Page 50 of Hyperspeed
The sea of noise on the track faded away as I lost myself in his dark eyes. I gave him a single nod, enjoying the way he scowled in return, then he donned his helmet and climbed into the vehicle.
Get your head in the game, Mercer.
I tore my eyes away from his lithe form, ignoring the way it moved under his fitted racing suit. My focus had held all day—mostly—and now wasn’t the time to explore my dirty fantasies.
A whisper from the devil on my shoulder promisedlater, and with a quiet growl, I hauled myself into my vehicle.
“Comms check,” Sam said over the radio.
“Confirmed.”
“We’re aiming for Plan Alpha, but we’ll revert to Plan Bravo if necessary.”
Plan A was a one-stop strategy, where I’d only need to change tyres once throughout the entire race.
The track temperature at Solar Flare Speedway had remained steady, so the tyres shouldn’t deteriorate too quickly. We planned to go as long as possible, building a big enough lead before entering the pit lane in the latter half of the race. It meant the crew could change my tyres fast enough for me to rejoin the race without being overtaken.
Plan B meant two stops. Something we only did when necessary. I treated my tyres well, so they usually lasted a while before I had to replace them, but some things were beyond our control. Like when the track got too hot, or I had to push harder to stay ahead. It meant I had to stop again, and if I didn’t, I could risk my position.
I refused to fuck things up because of sheer stubbornness, so if Ailor ordered Plan B, I’d do it. I followed the rules, listened to my team.
Even if there were times I argued in the heat of the moment. All drivers did, because we thought we knew best. Frustration and focus, combined with adrenaline, made it easy for us to lash out.
But Sam and Ailor saw what I couldn’t—the finer details of my vehicle and my competitors’. They had screens full of numbers, weather reports, track temperature, and so much more.
If they told me to do something, I’d whine and pout, but I’d stick my metaphorical tail between my legs and do it.
I wasn’t reckless.
Unlike some people.
“Conditions?” I shifted in my seat, getting comfortable and powering up the vehicle.
“We’re expecting strong flares around lap thirty-two, but Plan Alpha remains in place.”
“Noted.”
I flipped down my visor, watching as the crew removed the blankets covering my tyres, and before long, the track was clear of everyone but the drivers. We started our formation lap, and I made some mental notes while I drove.
Solar Flare Speedway got its name because of Thrylon Prime’s two massive suns. Smog clung to the sky from the planet’s relentless industry, but the suns’ searing flares sliced through it like a knife through butter. The flares illuminated the whole track, leaving you blind until they passed.
Plus, they were really fucking hot, and the smog trapped the heat like a greenhouse. The track could go from manageable to molten in minutes, and what should be a straightforward race could turn brutal.
If you missed the chance to pit and swap to heat-resistant tyres, your treads would melt onto the asphalt, leaving you glued to the spot with no way forward.
On top of that, the flares’ electromagnetic disruptions fucked with the vehicles’ power systems, and if your built-in heat shields failed, it was like driving fifty-plus laps in an oven on full heat.
I’d seen drivers pass out because they refused to retire. Last season, Jax’s vehicle caught fire because the coolant system didn’t kick in. He was lucky to walk away with nothing more than singed eyebrows and wounded pride.
Weather reports could warn us to a point, but the twin suns were temperamental, and the flares could be unpredictable. An unexpected surge of heat could come out of nowhere, leaving the teams scrambling to alter their strategies.
Narrowed down to the track itself, the race was straightforward. But the planet’s conditions and unpredictable variables made it a nightmare.
At Solar Flare Speedway, strategy wasn’t just important.
It was everything.
We returned to the starting line, free of early casualties and ready to race.
