Page 135 of Full Throttle

She turned. Liêm was jogging toward her, his dark silky hair spilling out from a baseball cap. He didn’t look ready to race. Not remotely.

“Liêm.” Juliette picked up her helmet, half-distracted by the sight of Dominic starting his engine. “What are you doing? The race is about to—”

“I need to talk to you.”

She stared. “Now?”

“Please,” he said breathlessly. “It’s important.”

Juliette glanced at the track. “The race is starting. Can’t it wait until—?”

“This will only take a minute. I promise.”

Juliette shifted her weight. Drivers were getting in their cars. She really ought to get a move on. But there was desperation on Liêm’s face, as if he’d sprinted around the paddock to find her, and so she sighed.

“All right. What’s going on?”

Liêm’s gaze was unusually intense. “It’s about Dominic. And what happened two years ago.” His mouth flattened. “He told me everything, and you need to know the truth. Even if it’s hard to hear.”

Chapter 42

Lights Out

Juliette got into her car.

Her fingers felt numb. She started the engine on autopilot, punching buttons and adjusting settings. A terrible throbbing sensation beat at her temples. Liêm’s timing couldn’t have been worse; there was absolutely no way she’d be able to concentrate on the race. Not with all the shit he’d just told her.

Dominic hadn’t wanted to end things. His father had made him. Not because Vance had threatened Dominic’s career but because he’d threatened to destroy her. Dominic had insulted her in that art gallery to protect her. He’d said those things for her. And she…

Juliette slammed her head lightly against the steering wheel. She’d thrown his biggest insecurity in his face just to—what? Regain some pride? You’re just a scared little boy who hides behind his father’s money, she’d said. No wonder he hated her.

Her radio crackled. “Juliette?”

She paused. “Hamish.”

“Are you trying to concuss yourself again?”

“No?”

“Right.” Hamish sighed. “I’d stop that, then. Make me proud, lass.”

A lump rose in her throat. “I will.” If she could concentrate long enough to get out of last place, which was looking increasingly unlikely.

Five lights flickered on overhead.

Juliette took a deep breath. Her hands gripped the wheel.

Lights out.

She shot forward. Engines whirred. Metal scraped. Two cars collided, sending up sparks and a roar from the Vegas audience, and Juliette swerved. Her heart hammered in her chest. Who was that? She couldn’t see.

Calm down. Her pulse hammered in her chest. Lose control of yourself and you’ve lost the goddamn race.

Frantic crunching filled the radio. Hamish was stress-eating crisps. “We’re P16. Let’s keep pushing.”

Right.

Juliette slammed on the gas pedal.