Page 42 of Forsaken Oath

The flavors burst across my tongue. Rich chocolate, the sweet creaminess of the banana, the satisfying crunch of the peanuts. It’s sinfully delicious, and honestly so much better than mine.

“Try mine now,” I murmur, extending my arm.

I watch, transfixed, as his hand wraps around mine and tugs it toward his mouth. His lips wrap around the side of the deep-fried cookie, and for a moment, my thoughts go blank. He licks his lips, like he’s chasing the last traces of it.

“That’s good,” he hums.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” It comes out in almost a hushed whisper. His eyes spark with mischief as a slow grin spreads across his face. "Let's trade," I say, holding out my deep-fried Oreo.

Beau's eyes crinkle at the corners as a slow grin spreads across his face. "You read my mind, Peach."

We trade, and I stroll toward the alcove once more. I take another bite and lean against the wall. “So you’re saying . . . the board chooses who’s invited to the Gauntlet?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

If he’s surprised at me circling back to this, he doesn’t show it.

“Nah, they don’t choose anything. They’re more like silent investors.” His gaze goes somewhere over my shoulder before coming back to me, as if weighing how much more he wants to say. “The board is involved in planning and choosing the pre-qualifier venues, but that’s it. They don’t interfere. Everything else falls on the tech team.”

“Tech team?” I raise an eyebrow.

Beau chuckles softly, his lips curling into a half-smile. “Yeah. We have an absolute wizard of a person who built incredible software we use. Jess’s brain runs in ways I can’t even begin tounderstand. So each driver gets a GPS at the first race. She’s got an eye in the sky so she can monitor everyone, every race.”

“Wait,” I say, trying to make sense of it. “The only rule in the Gauntlet is there are no rules. How does that work?” I take another bite of my dessert, holding in a moan at how good it tastes.

He chuckles, finishing the last of the Oreo. “It’s not fight club, Peach. There are still some rules people adhere to, like GPS monitoring, so we know who advances to the next round.”

“What else?”

He runs his free hand over the back of his neck. “Well, not much, I guess. Another gray area, like everything else. I won’t lie, it can be brutal sometimes. Some of the drivers . . . they’re fucking feral.”

I tilt my head, catching his eyes, which have turned just a shade darker, almost serious. “LikeSlick Rick?”

“Nah, Rick’s an asshole for sure, but he’s usually above board.”

“Usually,” I repeat, my voice dry.

He smirks, looking down at the ground for a moment before lifting his gaze to meet mine. “Believe me, he’s a douchebag, and he runs his mouth too often, but he’s not homicidal. It’s always the ones with something to prove that cross the line. You’ll see.”

There’s a beat where I’m just watching him, the way his mouth curves when he’s choosing his words, the tension in his shoulders that relaxes just a little when he decides what to say. His voice is low and easy, yet every word feels like a revelation in this underground world I’ve only seen from the fringes.

“Maybe.” I let the word hang in the air, keeping my voice casual. “You know, if I’m invited?—”

“You’ll be invited,” he interrupts me.

I let out a breath of laughter, short and dry. “IfI’m invited,” I repeat, sliding one hand in my pocket, “we’ll be rivals. So whatever this is,” I gesture between the two of us, “won’t work.”

Beau’s eyes linger on my hand, following the motion, and then they meet mine, a glint of something unreadable there. “You sure about that?”

My lips part, a thousand reasons why I need to say yes on the tip of my tongue. Not even a yes, but ahell yes, we’re gonna be rivals if I’m invited into the Gauntlet.

But to my chagrin, that’s not what comes out of my mouth. “I guess the Gauntlet isn’t official yet,” I hedge.

He grins, snagging my hand and lacing our fingers together. “That’s my girl. Now, there are at least three more food trucks we have to try before the night is over. We’re wasting moonlight, baby.”

20

ELOISE

The night airis warm and sweet, filled with the lingering scents of fried dough, melted chocolate, and the faintest hint of Beau’s cologne. My stomach aches from the cyclone of butterflies absolutely losing their minds from the man next to me.

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