Page 150 of Broken Breath
Nobody deserves to be kissed by a stranger wearing amask, and that’s what I am to him right now. I won’t cross that line. I can’t.
Even if I want toso badly.
Whenever he looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world, I want to throw the truth at his feet and see if he’ll still catch me.
Which brings me back to Finn.
God,Finn.
My chest aches just thinking about him as I trace the trail, picking out lines I’ll probably never use, but I need something to focus on, something that isn’t the storm churning in my head.
Dragging a hand through my hair, I suck in a sharp breath, but before I can get too far down the Finn spiral, a shadow falls across my path. I blink up and come face-to-face with Isla Raine. She’s all smiles, standing right in front of me like she’s been waiting for this moment.
Dammit. One perk of racing with the guys was not having to deal with her.
Guess that’s over.
“Hey there, Crews,” she purrs, sweet as poisoned honey.
And I know, justknow, whatever this is, it won’t end well.
Isla’s smile sharpens when I don’t immediately respond, her eyes flicking over me like she’s sizing up prey.
“You’ve been hard to catch lately. Thought I’d say hi before the next race weekend kicks off.”
Hi?
I arch a brow, not bothering to hide the suspicion curling through my gut. Isla Raine doesn’t say hi, not without a motive stitched behind every word.
“Hi,” I answer flatly anyway in my deep voice.
But that smile just widens like we’re sharing someinside joke. She tucks a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Your run in Austria was impressive. Didn’t think the little rookie would dethrone the elite like that.”
I grind my teeth behind a thin smile. I know the cadence of her voice too well, the lilt of mockery wrapped up in pretty tones. She’s fishing, feeling me out, and I’d bet Luc’s rat that Raine sent her my way to sniff around and get close, maybe find the cracks.
Apparently, I’m a threat now, and it makes my skin crawl, but telling her to fuck off is not an option. I can’t afford for them to look at me too closely before I’m ready. So I swallow down every instinct to snap back.
I’m used to that with her.
“Thanks.” I force my lips into something that might pass for polite.
“No, really, the way you flew down the track. That was hot.”
I fight the urge to recoil. She would never waste her time with a scrawny rookie who is four years younger than her. This is a fucking setup, nothing personal, just strategy, and Isla is playing her part.
“Thanks,” I repeat, holding my ground, keeping my smile stitched on, even as the nausea crawls up my throat. Then I step past her, back to watching the track and hoping that she’ll get the hint, but of course, she doesn’t.
Isla falls into step beside me like we’re old friends. She’s mostly glancing down the trail, but her eyes keep cutting sideways, watching me.
“So, how’re you finding France? Bit of a change from the States, huh?”
“It’s good.” I shrug, keeping my gaze ahead, pretending to focus on the rocky outcrop we’re approaching.
“Good.” Isla’s smile curls. “Did one of the big teams finally snap you up after that win?”
“Still running privateer,” I say, letting the words hang.
She hums. “Makes it all the more impressive, really. I don’t think there was ever a privateer who won a World Cup run. Winning like that without a full support crew behind you.Alone.” She drags out the word, watching for a reaction.
