Page 174 of Knot So Fast
I cover the car again, the fabric settling like a shroud. Tomorrow, Lucius will learn what it really means to race against someone with nothing left to lose. He thinks he knows anger, knows frustration, knows the weight of being in my shadow.
He has no idea.
Because I'm not racing for the championship tomorrow. Not for the team, not for the sponsors, not for the millions watching around the world.
I'm racing for a woman lying in a hospital bed, fighting for each breath, who died three times trying to save someone who didn't want to be saved.
And I'm going to show my brother exactly what that kind of motivation looks like at 200 miles per hour.
The walk back to my hotel is long, but I need the air, need the movement, need something to exhaust my body enough that I might actually sleep. The streets of Abu Dhabi are still busy despite the late hour—fans celebrating, teams preparing, the whole circus of Formula One in full swing.
They have no idea that tomorrow's race isn't about who crosses the finish line first.
It's about two brothers finally settling a score that's been building for three years.
And only one of us is going to survive it intact.
PHOENIX RISING
~AUREN~
The morphine is starting to wear off, and I can feel every single one of my injuries screaming in harmony like some fucked up orchestra of pain.
Three broken ribs that make breathing feel like swallowing glass. A concussion that turns the garage lights into stabbing needles behind my eyes. Internal bruising that makes my organs feel like they've been rearranged by someone who learned anatomy from a Picasso painting. And let's not forget the delightful collection of cuts and contusions that have turned my body into a Jackson Pollock piece done entirely in purple and black.
But none of that matters right now.
What matters is that I'm standing in the Titan Racing garage, wearing Rebecca Chen's racing suit—thank god we're roughly the same size—with her helmet hiding my identity while the entire racing world thinks I'm lying in a coma.
The ultimate plot twist: I'm not.
I've been conscious for the past twelve hours, much to the medical staff's horror and my determination's credit. The moment I clawed my way back to consciousness after dyingthree fucking times—which, by the way, zero out of ten stars, would not recommend—I knew I had to be here.
Not because I'm some masochistic adrenaline junkie with a death wish.
Not because I can't let go of racing even when my body is literally held together by determination and medical tape.
But because forty minutes ago, Katie burst into my hospital room with news that changed everything.
"Rebecca Chen isn't an Omega," she'd said, her face pale with the realization of what this meant. "She's a Beta who's been using suppressants to mask her scent. Someone must have paid her off or threatened her, but if she races and they test her after—which they will—Lachlan gets disqualified. Titan loses the championship. Everything we've worked for goes up in smoke."
The solution was obvious, even if it was insane.
Get me to the track. Get me in that car. Save the championship and expose the real villain in this twisted game.
Because here's the thing about dying three times and coming back: it gives you clarity. Like someone took a pressure washer to your brain and blasted away all the fog and confusion and half-remembered fragments that have been haunting me for over a year.
I remember everything.
Every. Single. Thing.
Including who's really behind all of this.
And it's not Lucius.
But first, I have to survive Lachlan's scrutiny, because he's currently striding toward me with the kind of purpose that suggests he knows exactly who's under this helmet. The man has always been able to read me like a book, even when I couldn't read myself.
"Rebecca?" His voice is carefully neutral, but I can hear the suspicion underneath. "Can we talk real quick?"
