Page 32 of Forsaken Oath

Which means I need to win the Gauntlet.

I draw in a shaky breath, trying to contain the rage thrumming in my veins, but it’s useless. Her presence broke the dam. And now, no matter how much I try, I can’t turn it off.

Leaning back against the door, the cool wood presses into my overheated skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating through my body. My heart pounds erratically, each beat a harshreminder of how quickly everything can shift, how fragile the peace I’ve fought to keep really is.

The echoes of Darla’s taunts cling to me like smoke, venomous and bitter. And I wonder, for just a moment, if she’s right. If escape is just a story I tell myself, as unreachable as the stars.

15

ELOISE

The sun hangslow in the sky, casting soft shades of pink and orange across downtown Clearwater, where the summer block party festival sprawls through the streets. The air is thick with the scent of funnel cakes, popcorn, and the tang of anticipation. A few blocks ahead, the Clearwater Speedway rises above the rooftops, nestled improbably in the heart of the city. Twinkling lights between lamp posts, colorful streamers around pop-up canopies, and the excitement of the crowd fills the warm evening air.

It all adds to the magic, a tailor–made small town.

I weave my way through the crowds, the chatter and laughter blending with the distant roar of engines from the speedway. The energy is contagious, building with each step closer to the track.

I’m on edge, my senses heightened and nerves coiled tight. After Darla’s unwelcome appearance two nights ago, sleep has mostly eluded me, my mind churning with possibilities and plans. But beneath the anxiety, there’s a thrum of determination, steely and resolute.

Parking near the track wasn’t an option, not tonight. I left my car a few blocks away, just in case shit goes sideways. I have no idea what kind of arrangement the track has with the city, or if there even is one. The racing circuit is still a mystery to me, which is exactly why I’m here tonight, stepping outside of my comfort zone.

I was tempted to bring Margot with me, but I’m glad I didn’t. People shouting and laughing, the music blaring from somewhere down the block, the packed vendor stalls, and outdoor bars. It’s the kind of chaos that’s intoxicating. And my sister would be a powder keg in the midst of it.

I walk past a couple making out against the side of the brick bank building. Her legs wrapped around his waist and his hands disappearing underneath her skirt.

I avert my gaze, an unexpected pang of longing tightening my chest. Unbidden, my mind drifts to a different night under the stars, to calloused hands gentle on my skin and blue eyes that seemed to see right through me.

I shake my head, pushing the memory aside. Now isn't the time to dwell on might-have-beens and almost-coulds. I have a job to do.

Five guys huddle around a sixth, crouching down next to him as he does a beer bong. They’re all wearing matching black leather jackets with red and orange flames licking up the sleeves. On the back of each jacket is a custom racing logo: a grinning skull with checkered flags crossed behind it.

I’m starting to think that Clearwater issued some kind of free-for-all pass today, and maybe that’s why they chose tonight for the pre-qualifier. I can feel the distant rumble of engines, a constant undertone against the backdrop of block party chatter.

It’s a quick ten-minute walk until I’m at the track. Once I cross the threshold, it feels like I’m walking into a different town. It’s less cozy downtown block party and more undergroundcity punks. Loud music blares from the overhead speakers, something with heavy bass and screaming guitars. From the bleacher stands to the concessions to the patches of grass, people litter the entire space. Guys lounge around their cars, showing them off to girls clustered around them.

My lips curls at the lack of women drivers here. As I scan the crowds, I spot plenty of women, but they all seem to be clustered around men and their cars, playing the part of adoring fans rather than competitors.

It shouldn’t surprise me, but disappointment pricks at my skin, anyway. I’ve been navigating male-dominated spaces my whole life, carving out a place for myself in garages and Seven Pines since I was old enough to ride a bike. But there’s something particularly grating about seeing it play out so blatantly here. It’s a prelude to the Gauntlet, I’m sure.

How Clearwater tucked a two-mile speedway right into its downtown should be one of the wonders of the world. It feels like the heart of the city is beating in time with the revving engines.

The Clearwater Speedway couldn’t be more different from the Alley; where the Alley is all grit and raw edges, this place feels polished, almost showy. The two-mile track gleams under the floodlights, encircled by bleacher seats and grassy patches where people have set up blankets like they’re here for a fireworks show. Concession stands line the edges, the air thick with the smell of greasy food mingling with engine fumes.

Moving through the crowd, I get in line to buy a drink from one of the concession stands. I catch the tail-end of the conversation between the two guys in front of me.

“So there he is, pants around his ankles, dick out and jerking off to the photo of her and her mama,” the guy on the right says, laughing.

“Hermom, bro?” the other guy howls.

“I fuckin’ know. In his defense, Lindsey’s mom is a fuckin’ knockout. But damn, ya know?”

I huff a quiet laugh under my breath. People never realize how much they give away when they think no one’s listening.

The thought sparks an idea, and after I grab my drink, I meander through the groups of people chatting near the bleachers. One thing I’ve learned from my time doing recon for Seven Pines is that people like to talk, and they let it all hang out when they don’t think anyone is listening.

And I’ve gotten pretty good at listening.

Now I wish I’d brought Margot with me—she’s got the memory of a steel trap and the mind of a strategist, piecing together details and spotting connections in ways that make her seem like a genius.

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