Page 72 of Flat Out
I tipped my head back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, and thought of Callum. His voice replayed in my mind, sharp and careful.That’s not setup preference. That’s either incompetence or sabotage.
The word tasted metallic. Sabotage.
Physically taking him out in Montreal hadn’t been enough for Morel and his crew. Then the FIA brushed me off when I demanded more safety. Now someone was tampering with the one thing keeping me tethered to this sport.
My goddamncar.
It was subtle, insidious. Brake balance forward one run, rebound too fast the next. Little things. Just enough to break medown piece by piece until I made a mistake big enough to either kill me, or force me to hand them my resignation.
My stomach knotted. The pieces were horrifying, but they fit.
The ice cleared my mind, gave me something to focus on that wasn’t the chattering of my teeth. The sabotage wasn’t loud, wasn’t obvious. It was slow, creeping, like rot in the foundation.
What if they made these tweaks every race? What if they kept pushing until the car couldn’t handle it anymore—or worse,Icouldn’t?
I opened my eyes, shivering violently. “Jules,” I called, my voice hoarse.
He appeared in the doorway with a tablet tucked under his arm, looking at me expectantly. “Oui?”
“I need Kimi.”
His brow furrowed but he didn’t ask why. He disappeared, and a few minutes later Kimi slipped inside, damp brown hair pushed back, hoodie half-zipped like he’d just come straight from the showers. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.
“You rang,” he said in an exaggerated deep voice like Lurch fromThe Addams Family. The impression with his Finnish accent made me crack a smile.
I sat straighter in the tub, water lapping against my collarbones, the cold biting harder with every breath. “I need you to get me something. Quietly.”
His golden eyes flicked to mine, assessing. “What kind of something?”
“Setup sheets for our cars.” I hesitated before adding, “And the FIA submission copies.”
He blinked once. Then twice before barking out a single laugh. “Are you crazy? Those don’t leave the garage.”
“I know.”
He pinned me with a narrowed gaze, clearly trying to figure out what I was up to. “So why?—”
I cut him off with a pointed look, the kind that saiddon’t push me, not now, not here, then couldn’t resist the jab. “Don’t pretend you can’t pull it off. Everyone knows you’ve got a crush on that brunette mechanic. Or was it the blonde you were flirting with last week? Maybe both.”
The ghost of a smirk tugged at his lip, the faintest hint of guilt—or amusement—but he didn’t deny it. Which told me enough.
My fingers twitched against the rim of the tub. “I’ll explain later. But I need them. Can you do it?”
For a long moment, he just looked at me. Unreadable. Then, finally, he nodded once. “You’ll explain later.”
“Yes.”
“Fine.” He turned, tugging his hood up as he left, as if that were that.
When the door clicked shut, I sank lower into the ice, teeth chattering so hard my jaw ached. I couldn’t tell if my labored breathing was from the bath or from the terrifying realization that someone–or someones–genuinely wanted to take me out. Because this wasn’t paranoia anymore. It was evidence waiting to be collected, truth ready to surface, a goddamn noose tightening around my throat.
By the time I dragged myself out of the bath, skin blotchy red, towel wrapped around my shoulders as I shivered violently, my phone buzzed on the counter.
A text from Kimi.
Kimi
It’s in your suite. Expecting full debrief later. Don’t make me regret this.
