Page 137 of Full Throttle

“Hamish?”

“Robert wants—” Hamish caught himself. “The team wants you to slow down.”

Fresh fury filled her. “Why?”

“To hold up traffic.” His words were clipped. “So that Hastings can get ahead.”

Juliette’s mind raced. Was she missing something? That made no sense; Dominic was three places ahead of her. Strategically, it made more sense for her to overtake a few cars and then slow down.

You know what?

Fuck it.

Juliette stepped on the gas. Her radio crackled. That goddamn whistling began, almost offensively indifferent, and she gritted her teeth.

“Juliette?” Robert asked.

Her foot pounded the gas pedal. The whistling stopped.

“Slow down. That’s an order.”

Juliette zipped past Kit Tomlinson. Blood sang in her veins. Her vision narrowed to the back of Von Galen’s car, disappearing around a corner. Her fingers itched on the steering wheel. She was going to overtake the bastard.

Even if it killed her.

“Juliette,” Robert snapped. “Are you listening to me?”

“Here’s the thing, Robert.” Her voice was icy. “I’ve been a very good team player. But now I’m going to win.”

“If you don’t slow down right now—”

“What?” Juliette actually laughed. “You’ll sack me?” She was being booted off the team anyway. Might as well go out in a blaze of glory.

Robert swore. “You smarmy little bit—”

There was a crash from the pit wall. Robert let out a muffled cry, and there was the sound of a stool creaking. Her radio crackled.

“Juliette?” Hamish asked breathlessly.

“Hamish?”

“Sorry about that. Robert’s gone outside.”

Juliette bit back a smile. “Did you hit him over the head with a crisp packet?”

“No.” Hamish paused. “Just the shoulder.”

Juliette barreled into a corner. Von Galen was inches ahead of her. She held her breath, analyzing the angle of the car. Slightly left, which meant that Frederick would move right, just like he always did.

Juliette moved.

Frederick went right. She passed him on the left.

The crowd roared. She passed Ethan Johnson for good measure, tearing down a straight. Hamish was grinning; she could hear it in his voice. “Good lass. You’re up to fourth.”

Juliette white-knuckled the wheel. “How many laps to go?”

“Thirteen.”