Page 164 of Knot So Fast
My brother's face haunts me—that look of betrayal when they announced I was taking Dimitri's seat. Like I'd personally drivena knife into his back and twisted. Maybe I had. Maybe that's exactly what this is—a slow-motion assassination of everything we used to be to each other.
But they don't get it. None of them do.
I have debts to pay. Collateral to clear. And this—becoming the enemy, wearing the black hat, standing on the opposite side of the track from everyone I care about—this is the only way to keep Auren safe. To keep any of them safe.
The irony isn't lost on me that protecting them requires becoming the thing they need protection from.
Three years. That's how long I've been in this mess, though it feels like a lifetime. Three years since I made the stupidest decision of my life, thinking I was smart enough to play with fire and not get burned. Three years of interest compounding, of threats escalating, of the noose tightening around my neck until breathing became a luxury I couldn't afford.
A million dollars. That's what it started as—a bet, a gamble, a stupid fucking power play to prove I could succeed without my brother's shadow. I'd been so sure, so confident that my talent would be enough. That I could make my own way, build my own legend, show everyone that Lucius Wolfe was more than just Lachlan's disappointing twin.
The crash during trials had been spectacular. The kind of failure that gets replayed on highlight reels as a cautionary tale. And suddenly that million-dollar bet became a million-dollar debt to people who don't accept "sorry" as payment.
The interest alone would bankrupt most people. But it's not about the money anymore—hasn't been for a while. It's about control. About having a Formula One driver in their pocket, someone who can influence outcomes, fix races, ensure their bets always pay off.
I didn't mean for it to go this far. Didn't mean for Auren to get caught in the crossfire. Didn't mean for brake lines to be cutor cars to explode or Dimitri to sacrifice his career saving the woman I love.
Because I do love her. With every fiber of my being, every breath in my lungs, every beat of my traitorous heart. Which is why I've been pushing her away, making myself the villain in her story, ensuring she stays with Lachlan and his pack where she's safe.
Where she's protected from the truth of what I've become.
A noise from the kitchen makes me tense, but I ignore it. Probably just the ice maker or one of the automated systems that keeps this place running. The penthouse has more technology than a space station—all designed to make life easier but really just adding more ways for things to go wrong.
My phone rings, the sound harsh in the quiet. I don't need to check the caller ID—only one person calls this late, only one number makes my stomach twist with equal parts rage and fear.
I put it on speaker, setting the phone on the coffee table like it might explode. Maybe it will. Maybe that would be easier than what's coming.
"Good performance today," the voice says, digitally altered but still somehow managing to convey smug satisfaction. "Getting first for once. Almost like you actually have talent when properly motivated."
I don't respond. We've played this game enough times that they know silence is my only form of rebellion left.
"You better do that same thing at Grand," they continue. "The million-dollar bet needs to strike. Then you're off the hook, free to go back to being the shadow of your brother. Isn't that what you want?"
"I get it," I say, my voice flat, emotionless. The whiskey has numbed me enough that I can pretend this is just business, just another transaction. "But after this, that's it. I'm not dealing with you anymore. I've already lost everything."
The laugh that comes through the speaker is cold enough to frost the windows. "Nah. The thing you haven't lost is your life. Which is thanks to that Omega of yours being the perfect distraction in this grand race."
My hand tightens on the glass, knuckles white. They know exactly where to twist the knife.
"But don't fuck up, Lucius," the voice continues, casual as discussing the weather. "Or else we'll gladly show you how easy it is to wipe those you love out. Starting with her, then your brother, then that whole precious pack of his. We've already proved we can get to them, haven't we?"
The brake lines. The "accident" that nearly killed Auren and Dimitri. A demonstration of power, of reach, of how absolutely fucked I am.
"I understand," I manage, the words tasting like ash.
I reach for the phone, ready to end this conversation before I do something stupid like beg or threaten or tell them exactly what I think of their organization. But before I can hit the button, a whisper cuts through the darkness.
"So it's blackmail. You're being blackmailed."
My blood turns to ice. I spin around so fast the room tilts, and there she is—Auren, standing in the shadows by the hallway, looking like a ghost in the dim light. She's wearing jeans and one of my old t-shirts that she must have stolen months ago, her hair pulled back in a messy bun that makes her look younger, softer, more vulnerable than the woman who races at 200 miles per hour.
"How did you get in here?" The question comes out strangled, panic and whiskey making my voice crack.
She holds up a key, the silver catching the light. "Obviously I have a key to your place. Duh. You gave it to me six months ago during one of your 'I want to commit but can't' phases."
Fuck. I forgot about that. Forgot about a lot of things in my desperate attempt to push her away.
"Get out," I tell her, but there's no force behind it. I'm too tired, too drunk, too overwhelmed by her sudden presence in my carefully constructed isolation.
