Page 67 of Forsaken Oath

“Five. Four. Three. Two. One.”

I slam my foot on the gas, the roar of my engine ripping through the industrial park as I peel out of the lot. My tires screech against the pavement, and the adrenaline hits me like a freight train, clearing my mind of everything but the race.

The world blurs into motion, headlights slicing through the darkness as the other drivers fan out, each one chasing their own line of the route. There’s no time to think, no time to doubt. Just instinct and determination.

This is it.

The Gauntlet has begun. And I’m not going down without a fight.

29

BEAU

I barely register the countdown.My mind is a chaotic swirl of jealousy and anger as I watch Nate Thomas lean into Eloise’s car. His hand rests on her shoulder, his lips moving with words I can’t hear, and I’m left burning from the inside out.

What the fuck is he doing here? What is he to her? And more importantly, why the fuck is he so close to her?

Everyone in Avalon Falls knows Thomas is tangled up in Seven Pines. They’re a small-time crew run out of a garage in a neighborhood across town. I don’t know much about them other than they’re rumored to be middle men. Information for hire. That shit never made sense to me in a place like this, a small town surrounded by more small towns. But I guess secrets exist everywhere, regardless of zip codes. My late Nana Jo used to say Rosewood could run on gossip alone.

The questions claw at me, bitter and acidic, but I shove them down. I don’t have the luxury of finding answers right now.

Engines roar to life all around me, and tires screech against the cracked asphalt of the industrial park as drivers take off in every direction.

I slam the Hellcat into gear, my own tires screaming as I rocket out of the side entrance. My grip on the wheel is white-knuckled, my pulse thrumming in time with the roaring engine. The jealousy is a living, breathing thing inside me, clawing at my insides and flooding my veins with an ugly, caustic burn.

I push the gas pedal down harder, the engine roaring as I fly down the dark, winding road. The GPS lights up, directing me to go down a narrow side street. I yank the wheel, and the Hellcat fishtails briefly before straightening out.

“Sharp left,” I mutter, barely hearing myself over the music blaring out of my speakers.

Headlights zigzag through the night, the cars behind me following their own designated routes. The Gauntlet isn’t as tightly packed as the pre-qualifiers, but with fifty drivers confined to a twenty-mile radius, overlap is inevitable.

The headlights behind me grow brighter, far too fast for comfort. My grip tightens as I shift gears, the Hellcat lurching forward with an aggressive roar. I’m not going to get taken out by some punk who thinks his way to the top is body damage to the Hellcat.

The GPS directs me to a pothole-ridden road that snakes deeper into the industrial district. I veer onto it, the Hellcat’s suspension absorbing the jarring terrain. On either side, graffitied warehouses rise like skeletal sentinels. Rusted machinery, half-buried in weeds, gleams under the faint light of my headlights.

It feels like a place forgotten by time, a ghost town left to rot. It’s a graveyard for dreams. The eerie silence, broken only by the growl of my engine, wraps around me like a vise.

But my focus isn’t on the setting—it’s on the brutal loop playing in my mind. Thomas. Eloise. That casual fucking touch like he’s done it a thousand times. Like he’s touched her in a thousand ways.

I have half a mind to remove his hand, so I never have to see it on her again.

The thought gives me pause.

“Huh.” What a curious thing it is to be so possessive over someone who doesn’t realize she’s mine yet.

I shift gears and take another right turn, deciding that I’m simply not accepting Nate Thomas as her man. The engine purrs in agreement as a plan begins to take shape in my mind.

The GPS signals another turn, and I grip the wheel tightly, shifting gears again. “You can’t fake what’s between us,” I murmur to myself, some unnamed emotion bubbling beneath the surface.

I know there’s something between us. You can’t manufacture that kind of connection. I’ve been on this Earth for three fucking decades, and I’ve never felt drawn to anyone like this before.

I feel like a fucking prick for being territorial over her, like she’s a coffee shop and not a woman. But fuck me if I don’t feel possessive of her.

After I finish this race, I’m going to find her. Even if that means I have to pull some strings with Graham.

A sudden burst of headlights in my peripheral vision snaps me out of my thoughts. A purple blur barrels toward me, fast and reckless. Instinct takes over.

I crank the wheel hard to the right, tires screeching against the pavement as the Hellcat swerves. The Mustang misses me by inches, its engine roaring past in a deafening wave of sound.

---