Page 38 of Knot So Fast (Speedverse #1)

THE LAST RIDE

~ L ACHLAN~

My car comes to a stop at pole position, the familiar weight of being first on the grid settling over me like a shroud.

Behind me, twenty-one other cars line up in their designated positions, engines growling with barely contained power, each driver focused on the lights that will soon release us into controlled chaos.

I'm trying not to feel—trying to lock away the emotions threatening to crack through my professional composure.

But it's impossible to ignore the reality that this is going to be my last ride.

My final dance with the mistress that's owned my soul since I was old enough to understand what speed meant.

It bothers me more than I want to admit, the weight of finality pressing down on my chest like a physical thing. I've already started composing responses to the inevitable headlines that will flood every sports outlet by tomorrow morning:

"Early Retirement for Formula One Star Lachlan Wolfe"

"Trouble in Love Paradise for 4x Champion?"

"Wolfe's Knot in a Twist: Champion Can't Commit to New Omega Rules"

"Four-Time Winner Loses Career Over Omega Requirement"

Again and again, different headlines and scenarios replay in my head like a broken record.

Each one more sensationalized than the last, each one reducing my career to clickbait fodder for people who've never felt the kiss of g-forces or the knife's edge between control and catastrophe.

And now, with the fresh "reveal" of my brother's existence adding fuel to the media fire, things are about to get exponentially more dramatic.

The circus is just beginning, and I'm about to become its main attraction for all the wrong reasons.

I grimace at the reminder, my eyes finding one of the trackside screens showing the commentary booth.

Dex is up there, looking professionally composed but I know him well enough to see the tension in his shoulders, the tightness around his eyes.

Marcus had ambushed him with that twin revelation, forced him to participate in manufactured drama for the sake of ratings.

I know they get bonuses for going along with gossip and speculation—it's part of the devil's bargain that modern sports broadcasting demands.

But Marcus is going to get a taste of the consequences of participating in bullshit like this.

Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually.

The racing world has a long memory for those who cross certain lines.

My brother certainly doesn't mind the attention— negative or otherwise. Lucius has always thrived on chaos, on being the center of whatever storm he's created this week. But this isn't PR we needed to be part of. Not now, not with everything else hanging in the balance.

I'll have to see him tonight, whether I want to or not.

The media vultures are going to start digging into everything they can find about both of us, especially with me dropping out after this race.

Every photograph, every rumor, every whispered speculation about our complicated relationship will be fair game.

The thought makes my head throb with a growing migraine.

I take a deep breath, holding it for a count of four before releasing it slowly. The breathing technique is automatic now, trained into me by years of sports psychologists and performance coaches. Center yourself. Find your focus. Let everything else fade away.

The commentary fills my earpiece as I tune back into the present moment.

Marcus is building excitement for the viewers, but something in Dex's tone catches my attention.

"...interesting to note that car number two hasn't appeared on track yet," Dex is saying, his professional voice carrying an undertone of concern that only someone who knows him would catch.

I frown, scanning my mirrors even though I can't see that far back in the grid from pole position.

"What's going on with Kieran?" I ask my race engineer through the team radio.

The engineer—a competent guy named Harrison who's nowhere near as good as Dex but does his best—crackles through the headset.

"Second car is showing technical difficulties. Telemetry suggests... it's as if a part is missing or something? They're only noticing now, right before race start."

"And they're only noticing now?" I repeat, incredulity coloring my voice. "Right before the race? How does a Formula One team miss something like that in pre-race checks?"

Marcus's voice booms through the track speakers, his commentary reaching both the crowd and those of us in our cars.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have an unusual situation developing! Car number two has failed to join the grid, and with time running out, this could spell disaster for the Wolfe Racing Team!"

Of course he has to make it dramatic.

Everything is a performance, a show for the masses who tune in as much for the human drama as for the racing itself.

"What's particularly interesting," Marcus continues with barely concealed glee, "is that the listed driver for car two was Kieran Cross, who, as we all know, does NOT fulfill the new Omega requirement. So what was the plan here? Was this always doomed to fail?"

"Is there anything we can do?" I ask Harrison, already knowing the answer. "Do we have a third car?"

"We're working on it now," comes the tense reply. "Stand by."

As if responding to some cosmic cue, Marcus's voice rises with renewed excitement.

"Wait! Ladies and gentlemen, we have movement! A third car is approaching the track, making its way slowly but steadily toward the grid. It seems the Wolfe team had a backup plan after all!"

But Dex's voice cuts through the celebration, sharp with confusion.

"That's... interesting. Because Kieran Cross is currently visible down near the pit crew, fully suited but clearly not in that approaching car."

I crane my neck, catching sight of the large trackside screen that's panning across the pit lane. Sure enough, there's Kieran in full racing gear, helmet and all, looking as confused as everyone else about who's commandeering our third car.

The display board flickers, updating with the driver information for car three.

When the name appears, I feel my blood turn to ice water in my veins.

"Sugar&Spice"

"Fuck," I growl, my hands tightening on the steering wheel until my knuckles ache inside my gloves.

I slam my finger on the radio button, not caring who hears the fury in my voice.

"This better not be who I think it is, or she's in SO much fucking trouble."

Harrison sounds genuinely confused when he responds.

"She?"

Before I can elaborate on just how much trouble a certain amnesiac Omega is about to be in, another voice cuts through the team radio.

Female, confident, and achingly familiar despite the slight distortion of the communication system.

"It's me, Wolf, so focus on winning this thing because I'm not settling for anything less."

The entire team channel erupts in chaos.

Engineers, mechanics, strategists—all of them talking over each other in a cacophony of confusion and disbelief. In the commentary box, I can hear Marcus practically hyperventilating with excitement while Dex maintains his professional composure.

"It appears we have an Omega in car three," Dex announces, his voice carefully neutral. "The question is: what mysterious woman is in the driver's seat, and why didn't anyone notice until this moment?"

Marcus jumps on the speculation immediately.

"This is unprecedented! A last-minute substitution that could either save Wolfe's career or end in spectacular disaster!"

"As long as she's truly female and an Omega," Dex continues, ever the voice of reason, "Lachlan won't be disqualified from this year's competition. However, that also depends on where they place in this race. The new rules require not just participation, but competitive performance."

I take a shaky breath, my heart hammering against my ribs for reasons that have nothing to do with pre-race adrenaline. Into the radio, I whisper her name like a prayer and a curse combined. "Auren. You really want to start a rebellion?"

The screen shows her car sliding into the final grid position, dead last, with all the confidence of someone who knows exactly what they're doing.

The seconds tick by before her voice returns, tinged with amusement.

"Rebel's her middle name," she says, and I can hear the smirk in her voice. "But if it makes you feel better, they don't know yet."

Her parents.

Of course.

Because stealing a Formula One car and entering a professional race without authorization isn't enough chaos—she has to do it behind her overprotective parents' backs too.

So grand of my Sugar. Always trying to give me high blood pressure.

I’m thankful my visor is still up so I can pinch the bridge of my nose through my helmet, feeling the migraine reaching new heights.

"I'm going to spank you when this is over."

Her laugh comes through the radio, bright and unrepentant.

"Only if it's not in front of an audience. Though that would be appealing for some naughty Formula One romance novels. Bad for PR though, probably."

Before I can respond to that mental image, my manager Terek's voice explodes through the channel, his usual composure completely shattered.

"Who the fuck is this chick, Lachlan? She your hoe or something?"

The words are barely out of his mouth when Auren responds, her voice dropping to a tone that could freeze hellfire.

"I'm his Omega, so you better put some respect in that tone or I'll force you to after I show you lot of fragile men how it's done."

"W-W-W-What?!" Terek stutters, his alpha bravado crumbling in the face of an Omega who clearly takes no shit from anyone.

I sigh deeply, knowing this is it—the moment everything changes. No taking it back, no pretending anymore.

"She's mine, Terek," I confirm, then let my voice drop to something dangerous. "And insult her again and I'm gonna kick your fucking ass."

That shuts everyone up with remarkable efficiency.

The team channel goes silent except for the sound of engines and the pre-race atmosphere filtering through. In that silence, the warning signals begin—the familiar sequence that means we're moments away from lights out and racing.

I stare at the starting lights mounted high above the track, their red glow reflecting off my visor. My world narrows to those lights, to the weight of the moment, to the woman in the car somewhere behind me who's about to either prove everyone wrong or die trying.

The first red light illuminates.

Then the second.

"Sugar," I whisper into the radio as the third light joins its companions.

"Yes, Wolf?" Her voice is softer now, matching my tone.

The bravado is gone, replaced by something more real.

The fourth light flickers on. My hands position themselves perfectly on the wheel, muscle memory taking over. But my mind is twenty-three cars back, with the woman who's risking everything for reasons I'm not sure even she fully understands.

The fifth and final red light completes the sequence. In seconds, they'll all extinguish and unleash us onto the track.

Once that happens, there's no stopping, no second chances, no taking back what's about to occur.

"Don't die on me, you hear?" The words come out rough, desperate, carrying the weight of all the things I can't say over an open radio channel.

Don't die like you almost did before.

Don't leave me again.

Don't make me watch you burn a second time.

I can hear her smile in her response, that particular mix of confidence and vulnerability that's purely Auren.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

The lights hold steady, five red eyes staring down at us like judges preparing to deliver a verdict.

My right foot hovers over the accelerator, finding that perfect balance point between reaction and anticipation. The engine screams beneath me, 15,000 RPM of barely controlled violence waiting to be unleashed.

Around me, twenty-two other engines sing the same violent song.

But I'm only listening for one—the one in last place, piloted by a woman who shouldn't remember how to race but whose body might recall what her mind has forgotten.

Time stretches like taffy.

Seconds become hours.

Heartbeats become drum solos.

Everything balances on this knife's edge moment between stillness and chaos.

She's here. After a year of careful distance, of honoring agreements I never wanted to make, of watching from afar while my brother played at relationship with her—she's here.

On my track. In my world.

R eady to prove that Auren Vale doesn't need anyone's permission to be exactly who she was born to be.

My lips curve in a smile that no one can see behind my visor now that I’ve forced it back down.

This was supposed to be my last race, my graceful exit from the sport that defines me.

But Auren's never been one for graceful exits or carefully planned endings.

No, she prefers explosions. Chaos. Revolution.

And as the lights hold steady above us, preparing to release us into whatever comes next, I realize that's exactly what she's about to deliver.

Not just for me, but for everyone who thought they could keep her caged.

The question is: w ill any of us survive what she's about to unleash?

The lights stare down at us, unblinking and eternal. My entire world narrows to those five red circles and the woman twenty-three cars behind me who's about to remind everyone why she was legendary before they tried to erase her from history.

This is it.

The moment everything changes.

The light goes green.