Page 175 of Knot So Fast
I nod, trying to move like someone who isn't held together by spite and prescription painkillers. Every step sends shooting pains through my ribs, but I keep my gait steady, professional. Just Rebecca Chen, substitute Omega, nothing to see here.
He leads me to a supply closet—because apparently, we have our most important conversations in closets now—and the moment the door closes, he takes a slow, deliberate breath.
"Auren, if that's you, I swear to all things holy?—"
"You'd be disqualified at the finish line," I cut him off, my voice muffled by the helmet but unmistakably mine.
The silence that follows is deafening. Then he's lifting my visor with shaking hands, and our eyes meet. His are red-rimmed, exhausted, carrying the kind of grief that comes from thinking you've lost everything that matters.
The moment he confirms it's me, his face crumbles. Relief floods his features so intensely it's like watching someone come back to life. Tears he's probably been holding back for hours finally break free.
"Fuck, Auren. Sugar."
His voice cracks on my name, and then he's pulling my helmet off completely, his hands desperate but gentle, aware of my injuries even in his emotional state. The kiss that follows isn't sweet or careful—it's deep and desperate and tastes like salt from his tears and the metallic tang of fear that's been living in his throat.
"You can't be here," he says against my lips, pulling back just enough to search my face. "You're hurt. You're in pain. Christ, Auren, you died three times?—"
"The morphine's gonna run out in about thirty minutes," I admit, because lying to him now seems pointless. "So you better make this race quick or I'm fucked."
He actually laughs at that—a broken sound that's half sob, half disbelief—before pressing his helmet against my forehead, our own version of an embrace when we're both in full gear.
"Fuck. You're not in a coma. You're not going to die."
"Nah," I say, trying for casual even though every breath feels like my ribs are trying to escape through my skin. "Dying is overrated. Three times was enough to know it's not really my vibe. Besides," I pause, meeting his eyes with the full weight of what I'm about to say, "I remember everything now. And I'd really like to get Ferrari permanently banned from racing."
His eyes widen, pulling back to study my face properly. "What?"
"I remember everything, Lachlan. Every race, every moment, every fight, every kiss. The accident, what led up to it, who was really there that day." I take a breath that sends fire through my chest. "And the one who sabotaged my accident? It wasn't Lucius."
His frown deepens, confusion replacing relief. "Then who?—"
"Terek."
The name hangs between us like a loaded gun. Lachlan's expression cycles through confusion, disbelief, and then a dawning horror as pieces start clicking into place.
"What?" His voice is barely a whisper.
"Our beloved team manager has been playing all of us," I explain, the words coming fast because we don't have time for the full story. "He made a massive bet that you'd lose to Ferrari this season. Except you didn't. You kept winning, I kept placing, and suddenly his sure thing turned into a financial disaster waiting to happen."
"That's why?—"
"That's why the brake failures happened to both me and Dimitri. He was trying to take out Ferrari's best driver and me simultaneously—make it look like targeted sabotage againstboth teams to throw off suspicion. When that didn't work and you still kept winning, he got desperate."
I lean against the wall, needing the support as a wave of dizziness washes over me. The concussion does not appreciate all this standing and talking.
"The threats, the surveillance, even Rebecca being a Beta—it's all him. He's been setting up Lucius as the fall guy this entire time, using his gambling debts and connection to those Swiss assholes to paint him as the villain. Meanwhile, Terek's been pulling strings from inside our own team."
"Jesus Christ." Lachlan runs his hand through his hair, the gesture making his helmet shift. "Does anyone else know?"
"Katie and Luke, as of about an hour ago. And," I can't help but smirk despite the pain, "my parents. Particularly my father."
"He's fucked," Lachlan breathes, and there's something like awe in his voice.
"Oh, he's beyond fucked. You know what my father does to people who hurt his family? Remember the Castellano situation?"
Lachlan winces. The Castellano situation had ended with an entire crime family mysteriously deciding to relocate to Antarctica. Or at least, that's what the official story was.
"But first," I continue, "we have to win this race. It's the only way to prove everything, to make sure all his planning was for nothing. Can you do that? Can you race knowing your team manager wants you to lose?"
