Page 112 of Flat Out
My hands slammed into Morel’s chest before his smug smirk even registered. All five-foot-seven of him hit the wall of hisgarage bay with a satisfying thud, his helmet clattering from his hand. I kicked it aside like the worthless piece of shit it belonged to.
“You think you can lay hands on her?!” I snarled, spit flying. My forearm pinned him across the collarbone, the rage vibrating through every muscle in me. “You think nobody’s watching? Every goddamn person in this sport will know exactly what you did!”
Morel sneered at me, lips curling like this was all beneath him. Like Santino sneering at me in Monaco, mocking me, mocking her. The memory hit me like a sucker punch, fueling the rage until it boiled over.
“Pathetic,” Morel hissed, low enough I almost thought I imagined it. “Hiding behind her skirts. You’re just as weak as she is.”
“You sabotaged her car, you laid your filthy hands on her, and you have the audacity to call herweak? You’re not a driver. You’re a coward. A fuckingpredator.”
“Call me what you want,” he drawled in that annoying fucking accent of his—a bizarre combination of Spanish and French—was loud enough for half the garage to hear, “but at least she’s got nice tits when you grab them. Pressed myself up against that sweet little ass and felt her shake. Bet she makes the same sound for you in bed.”
My fist flew before I thought. Knuckles cracked against his jaw with a sickening smack. His head snapped sideways, blood blooming at his lip.
I slammed him into the wall, forearm across his throat, my whole body vibrating with fury. “Talk about her like that again,” I growled, every syllable shredded. “Fucking say it again.” My Scottish accent was thickening by the second, vowels slurring, rage dragging me back to the boy who’d had to fight his way out of everything.
The garage gasped, voices shouting—engineers, mechanics, Dom roaring my name—but none of it mattered. Not when Morel laughed, not when his eyes sparkled like he’dwonsomething.
Hands clamped around my shoulders, dragging me back. Dom’s voice thundered in my ear. “Fraser! That’s enough! Stand the hell down!”
“Don’t you fucking touch me!” I shoved against the grip, my voice hoarse and broken with fury.
“What the hell is going on?” Marco’s voice cut through the chaos, booming and incredulous. The noise in the garage faltered. He stood at the entrance, still in full view of the cameras, helmet dangling from one hand, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. His gaze snapped to me—I gave the barest nod, hoping he’d understand enough—and then his eyes shifted, locking on Morel. Then Ivy.
She moved fast, intercepting him before he could take a step closer. Her hand caught his arm, her voice low, urgent, words spilling too quick. “Marco, please—don’t. Not here.Not now.”
I couldn’t catch all of it, but I heard enough:Morel. Sabotage. Assault.My name.
Marco’s jaw clenched, knuckles whitening around the helmet. He muttered something vicious in Italian, fury radiating off him. He tried to pull away, but Ivy held on tighter, curling into him as her voice broke into a whisper.“Don’t leave me.”
Her words rang out, desperate enough to cut through even my rage. For a second, it was just noise and heat and bodies pressing in, Ivy clinging to Marco, Dom’s iron grip on my shoulders, Morel still smirking like he’d orchestrated all of this.
“This bastard put his hands on her! He fucked with her car, tried to kill her, and you’re all just standing here letting him walk free?” I took a step toward Morel.
Aurélie shoved through the crowd, frantically grabbing my arm. “Cal—stop. Please,stop!”
Morel wiped his split lip with the back of his hand, smearing blood across his face. And still, hesmirked. Oh, I would kill him. I would fuckingkill him.
“Lovers’ quarrel,” he drawled, loud enough for the reporters’ cameras to catch it. “Careful, Fraser. You’ll ruin your golden boy reputation.”
I surged forward again, teeth bared, but Aurélie was there this time, bracing her whole body in front of me, still gripping me. “Callum!” she snapped, voice sharp as a whip. “If you touch him again, they’ll throwyouout before we can bring him to justice,andhe might win this fucking championship. Do you want that?”
I froze, chest heaving, sweat dripping into my eyes. Her hand tightened around my arm, pleading silently, and it ruined me more than any punishment ever could. “Baby, please,” she whispered. Just those two words, and yeah, that was enough.
The fight bled out of me all at once. My arms went slack, the adrenaline that had carried me this far deserting me in a tidal wave. My chest heaved, throat raw, every nerve in me fraying at the edges.
I let myself be dragged away from Morel, who was smug even with blood dripping down his chin, and suddenly it was just me and Aurélie, collapsing into the nearest quiet corner. I slumped against the wall of whatever room we were in, the weight of everything finally hitting me. My hands shook so hard I couldn’t still them, so I clutched my hair just tohold on.
She curled beside me, silent, her temple pressed into my shoulder. My eyes closed, my body jerking as the last of the panic tore itself free in ragged gasps I couldn’t control.
For once, I didn’t try to fight it. I let myself break.
The medical baysmelled like antiseptic and wet concrete, as if rain had seeped through the walls. My suit was uncomfortably damp against my skin, cold one second and suffocating the next. I sat on the cot, shivering under the fluorescent lights, while latex-gloved hands pressed, prodded, and scribbled notes like I was a broken machine they weren’t sure could be fixed.
I didn’t flinch at the light shining in my eyes, or the stethoscope pressed to my ribs, or the cold fingers prodding the forming bruise at my temple, which had since spread to my cheekbone. I’d run out of reactions. I was hollow. Too tired to be angry, too tired to be afraid. My body had hit its limit, but my mind… my mind just kept playing the same reel on loop. His hands. His laugh. His tongue. The rain, the maniacal break, the impact into the wall.
Callum hadn’t left my side. Not for one second. He sat in the chair pulled so close his knee brushed mine, one of myhands locked in his as if prying him loose would take divine intervention. His grip was fierce, trembling still, but I didn’t dare let go. He’d lost it today too, in a way I could never have imagined. In a way he didn’t deserve.
I recalled his voice when we sat in the corner of an unoccupied office I’d found, his hands tugging at his hair as he hyperventilated.
