Page 13 of Overtake
“Mierda.”This will end badly. Nico feels it in his bones.
But she doesn’t storm up to Wyn. Instead, she claims a spot at the bar, orders sparkling water, and waits, setting up an overtake several corners in advance. Her eyes never leave Wyn, but her posture is relaxed. Too casual.
Nico frowns. Trouble’s brewing. Petra Hayter doesn’t attack, she calculates.
He sets down his empty glass. This isn’t the woman telling jokes in the paddock, racing karts with mechanics’ kids, bringing coffee to exhausted garage crews. This is the driver who fought through every rank of motorsport. Who set lap records in F4 and F3. Who would’ve been F2 champion if not for Wyn.
“Not my fault if Hayter doesn’t know how to recover when her arse slips out from under her.”
Nico looks up at his idiot teammate.
Junior laughs. “Yeah, she should stick to pretty. It’s what she does best.”
Petra smiles as people pause beside her. Doubtless she heard Wyn and Junior’s comments, but she’s not showing it. She returns a greeting from Dixon Atteberry, then accepts a drink from Lynch Sutton. But she leaves it on the bar and keeps watching Wyn. Her expression is serene, hands steady. How many times have those hands worked magic in a car? How many times has Nico been mesmerized by her precision, brilliance, and sheer instinctive skill?
“Hostia.”Nico’s instincts are screaming about her doing something that will either end her career or start a war. Possibly both.
And as much as she infuriates him, as much as she challenges every hundredth of a second he fights for on track, Petra Hayter has been the center of Nico Belmonte’s universe since they were fourteen.
Not that she knows it.
Not thatanyoneknows it.
He can’t just stand by while she sets fire to everything she’s worked so hard to achieve. Even if she’s right to have the matches in hand.
Wyn’s getting sloppier and louder, gestures more expansive, words slurring. Nico counts the shots—six, seven? Between the champagne from the podium and whatever he’s drinking now, the guy’s absolutely wasted. He stands, swaying slightly, looks around, then heads toward the bathrooms down the back hallway.
Petra leaves her still-full glass and follows, her movements casual. Nothing about her stride suggests confrontation. To anyone else, she’s just heading to the ladies’ room as she checks her watch and glances at the big screen. She smiles and touches Maiken Pritchard’s arm as she passes, says something to make Reece’s wife laugh, then fist-bumps the man himself.
But Nico’s spent a dozen years studying Petra’s moves, learning her tells, and anticipating her strategies. He stands and follows her. It’s like being on the track again, hoping to prevent disaster and not knowing if he can get there in time.
The hallway stretches behind the bar, dark and narrow, and the club’s music is muffled here. It smells of stale beer and industrial cleanser, and Nico’s shoes stick to the floor with each step.
The gents’ door swings shut behind Wyn. Petra slips in after him, and Nico follows.
A white granite wall separates the entrance from the stalls. She’s stopped on this side of it. She glances at Nico, and surprise flickers across her face, chased away by suspicion, and it occurs to him that she thinks he’s followed to defend his teammate.
Her dress whispers against the wall as she turns toward him. Nico respects her more than any other driver on the grid, but whatever she’s planning could destroy everything she’s worked for.
And he can’t let that happen.
He opens his mouth to talk her out of this moment, but a urinal flushes, followed by water rushing in a sink.
Wyn rounds the end of the wall muttering about “real racing” and “showing that asshat.” The fluorescent light catches the cold triumph in Petra’s sharp-edged smile as she steps out of the shadows to block his escape.
Nico’s suddenly torn between intervening and wanting to see what comes next. Because this is Petra Hayter, and if there’s one thing he’s learned from racing against her, it’s that shealwayshas a plan.
Wyn stumbles, catching himself on the wall, clearly surprised to see her. The bathroom lights flicker, harsh blue and throwing shadows. He recovers and his mouth lifts into an ugly sneer.
“Come to congratulate me properly, little girl?” The words slur together, but the malice is clear. And shocking. Wyn’s ruthless on the track, but he’s not usually mean. Nico thinks this is Graham’s doing. He took a boy who was sharp as a scalpel, and turned him into a mallet.
Petra just watches Wyn with the same focused intensity she brings to the track. It seems to infuriate him more than any response would’ve.
“You know what my father said?” Wyn pushes off the wall, swaying. “The only reason you’re even here is because Coy Hayter’s little girl couldn’t handle being left behind.” He runs a hand through his dark hair and glances away. “Must be nice having a father who actually gives a shit whether you succeed.”
Nico tenses, eyes on his teammate’s hands. Violence is coming. He doesn’t want to set it off, but he can’t miss his chance to intervene.
Wyn’s focus snaps back to Petra. He steps closer and leans over her. His six feet give him five inches on her, and he’s using his height as intimidation. Or trying to. “How does it feel knowing you’ll never be good enough? That no matter how many points you score, you’ll always be the diversity hire? The publicity stunt? The little bitch who?—”
