Page 42 of Racer

“He’s driving tight,” I murmured.

Kane nodded. “He’s waiting.”

“For what?”

“For someone to make a move.”

As if on cue, one of the cars on his left swerved inward, trying to sideswipe him on the next bend. My stomach dropped.

“Crap,” I breathed.

But Jude didn’t flinch. He flicked the wheel with terrifying precision and sent the other car spinning into the barricade in a burst of tire smoke and sparks. The crash shook the fence, and the crowd erupted in a roar.

I pressed my fingers to my lips, heart thundering. “That wasn’t a fluke.”

“Nope,” Kane said grimly. “It was a failed ambush.”

More cars pushed in, one after the next—testing, feinting, trying to crowd him out. But I saw it. I saw the pattern.

“His backup,” I whispered.

A familiar car clipped another that got too close to Jude. A second redirected the heat off him with a deliberate drift. The other teams had come through for us.

The next few laps were brutal.

Every time Jude tried to pull ahead, someone blocked him. One of our allies clipped another driver’s tail just long enough to open a gap, but it didn’t last.

Then one of Dez’s drivers broke through the line.

I saw it coming a split second before it happened—too fast to scream, too slow to stop. The other car slammed into Jude’s side with vicious intent, and his Charger spun.

My breath lodged in my throat.

The whole track seemed to tilt as his car whirled, tires screaming, smoke pluming from the pavement. I fisted my hands at my sides, heart pounding against my ribs like it was trying to escape.

Don’t crash. Please, don’t crash.

But Jude didn’t lose control. He never did.

With a move so fast it was almost invisible, he corrected the angle, straightened the frame, and hit the gas. The other driver was still recovering when Jude swung wide and plowed into his side with a punishing force.

The crowd roared as the car veered off track and crashed into the barricade.

Jude didn’t look back. He shot down the straightaway like a man possessed.

I didn’t breathe again until he crossed the finish line. In first place, just as we’d planned. Dez Franklin had fallen into our trap and was now royally screwed. I was thrilled, although a part of me still wanted to see him pay even more for what he’d done to my brother.

The owner’s box erupted in cheers behind me, but I barely registered them. All I wanted was to get to Jude.

I whirled toward the door and made it three steps before one of Mason’s club brothers and one of Jude’s blocked the way.

“Move,” I demanded.

“Can’t.” Blitz shook his head. “Racer said he’d break all our legs if we let you out.”

My jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

“Dead,” Maverick replied. “Said he’d start with the knees.”

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