Page 34 of Nitro
I edged ahead. Not much. Inches. But it built, slow and brutal, until her headlights slid back, until the finish line loomed and my tires screamed over it first.
The crowd erupted. Noise like a detonation rolled over the strip.
I eased off and braked hard, my car fishtailing slightly before it steadied. Jana’s car rolled to a stop beside mine, engine ticking under the hood.
When I climbed out, helmet under my arm, she was already out of hers. Her cheeks were flushed, jaw tight, hands shaking faintly from the comedown. But her shoulders were square, chin high.
I walked over, boots heavy on asphalt. She caught me at the edge of her car, her eyes blazing.
“Don’t,” she bit out. “Don’t you dare pity me.”
I arched a brow. “Who said anything about pity?”
Her breath hitched, chest rising and falling fast. For a second, the mask cracked, and I saw it—the fear. Not of me, but of what losing to me meant. Her shot at Kane’s team.
I reached out, caught her elbow, steadying her as she climbed from the cockpit. She tensed like she wanted to shake me off, then let me help. Her pride battled her exhaustion, and I could feel it in the tremor of her muscles.
“You held your own,” I told her, low and rough. “Better than most I’ve raced against.”
Her laugh was brittle. “And still lost.”
“Yeah,” I admitted, crooked smile tugging. “But losing to me isn’t exactly shameful.”
Her glare returned, but softer this time, tempered with something that looked too close to hope.
The announcer’s voice cut through the roar, declaring me the winner. My name rolled out over the floodlights and smoke. I lifted a hand in acknowledgment, then let it drop. The crowd didn’t matter. She did.
She drew herself up, shoulders straight, and clapped, loud enough for those nearest to hear. Grace. Professionalism. Even when I knew she was gutted inside.
I felt something like pride twist sharply in my chest.
When the engines cooled and the crowd thinned, Kane and Savannah waited by the edge of the strip. Kane stood easy, arms folded, green eyes sharp as always. Savannah leaned against him, braid sliding over her shoulder, smiling like she already knew what was about to happen.
Jana froze when she saw them. “Shit.”
I pressed a hand to her lower back, urging her forward. “Come on, firecracker.”
Kane’s mouth tugged in that wolfish grin of his as we reached him.
“Hell of a race.” His gaze cut to Jana. “And hell of a performance from you.”
She blinked, confused. “I lost.”
Savannah’s smile widened. “Doesn’t mean you failed.”
Kane nodded once. “You won’t win every race. Nobody does. That’s not what earns you a spot.”
Her lips parted. “Wait—what?”
“This was your last test,” Kane explained. “Putting Nitro in the race wasn’t about you beating him. It was about seeing how you handled the loss. Whether you sulked, snapped, or carried yourself like a racer who knows the game.”
Realization flickered across her face—shock, disbelief, then something fragile and bright breaking through.
Kane’s grin sharpened. “Welcome to Redline Precision.”
For a second, she just stared, mouth working like she couldn’t force the words out. “But—I?—”
“You’re everything I look for in a team member. Fast. Smart. Fierce. And when you got knocked down, you stood back up without whining. You fucking earned it.”
