Page 115 of Full Throttle

Juliette stilled. “Is something wrong?”

She was breathless, her chest stained a delicate shade of pink. Even now, Dominic thought, it hurt to look at her. “I can’t do this. Not this weekend.”

“Oh.” She drew back. “Okay.”

Dominic turned. “I’ll see you at qualifying tomorrow.”

He pushed blindly from the room. He made it around the corner before he fetched up against the wall, resting his forehead against the cool white tile. Every part of him was hard and aching. He closed his eyes, taking a slow drag. Then another. He had to concentrate. He had to focus.

The qualifying session was in less than twenty-four hours. The race, less than forty-eight hours away.

And he had to win.

Winning meant being a world champion. Winning proved that he deserved his seat on the team, proved to his father that he was exceptional, proved to Anthony sodding Sinclair that Dominic was better—no, that he was the best.

Dominic’s breath echoed like a gunshot in the empty corridor.

He had to do it. He’d sacrificed everything to win.

There was no other choice.

Chapter 36

Jacked Up

Dominic took a bite of his apple.

The team garage was a madhouse today. Pit crew scurried across the floor, armed with wrenches and wires. The sound of drills whirring competed with the eager buzz of the crowd outside, and his pulse rocketed. He couldn’t remember ever being this nervous for a qualifying session before.

Still.

Better to think positively.

He polished off the apple, mentally going through the Las Vegas track. Not that it was easy, with Juliette right there. Dominic snuck a glance; she was bending over the car, fiddling with something on the steering wheel. They hadn’t spoken this morning. Juliette seemed determined to ignore him, and Dominic wasn’t about to force a delicate conversation. Not before qualifying anyway.

“You look like shit,” a male voice drawled.

Dominic opened his eyes. Anthony Sinclair stood in front of him, sipping the sort of vomit-inducing smoothie that probably contained spirulina and samphire and several other expensive greens that he couldn’t pronounce.

“Sinclair.” Dom stretched an arm. “Shouldn’t you be off somewhere shouting at your footman?”

Anthony smirked. “That was poor, even for you.” His eyes flicked over Dom’s face. “Rough night?”

Dominic’s jaw tensed. “I’ve had to interact with you for more than twenty seconds. So yes. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

Anthony blocked his path. “She’s too good for you, you know.”

Dom stilled. “What?”

“Juliette.”

Dominic’s heart sped up. Even hearing the bastard say her name…“If you had more than one working brain cell, Sinclair, you’d leave me the fuck alone today.”

“Ah,” Anthony said smugly. “So you have slept with her.”

Dominic’s mouth tightened. He made to push past Anthony, who blocked him again, sipping that disgusting smoothie. Fury swelled like a hot fist, and Dominic felt something inside him give. “What the fuck is your problem, Sinclair?”

Anthony drained his smoothie. “My problem?”