harrison skids past them toward the barrier, and the breath rushes out of my lungs.

  Just before his car turns over, Harrison wrestles back control. He sets off again, soaring toward the finish line, but the three frontrunners are far beyond him now. I watch as Enzo tears across the finish line, with Landers on his tail and Rostov coming in third. Harrison speeds after them, placing fourth overall. The spectators are cheering and laughing all around me, but my voice has fallen silent.

  “Siena, where are you going?” Bex asks as I tear away from her.

  I charge through the crowd, knowing that Charlie and Bex are scrambling to follow me. My mind is a mad whirl as I skirt around revelers and crew members, media types and vendors. I crash into my fair share of people, but finally make it down to where Team Ferrelli is gather, cheering and carrying on as if it’s New Years Eve.

  “We won!” Gus shrieks, pulling me into a bear hug, “That crazy brother of yours did it, Siena! Did you see?”

  “I saw alright,” I say furiously, “What kind of shit was that he pulled?”

  “What are you saying?” my dad demands, grabbing onto my wrist.

  “Enzo totally cut Harrison off!” I say, pulling away from him.

  “Who gives a shit?” my dad says, “Davies shouldn’t have been so damn eager. He deserved it.”

  “They could have crashed,” I say, “That was reckless, Dad. That was stupid.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dad says, brushing me off like a gnat.

  Hot tears spring to my eyes as Enzo’s car rolls to a stop on the track. Team Ferrelli surges out to meet him, and I storm after them. My brother leaps out of his car, pumping his fist in victory. I’m so furious with him I could spit, but I hang back. Let him enjoy his moment of glory. They’ll be plenty of time to chastise him while we’re alone. There’s no need to do it in front of thousands of people.

  “Are you OK, honey?” Bex asks, laying a hand on my shoulder.

  “That was a dirty trick,” I say, angry tears running down my cheeks.

  “Don’t think of it like that,” Charlie says, “It was just strategy.”

  “You don’t even believe that,” I snap, “You’re just trying to protect him.”

  Before Charlie can retort, a flash of red catches my eye. Harrison’s car screeches to a halt beside Enzo’s, and Team McClain rushes over en masse, looking more than a bit panicked. I gasp as Harrison leaps out of his car and tears the helmet off his head, tossing it off onto the track. He marches toward Enzo, shoving crew members out of the way as he goes.

  “Lazio!” Harrison roars.

  Enzo turns to face Harrison, and a cool sneer spreads across his face. “Davies,” he says, crossing his arms, “Come to congratulate me on my victory? How very sweet of you. I suppose the British do have some manners, after all.”

  “That was a bullshit stunt you pulled you dumb motherfucker,” Harrison growls, stepping up to my brother and pushing his chest with both hands. “You could have caused a goddamn wreck. What the fuck were you thinking?”

  Enzo stumbles but keeps his cool. “I was thinking that I’d like to win the race,” he says, “It’s sort of the point of this whole thing. But I guess a rookie like you might not grasp that concept yet.”

  “You threaten my life like that again Lazio,” Harrison says, “and I'll fuck you up so bad none of your little whores will look at you again. How can you celebrate a victory that’s built on acting like a proper cunt?”

  “With champagne and lots of easy women,” Enzo replies.

  My stomach turns, watching the smug smile widen on my brother’s face. What the hell has gotten into him? This isn’t the Enzo I know and love. Not by a long shot. Harrison narrows his eyes at my brother, his jaw pulsing with anger.

  “If that’s the way you want to race, Lazio, so be it,” Harrison growls, “but make no mistake—I’m not going to forget this.”

  “I don’t really give a fuck either way,” Enzo laughs.

  “I think you do,” Harrison counters, “I think I’ve got you shaking in those designer boots of yours, and you’re way off your game. You’re afraid of me, Lazio. I can smell it. And you should be, too. Because we both know that I’m a better driver than you. And I can prove it.”

  “Is that so?” Enzo says, his smile dissolving into a furious scowl.

  “You bet your ass,” Harrison says, “I’m coming for you, Lazio. You may have thought that this was your little star turn, but you’re dead wrong. I’m going to win this tournament. I’m going to shove all those precious years of toil and training straight up your ass.”

  “Beat me?” Enzo says, “That’s your plan? Conquer the day with your pretty face and bullshit bad boy attitude, win one tournament, then piss away the rest of your life with cheap whiskey and hookers? Just like dear old Dad.”

  “Pardon me?” Harrison says, his voice deathly quiet.

  “That’s right,” my brother goes on, “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. You’re Walther Davies’ kid, right? The second I put the pieces together, the worries I had about you cleared right up. How could you be any sort of threat, having that pathetic drunken playboy as a fa—”

  “No!” I scream, as Harrison rushes at Enzo, murder in his eyes. A dozen members of Team McClain and Team Ferrelli throw themselves between the two drivers, pulling them apart before they can tear each other to pieces.

  The world seems to fall down around my ears as I lock eyes with Harrison. Gone is any hope of some kind of miraculous reconciliation between him and my brother. I can see the hatred burning in Harrison’s eyes—hatred for my own flesh and blood. How can I be with someone who despises my family? How could Harrison ever want to be with me now? Enzo just had to go and add fuel to the fire for the sake of his own pride. And now, because of that one stunt, the greatest passion of my life has been torn from my hands.

  Three whispered words leave my lips and are lost at once in the roaring crowd and post-race dissonance:

  “It’s not fair.”

  Chapter Nine

  Just The Beginning

  I stare down at the cottony expanse of clouds beyond the airplane window and will my mind to be quiet. From the moment Enzo sailed over the finish line at the Barcelona Grand Prix until this second, I feel like I’ve been in constant motion. All I wanted after that nearly disastrous race was to go to Harrison, soothe him somehow, make sure that he was alright. But there was no way, and certainly no time. After all, that was race one the first of sixteen. We’v
e got a lot of ground to cover before this tournament draws to a close.

  How could so much have happened over the course of one Grand Prix weekend? I arrived in Barcelona with a light heart and a clear head. I was going to bust my ass as Ferrelli’s PR whiz, knock back a few margaritas with Bex and Charlie, and cheer on my brother as he added a new chapter to our family’s racing legacy. But the moment I saw Harrison in that Barcelona club, everything changed. It’s like my entire worldview was refocused, and all of things I knew so well to be true are suddenly in flux, up for question.

  My hands clench into tight fists as I replay the alteration between Enzo and Harrison at the end of the first Grand Prix. They both flew off the handle, but there’s no way around it—Enzo instigated that fight out of a petty need to prove himself against the new guy on the circuit. My brother antagonized Harrison from the start. And that stunt he pulled cutting Harrison off just before the finish line? It was dangerous, and spiteful, and downright ugly.

  I’ve never been one of those little sisters who thinks her big brother is perfect, but this isn’t like Enzo. He’s always been critical of other drivers, and his ego is inflated like a hot air balloon after years of being treated like the next freaking messiah, but I’ve never seen him put another driver in harm’s way like that. And of course, the first guy he really messes with on the track happens to be the same man that I’m falling head over heels for.

  Perfect.

  I feel a hand on my shoulder and snap out of my reverie. Charlie sits beside me on the Ferrelli private jet, looking at me with concern. We’re on our way to Monaco for the next Grand Prix, and everyone is riding high after Enzo’s early victory. Everyone, of course, except for me.

  “Airsick?” Charlie asks me.

  “Not exactly,” I tell him.

  “Talk to me, Siena,” he urges, “You’ve barely said a word since the race. Hell, we’ve hardly spoken since we got to Barcelona.”

  I smile wearily. “It’s been a busy weekend, Charlie.”

  “That’s never stopped us from having fun before,” he says. “Come on. How many of these tournaments have we been through together, huh? First with your dad, now with your brother. You live for Grand Prix weekends.”

  “I guess the job’s just stressing me out,” I say, trying to change the subject.

  “Nah, it’s more than that,” Charlie insists, “You don’t crack under pressure. There’s something else going on.”

  I turn away from Charlie, digging my fingernails into my palms. Charlie’s been my best guy friend for my entire life. I’ve come to him with so many guy troubles over the years, but there’s no way I can ask for his advice this time around. He’d go right to my dad if he knew that I was seeing Harrison. And that, as they say, would be that.

  “I think I know what’s going on up there,” Charlie goes on, giving my temple a little tap.

  “I seriously doubt that,” I mumble.

  Charlie leans toward me, lowering his voice. “This is about Davies, isn’t it?”

  I whip around in my set, jaw falling open. “What...How...?” I splutter.

  “You’re not as hard to read as you think,” Charlie tells me.

  “Charlie,” I say, grabbing onto his hands, “You have to keep it a secret.”

  “Of course,” he tells me, “But Siena, it’s not a big deal.”

  “Not a big deal? How can you say that?”

  “Look, I know you’re probably feeling a little guilty,” Charlie says, “But Siena, the world is not going to end just because you let Harrison Davies buy you a couple of drinks. You didn’t even know who he was at the time!”

  I stare dumbly at my friend. So he’s totally in the dark after all. He thinks that I’m worked up about a margarita or two at the club? Jesus...If he had any idea what those drinks have already led to, he’d toss me out of this jet in a heartbeat.

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Charlie tells me, “Everyone makes mistakes.”

  A flare of anger shoots through me. “I didn’t make a mistake,” I tell him, “Even if I’d known who Harrison was that night, it’s not like he’s some kind of villain. He’s a man who happens to race for another team. I’m allowed to spend time with anyone I like.”

  “Not when anyone is your brother’s main competitor. Not to mention an arrogant douche with a cheesy accent and a bad temper,” Charlie says.

  “You haven’t said three words to Harrison,” I snap, “You don’t get to pass judgment on him. If any of you even tried to get to know him—”

  “Get to know him?” Charlie scoffs, “Why the hell would we do that? And why do you even care, Siena?”

  “I just think he’s a good guy,” I say, “And this rivalry thing is bullshit. Not to mention a PR disaster—”

  “You don’t like this guy, do you?” Charlie asks, “I mean, actually like him?”

  “What is this, seventh grade?” I deflect.

  “Siena,” Charlie says seriously, “You and Davies...You just had a couple of drinks together, right? It did end there between you?”

  “Of course,” I say, lying through my pearly whites.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Did I stutter, Spano? There’s nothing going on between me and Harrison. I just think Enzo’s acting like a jackass.”

  “Well, he’s allowed to,” Charlie says, “He’s in the lead.”

  We don’t speak for the duration of the flight, Charlie and I. We begin our descent into Monaco and gather our things. I barely notice the breathtaking view of the French Riviera as we head to the next hotel. My head is too full of worry to take in the sights. I finally manage to shake the rest of the team and shut myself in my hotel suite. As soon as I lock the door behind me, I collapse onto the sprawling queen bed and let myself have a long-awaited cry.

  I let out all of my frustration, my guilt, my anger, but most of all, my heartbreak. It’s killing me to know that I’m going behind my family’s back...but the pain I feel knowing that I may never get to see things through with Harrison is worse. I’ve finally found someone who understands me, someone who turns me on from a mile away, someone I feel safe with and trust with my heart and my body, and I can’t be with him.

  There’s a soft knock on my door, and Bex calls out from the hallway.

  “Siena?” she says, “Honey, can I come in?”

  I open the door for my best friend, and watch as her face crumples into a mask of sympathetic hurt.

  “Oh, sweetie...” she says, closing the door and hugging me tight, “It’s OK.”

  “It’s not,” I cry, clinging to her slim body.

  “Tell me everything,” she says.

  I spill the entire story. From the night at the club, to our seaside rendezvous, to the night we spent hidden away together, getting to know each other’s minds and bodies.

  “Did you guys...?” Bex asks.

  “No. We didn’t have sex. I mean...Not technically. He said he wanted that night to be about me trusting him. Knowing that he just wanted to make me happy.”

  “Damn,” Bex whistles.

  “Tell me about it,” I laugh, wiping away the tears from my eyes. “I’m so lost, Bex. I have no idea what to do.”

  “Have you heard anything from him since the race?” she asks.

  “No,” I say, “Not a word.”

  “I’m sure he’s just caught up traveling,” she says, “You guys have plenty of time to sort things out.”

  “I don’t know how we can,” I say softly.

  “Look,” Bex says, “I stand by what I’ve said from the start. If you really like this guy, you shouldn’t let anything come between you. Not your family, not F1, not some stupid tournament. Your happiness is more important than any of that.”

  “Thank god you’re here,” I whisper, laying my head on Bex’s shoulder.

  “You kidding?” she says, “This is what best friends are built for. Your guy problems might be slightly more epic than I’m used to, but...”

  “Tell me
about it,” I sigh, “Some girls try online dating, I fall for my brother’s arch nemesis. Different strokes, I guess.”

  Chapter Ten

  Together Again

  Late that first night, I finally hear from my star-crossed lover. Well, heard is an overstatement. As I’m getting into bed, exhausted and tense, a message pops up on my phone. I snatch up the device, hungry for word of Harrison.

  “Staying at another hotel,” it says, “See you as soon as I can.”

  That’s it.

  All week leading up to the next Grand Prix, my phone is glued to my hand. I try and keep my mind on my work, but some part of me is always wondering about Harrison. Team McClain has him on lockdown, training hard to give him an edge over my brother. For days, I don’t hear a thing. My nerves are frayed, my mind dizzy. My dad and brother barely notice, except when it begins to affect my work. Finally, on Thursday morning, Enzo insists that I take the night off and relax.

  I tell him that I’ll do my best.

  I’ve been resisting the urge to contact Harrison, but I can’t hold out any longer. I shoot him a text, asking him to meet me at a bar far away from the hotel where my team is staying. After an agonizing wait, he finally replies and tells me that he’ll be there. The rest of the day, my nerves are like live wires. I try and calm myself down with a long soak in the bath, scented candles, a glass of wine.

  As I recline in the hotel bathtub, I let my thoughts stray to Harrison. I remember that night in Barcelona, when he spent hours pleasing me with his hands and his mouth. I can feel myself begin to ache, and let my own lets stray down to that tender place between my legs. The moment I let myself think of Harrison, I find myself right on the edge of coming. I roll my fingers over that throbbing spot, remembering the feel of Harrison’s hands. Pleasure ripples through my body, and I gasp at the intensity of the sensation. Trembling, but finally a bit relaxed, I pick myself up out of the tub and ready myself for the evening.