Page 45 of Full Throttle

“Hamish?”

“Aye. Noted.”

Another three laps passed. Sweat trickled down her neck. The golden exterior was growing closer. A half-second gap, if Juliette had to guess. But who was the driver? Matteo Sanchez? Igor Petrov? She sized up the upcoming turn. Not a simple place to make an overtake, but the driver wouldn’t be expecting it.

Sod it.

Juliette switched gears. “I’m going for it.”

Hamish sounded incredulous. “Now?”

But she was already moving.

Force rattled her teeth. Her skin felt like it was clawing backward, melting into her cheekbones. Thank fuck Dominic had made her do all those neck exercises; it was the only reason her head wasn’t back against the seat. Not that she was prepared to admit that to him.

The golden car sped up. Juliette could see the number: thirty-two. Sanchez. A bloody good driver, but he would underestimate her. That was her in.

She slowed. Just a little.

Sanchez slowed too.

Juliette enabled DRS. Then she shot forward, sailing past him on the corner.

A roar ripped through the crowd. She could hear the race engineers babbling over Hamish’s speaker, the excited clack of keys.

“Bloody hell.” Hamish sounded almost offensively impressed. “That’s P11.”

Juliette pulled away. Her gaze was already on the next car: a green Asteri Stag. That had to be Alex Forth, a young Glaswegian, based on the driving style. A low buzz started in her veins, warm and jittery as morning coffee.

“I can overtake him.”

“Wait for him to pit.” She could tell that Hamish was shaking his head. “He’s faster than us. It’s too risky on track.”

Juliette sized up the situation. True, Alex had the faster car; there was no point in trying to overtake him on a straight. And yes, Hamish was right; she could wait for Alex to nip into the pits to change his tires, but that would only give her a temporary lead; she’d have to change her tires eventually too.

But the corner…She shifted gears. Alex was notorious for braking too early. She could overtake on the outside line, so long as he didn’t push her too wide.

“I’m going now.”

“Brilliant,” Hamish muttered. “Well, it’s your funeral.” There was more crunching, accompanied by something in Scots that sounded distinctly like fecking bampot. “Try not to blow up the car again. We cannae afford it.”

“Cheers,” Juliette muttered.

She slammed on the gas. Her car gave a whine of protest, and she gritted her teeth. Alex hurtled toward the corner; he showed no sign of slowing. Come on, she thought desperately. I’ve seen the tapes. You always brake.

He slowed.

Relief blazed through her. Juliette dove down the outside, pushing her car until the tires blistered. Alex made to block, but it was too late; you couldn’t move under braking, and anyway, she was already through.

The crowd let out a whoop. Her speaker crackled.

“P10.” Hamish sounded stunned. “That puts us in the top half.”

Juliette swallowed. The relief was so crushing that it was a second gravitational force. “How many laps to go?”

“Twenty.”

Twenty. Juliette shifted gears automatically, following the curve of the track. She could hold this position for twenty laps. In fact…Her mind flicked through possibilities, moving cars around like pieces on a chessboard.