Page 114 of Over the Limit

We race each other through the next lap. Me fending. Him charging. You’re taught to race the track, not the driver.

This is a clear case of him racing against me.

Of him taking me on.

My hands vibrate and my jaw clenches as we battle. We both need this finish. We both need this for our ego.

And then I’m flying.

My car lifts off the ground and I’m flying parallel to it. I’m weightless. Helpless. Without any time to think. Any time to react other than to take my hands off the wheel.

The car touches down in the gravel. It spins and spins before it slows. I brace for impact but fortunately for me it slows enough that the impact isn’t as brutal as I anticipated.

“Fuck!” I shout, well aware people are listening—but not really giving a fuck.

“Are you okay, Lachlan?” Henry asks.

“He fucking took me out, Henry.” I disconnect my steering wheel and throw it on the hood. “Took me out on purpose.” I unbuckle and exit from the car. “Took me out for his own goddamn good.” I’m out of the car and jogging down the outside of the track toward the garages.

Motherfucker.

Mother. Fucker.

“Rossi is wrecked too, Lachlan,” Henry says in that calm even voice of his.

“Good. He should be,” I shout as I unbuckle my helmet and hit the garage.

Just about the same time Rossi does.

“Seems that’s racing,” Rossi says the minute he sees me. And smirks.

He wants a fight.

He’s about to get one.

I lower my shoulder and ram him into the wall. Oof. It’s all I hear exhaling from his lungs followed by a gasp from those around us.

“You want to fucking try to kill me?” I shout in his face, my forearm at his throat. “You have to do a much better job than that.”

“Fuck you,” he grits out.

“Gladly. Because I win, Rossi. You weren’t man enough to keep her, but I am. So fuck. You.”

Commotion.

It’s all around us.

Hands on us. Shouts at us.

And the next thing I know we’re being shoved into a conference room, just Rossi and me, and the door is shut at our backs to close out any and all eyes and ears.

“You two figure your shit out and figure it out now. The FIA is going to be down our throats by the race’s end no doubt imposing penalties for impeding, Rossi, so you better figure out what the fuck that was back there. If it was what I think it was, you might never sit behind a wheel again.”

“The throttle stuck. The electronics failed. No radio. No gauges. Not sure what you mean.”

The look Henry gives Rossi rivals mine. The difference is, Henry can believe his bullshit if he wants to. I lived with the consequences of it and don’t believe a fucking word of it.

“Like I said, our whole team will suffer because of whatever FIA hands down.” He points to Rossi and then to me. “Don’t leave here until you’re sorted.”