Page 66 of Full Throttle

He rested his head against the car. Through the narrow slat of his vision, he could see a nervous-looking pit crew member hovering.

“Er. Sorry to interrupt. It’s just that someone wants to see you.”

Dominic closed his eyes. A splitting headache had started in his left temple, and suddenly all he wanted was a cold shower. And possibly a lobotomy so he could forget the last twenty minutes. “Tell Ranya that I want to speak with Blake first.”

He was in no mood to be shouted at. Even if he deserved it. The pit crew member shifted his weight. “Er. It’s just that—”

“It’s not Ranya,” someone called. “It’s me.”

Dominic stiffened. He’d know that voice anywhere.

And sure enough, there was his father, striding into the team garage.

Chapter 21

Drive Me Away

Vance’s red uniform was freshly washed, which Dominic found oddly comforting. He could recall thinking the same thing at his mother’s funeral, when his father had showed up in a designer suit, the cufflinks polished and gleaming. It can’t be that bad if Baba used a lint roller, Dominic had thought with some relief, and it was still true now, as if Vance’s pristine wardrobe were a barometer for exactly how terrible the situation was.

Whatever his father wanted, it couldn’t be that bad.

Vance stopped short, his dark eyes blazing. “What were you thinking?”

Okay. Scratch that. Maybe it was bad.

“What do you mean?” Dominic asked carefully. He was painfully aware of the entire garage listening on, although most people had the good grace to pretend to watch the race on the overhead television.

Vance’s eyes flicked to Dominic’s head. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s just a scratch.”

Vance’s mouth tightened. “That girl brake tested you.”

That girl. He was surprised by how quickly his body heated, at the burning urge to lash out and defend. Still, he couldn’t risk it. If he pissed his father off…His stomach tightened. He hadn’t forgotten about what Vance had threatened to do in Paris once. Just because his father hadn’t done it then didn’t mean he wouldn’t do it now.

“I don’t think so,” Dominic said carefully. “She was swerving to avoid Sinclair. She had no choice but to brake.”

He’d played the incident in his mind again and again, analyzing it from every angle. Could he have left Juliette more space? Was the overtake too dangerous? Could he have braked in time? Every time, he had drawn the same conclusion: It was nobody’s fault. Not even Sinclair’s, who he would have dearly loved to blame.

Vance took off his headset. “Sinclair was giving her plenty of room.”

“I don’t think he was.”

“I’ve seen the footage.”

And I was on the track, Dominic thought. “It was a racing incident. Nobody’s fault.” He climbed from the car. Why had Vance come, anyway? To review their team race footage? To pin this on Juliette in case the FIA started blaming Sinclair? He needed to talk to Blake. “If you’ll excuse me—”

Vance massaged his temples. “I knew this would happen. I warned the FIA that having a woman on the track would change things. There needs to be precautions in place. Rules and procedures.”

Something inside him prickled. “She earned that seat.”

“I never said she didn’t. But she changes the dynamic. There are too many…emotions, where Juliette Marchmont is concerned.” Vance waved a hand toward the television. “Just look at her brother. He’s dropped six positions since she spun out.”

Dominic crossed his arms. “She’s a damn good driver.”

“You should have been paying more attention.”

His irritation increased. Ah. So they were doing this now, were they? Analyzing it, like some sort of messed-up training session. “I was trying to overtake Sinclair.”