Prologue
Santiago
Three Years Ago
Crowds of fans roar in the distance, fueling the adrenaline building up inside of me. The Silverstone Prix lights reflect off the hood of my red Bandini car. Sweat trickles down my back from the heat of the vibrating engine behind me.
I take a deep breath and hold it as each of the five Prix lights shuts off.
Vamos. I press down on the throttle. My car squeals as it rushes past the first straight. Noah, my brother-in-law and the best F1 racer, leads the group of drivers. His rear bumper stays within touching distance as I turn past the first corner behind him.
The post-rain humidity makes my helmet’s shield foggy as we race lap after lap. Slick roads challenge my skills and my tires. I lift the protective visor an inch, allowing the hot air from my mouth to escape through the gap in the helmet.
My lungs tighten with each heavy breath. I push through exhaustion and attempt to get around Noah’s car. He keeps to the center of the track, making it impossible to take over his first-place spot.
“Get better control of your car on turn four. You’re driving sloppy because it’s wet out there,” James Mitchell, Bandini’s team principal, speaks into my earpiece.
“Got it.” I grip my steering wheel tighter, focusing on the road.
Turn after turn, I match Noah’s speed. Although he’s family and my teammate, we both crave beating each other as often as we can. But together, we work as an unstoppable Bandini force competing against everyone else.
Noah enters the pit lane in need of new tires, leaving the track and his first-place spot open for me. It’s my moment of opportunity.
Everything counts. Every breath, every wheel rotation, every damn second ticking away.
The pace of my heart increases as I pass another blurring Grandstand filled with cheering fans. My body hums with a rush of energy. It’s a feeling unparalleled to anything else. I’ve never been high a day in my life, but I assume it feels like this—exhilarating and untouchable. I smile behind my helmet as I drive by the crowds.
Noah returns full force and speeds around me at the latest straight. His tires shriek as he presses on the brakes at a corner.
I jab the button to switch gears. “Bastard. Always trying to steal the spotlight.”
“Our computers show that there’s a light shower coming in. For fuck’s sake, watch for the wet patches and don’t crash into Noah.” James’s voice echoes through my ear.
“Are they going to let us switch to wet tires?”
“I think the call should be coming in soon. Hang in there.” James mutes himself.
A sheer mist from Noah’s wheels shoots through the air. Visibility becomes difficult as Noah’s tires cause more water to splash against my helmet. I swipe my gloved hand across my visor, wiping away the condensation.
With my visor clear of water, I grip the steering wheel with both hands. My breath catches in my throat as I run over a slick patch of pavement.
One breath. One tire rotation. One second to lose it all.
Control escapes my grasp. My car speeds past the corner I should be turning at. All hell breaks loose as I clutch onto the useless steering wheel.
“Shit. Shit. Shit!” I smash my sneaker against the brakes, but nothing works to slow my car down fast enough.