Page 13 of Full Throttle

Cap’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

Something tightened in Juliette’s chest. A good question. Why not? Because she’d never wanted a ladder when Cap and Baz were climbing trees. Because she wanted to do as many press-ups as Baz could, to drink as many beers as Cap could. Because, she thought with dark humor, she had the borderline insane desire to prove that she could do anything a man could do. Even if it killed her.

“I don’t need their pity,” Juliette said. “I can become a champion on my own.”

Baz rubbed his forehead, muttering something distinctly uncomplimentary. “Dios mío, Lettie. You always do this.”

Cap sighed. “So damn stubborn.”

Juliette frowned. “I’m not—”

“Juliette!” a voice called.

They turned. A man stood outside the castle. He wore a crisp gray suit, his expression stern, and her stomach dropped. Headmaster Simmons was meant to be at the trophy ceremony. The fact that he was beckoning her over…

Yeah.

Not good.

“My office.” The headmaster’s voice was clipped. “Now.”

Chapter 4

First of Your Kind

“If this is about the cream puffs,” Juliette said, “I can explain.”

They were hurrying down the corridor, their footsteps echoing off the stone floors. Simmons moved surprisingly quickly for a man of seventy. Even so, she hadn’t quite appreciated his cardiovascular stamina. He moved like a squirrel on cocaine.

“Let me guess,” Simmons said dryly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Juliette took a left. “It was an accident.”

The headmaster raised an eyebrow. “I see. And I suppose this is like the time the golf cart in the lake was an accident.”

“Sir—”

“Or the haggis in my office.”

“That was on purpose,” Juliette allowed. “But it was Burns Night.” Also, the boys had dared her, and she’d been thirteen.

Simmons pinched his lips together. It was a facial expression that Juliette had become intimately acquainted with since she’d arrived at the academy. Unlike most racing academies, Taurus offered full-time boarding to students. An experimental approach. Or, at least, that’s how the racing scout had sold it to her parents when he’d spotted ten-year-old Juliette on the go-kart track.

“Our students live racing,” he’d explained. “In addition to studying a regular curriculum,” he’d added hastily, spotting her mother’s To Tea or Not to Tea flask, “which includes a robust range of English literature. Our students are anywhere from eleven to twenty-five. Some even stay with us up to undergraduate level.”

Her parents were sold on the free tuition. Juliette was sold on the free chocolate biscuits. Anyway, Cap had joined a prestigious racing program the year before, and she couldn’t stand how large their bedroom felt without him. Taurus had offered her admission, and she’d begun the following autumn.

Juliette glanced at the headmaster, who was still doing the stern-lips-pressed-together look. Bet Simmons heartily regretted extending that invitation.

He pushed open the office door. “Inside, Marchmont.”

Juliette started inside, and then halted.

Holy shit.

Ranya Silva sat in an armchair.

The woman in question looked up. She was shorter in real life, her shiny dark hair swept back in barrettes. She wore a navy skirt and a pair of designer flats that looked like they cost more than a month’s rent. A golden cane leaned against the desk. Juliette watched, stunned, as Ranya raised an eyebrow at Simmons.