Page 38 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

12

Leo

The air crackles up here.

Like I mean, almost literally crackles.

Thin.

Cold.

Electric.

Thousands of feet above the Chamonix valley, perched on the edge of oblivion with nothing but a glorified squirrel suit between me and gravity’s final argument.

The roar of the crowd below is a distant buzz, irrelevant. Up here, it’s just the wind, the jagged teeth of the Alps, and the familiar pre-jump adrenaline cocktail singing in my veins.

Red Bull banners flap violently in the wind. Cameras are everywhere, capturing every twitch for the livestream.

Smile for the sponsors, asshole.

I flash my signature grin, the one that sells energy drinks and impossible dreams to teenagers who should know better. Beside me, Luca does the same, looking impossibly cool and collected. The bastard.

Two months of relentless practice since that quarry jump, pushing harder, flying faster, dialing it all in for this one moment.

The other teams flew clean, conservative lines. Safe. Boring.

Not us.

Not Maxwell & Briggs.

We’re going to set the record.

We’re going to win this piece of shit, or die trying.

“Ready to dance with the devil again, partner?” Luca shouts over the wind, his voice echoing loudly over the comms at the same time. His eyes are hidden behind mirrored goggles, but I know the competitive fire is burning in there just as hot as mine.

“Born ready,” I shout back. “Just try to keep up this time.”

The countdown blares over the comms.

“Three… Two… One…”

We launch ourselves into the void.

The initial shock of acceleration hits, the familiar G-force pressing me back as the suit inflates, catching the air. The ground drops away, the valley unfolding like a map.

Pure... fucking...freedom.

We slice through the air, side-by-side, two apex predators carving lines through the sky.

Luca edges slightly ahead as we approach the first checkpoint, the entrance to the ‘Serpent’s Coil.’ It’s a notoriously tight, technical canyon section known for its treacherous crosswinds.

The safe line bypasses the tightest turns.

Thefastestline, the one that wins competitions and gets your face plastered on magazine covers, threads right through its guts.

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