Page 144 of Hyperspeed
“So that’s what the smell is,” Rev retorted. “I thought it was the sulphur smoke, but it turns out it’s just Dray.”
Dray was mid-curse when the gravel behind Zylo burst open in a violent hiss of steam.
A car shot through it like a missile, spinning end over end before crashing down on its roof, skidding in a hail of sparks to the track’s edge.
Another engine howled through the plume a beat later, tyres screaming as a sleek green vehicle tore past the wreckage and slipped in behind Zylo.
My stomach plummeted.
That was Dray’s car—still racing, still whole—which meant the wreck wasn’t his.
“Fuck!”
“Kai!” Zylo’s voice cut through the radio, sharp and urgent. “Can you see anything?”
He was right behind me. If he couldn’t see through the steam and choking black smoke, then neither could I. But one thing was certain. Rev wasn’t standing there watching.
He hadn’t climbed out of the wreck.
Zylo thundered past, engine roaring, and that’s when I realised I was easing off the throttle. My grip had slackened. I stared at the nightmare unfolding in my wing mirror, desperately praying for Rev’s lean silhouette to emerge from the smoke.
But it didn’t.
The smoke only thickened, curling higher into the sky, lit from within by the flicker of flames. My chest tightened. When Dray tore past, I made the only choice I could.
I pulled off the track and powered down.
Sam’s voice crackled in my ear, asking me what I was doing. Before I could respond, Zylo cut in over the radio.
“What’s going on, Kai?”
“You go on, Zylo,” I muttered. “I’ll get him.”
“Kai, I—”
“Don’t worry, man.”
I didn’t blame him for not stopping. Teams trained drivers to continue driving unless they were physically unable to. To leave the accidents to medics and officials. That was the rule.
But Rev wasn’t just a teammate. He was more than that. And I’d be damned if I left him scared and alone, waiting in the wreckage.
“Take care of him, Kai,” he mumbled with a sniffle.
“Win this for him, old man.”
One by one, the other drivers streaked past, their engines screaming as they fought for the podium I’d just abandoned. My shot at a fourth championship evaporated with every blur of colour that passed me by.
But none of that mattered now.
Because somewhere behind me, a car was on fire. Rev’s car.
I unstrapped my seatbelt and launched myself from the cockpit. My boots hit the gravel hard, and I ran—heart hammering, lungs burning, ignoring the stewards shouting after me. I didn’t stop. Not when smoke curled above the wreckage like a warning. Not when fear clawed at the edges of my mind, whispering worst-case scenarios I refused to believe.
Winning meant nothing if I couldn’t celebrate with Rev by my side.
The man I loved.
The man who meant everything.
