Page 98 of Furious

Is he dead?

A pained groan comes from Smith and he moves.

This guy’s lucky star must have been working overtime tonight, I swear to God.

Smith fell onto a patch of thick, soft moss that must have absorbed some of the impact, together with the protective pads and plates of the leather jacket of his two-piece race suit.

I reach him as he manages to stand up.

My first thought is that Smith is way shorter than I thought.

“Smith, are you alright?” I ask, my arm shooting out to grab him when I realize that he’s about to run.

“Get away from me!” He yells, struggling to break free.

But my grip on his leather jacket is firm and there’s no way I’m gonna let go until I’ve spoken to him.

“Let go!” He struggles some more, and it hits me that his voice has a higher pitch than I expected, too.

“Not until you and I have had a little chat.” I grunt, pulling on his jacket as he shoves away.

The leather jacket rides up with the struggle and that’s when I see it.

A tattoo on Smith’s lower back, a trump stamp.

CAL in capital letters in the middle of a winged heart.

I pull harder. “Zara?”

The second I call her name, she stops struggling and I turn her around.

It’s irrational, I know, but as I undo the chin straps of her full helmet, I pray that I’m wrong.

“Zara, you’re JJ Smith?”

It isn’t a real question. It’s the shock talking when I look into the green eyes of my stepsister.

“I was going to tell you, I?—”

I can barely hear what she just said. My ears are ringing and nausea mixed with fury washes over me. My pulse is so fast that I can barely catch my breath. Maybe I’m having a heart attack.

I shake my head to clear the fog that’s blurring my vision.

It works. The fog recedes and I stare at the woman I love in a black two-piece leather race suit.

“Zara? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“You’re JJ Smith?”

Those questions don’t come from me.

Chance’s and Lev’s voices reach me from behind me.

There’s a beat of silence before some of the other men that were at the finish line come running toward us.

Everyone is yelling and asking questions, but I can barely hear them.

My focus is on her.

“How could you?” my voice isn’t loud enough to be heard above the commotion around us, but I know she heard me. “You’ve been lying to me this entire time.”

The truth is finally out.