Page 110 of Full Throttle

He was leaning back in his makeup chair, frowning at the producer who was untangling a jumble of copper wires. Wires that appeared to be hooked up to some sort of scary-looking machine. Perhaps they were being electrocuted, Dominic thought hopefully. That rewired your brain, didn’t it?

Cap shook his head. “Did anyone actually read the terms and conditions?”

Liêm—who, for whatever reason, had decided that now was the optimal time to eat a family-sized bag of Cheetos—paused in licking orange dust from his fingers. “Wait. There were terms and conditions?”

“I read them,” Baz said. He was rubbing Clyde’s belly while simultaneously trying to pry a makeup brush from the dog’s mouth. “There was a list of pre-approved questions. And then you’re playing Never Have I Ever.”

Liêm raised an eyebrow. “You’re not joining?”

Baz shook his head. “Reserve driver, remember? I’m just here for moral support. And the free snacks.”

Cap yanked the brush from Clyde’s mouth, revealing teeth marks. “What are the wires for?”

“A lie detector,” Baz offered.

Liêm choked. “A lie detector?”

Dominic patted him on the arm. “Don’t look so alarmed, Yang. People will think you have something to hide.”

“Of course I do,” Liêm said. “Everyone does.”

“Not me,” Cap said, lacing his hands behind his neck. “I’m an open book.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Juliette said, appearing in a waft of hairspray. “We all have secrets. Even you, Capulet.” There was something sharp in her gaze before she turned to Baz. “Can you help me with this microphone? I can’t get it to stick properly.”

She turned her back to Cap, who was frowning. Definitely something going on there, Dominic thought; he hadn’t seen the siblings speak in weeks. Still. None of his business. He was on a cleanse these days. An I-don’t-think-about-Marchmont-at-any-cost cleanse, which, like most cleanses, was proving almost impossible to keep up.

A presence materialized at Dominic’s side.

Ah.

As if his day couldn’t get any worse.

“Hastings,” Anthony said coolly.

“Sinclair.”

Anthony clapped his shoulder. “I hope the producer asks if anyone has terrible taste in trousers. It would be nice for you to win something.”

Dominic whistled. “Not bad. By next year, I reckon you’ll be clever enough to say something that’s almost insulting.”

“Worried about the race this weekend?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why would I be?”

Anthony shrugged. “I can only imagine your team will drop you. Losing the championship once is embarrassing enough. But twice?”

“I don’t intend to lose,” Dominic said shortly. “And if you want your car in one piece, you’ll stay out of my way.”

“Is that a threat?”

Dominic adjusted his microphone. “Just a friendly warning.”

“And here I thought we were getting on better.”

Dominic smiled. “Luckily for you, Sinclair, stupidity isn’t a crime.”

“Guys.” Liêm muttered something in Vietnamese that could have meant baked beans or motherfucker. Dominic had heard the word only once before when a burrito scorched his mouth. “Stop. Both of you. There’s a live audience today, remember?”