Page 6 of Knot So Fast (Speedverse #1)
HAUNTING PAST IN THE PIT OF FLAMES
~ A UREN~
The simulator V headset feels weightless on my head as I grip the steering wheel, my body automatically adjusting to the familiar sensation of speed and precision that comes with racing.
The virtual track stretches out before me in stunning detail—every bump, every curve, every potential hazard rendered so realistically that I can almost smell the burning rubber and feel the heat radiating from the engine.
I'm deep in the race now, side by side with my gaming boyfriend— at least that's what I call him, though we've never met in person.
His username flashes on my screen: WolfPack_Alpha , which I've always found both mysterious and oddly attractive.
Mine reads SugarSpice_OmegaSpeed , a combination that usually gets me some interesting reactions in the gaming community.
"Coming up on sector three," his voice crackles through the headset, distorted by the voice modulation technology we both use. "You ready for this turn, Sugar?"
"Been ready since we started, Wolf," I shoot back, pressing harder on the accelerator as we approach the sharp chicane that's been the downfall of many racers. "Question is, can you keep up?"
The turn approaches fast—a brutal left-right combination that requires perfect timing and nerves of steel.
I brake just slightly, feeling for that perfect moment when physics and skill align.
The car responds beautifully, hugging the inside line as I navigate through the chicane with the kind of precision that comes from years of practice.
"Fuck!" His curse explodes through the headset as I see his car in my peripheral vision, spinning out of control.
He went too early, misjudged the braking point, and now he's paying for it as his virtual car slides off the track in a shower of sparks.
I can't help but cheer as I cross the finish line in first place, my heart pounding with the familiar rush of victory.
"And that's how it's done, baby!"
The final leaderboard appears on my screen: me in first, three other random players in second through fourth, and my gaming friend sitting in a disappointing fourth place on the global leaderboard.
"I hate you," he groans through the headset, but I can hear the amusement in his voice beneath the manufactured defeat. "That was a perfect line through the chicane. Where the hell did you learn to drive like that?"
"Natural talent," I tease, pulling off the VR headset and running my fingers through my hair. "Plus, I've got something you don't have."
"Yeah? What's that?"
"The killer instinct of someone who's got nothing left to lose."
There's a pause, and I wonder if I said too much.
We've been racing together for months now, but we keep our personal details pretty surface-level.
He knows I'm an Omega living in Monaco, and I know he's from Croatia—which I find oddly coincidental since that's the same country Lucius is from.
Sometimes I wonder if he has the same dirty blonde hair and those beautiful blue-green eyes that turn me on in ways I probably shouldn't admit to a virtual stranger.
Their voices are completely distinguished by the technology we use, so I can't even imagine what he really sounds like.
But I like to think it's deep and smooth, maybe with just a hint of an accent that would make my knees weak if I heard it in person.
"Want to hit the global playground?" he asks, breaking me out of my wandering thoughts. "Something more casual? I need to restore my wounded ego."
"Your ego will survive," I laugh, but I'm already navigating to the global racing room. "Fine, let's go play with the casual drivers. Maybe you'll actually stand a chance."
The global playground is exactly what it sounds like—an open racing environment where players from around the world can drop in and out of races, chat, and generally just have fun without the pressure of ranked competition.
It's my go-to when I want to relax and not think too hard about winning or losing.
We enter a lobby with about eight other players, their usernames floating above their virtual cars in a rainbow of colors and fonts.
The track loads—a street circuit that winds through a virtual version of Tokyo, complete with neon lights and towering skyscrapers that cast long shadows across the asphalt.
"Nice to have some company tonight," Wolf says as we wait for the race to begin. "Sometimes these random lobbies can be pretty toxic."
"Tell me about it," I mutter, adjusting my car's setup for the street circuit. "Being an Omega with 'Omega' right in my username tends to bring out the worst in some people."
As if summoned by my words, the voice chat crackles to life with the sound of some asshole clearing his throat.
"Well, well, well," comes a nasal voice that immediately sets my teeth on edge. "What do we have here? An Omega playing racing games?" The username AlphaDestroyer69 appears next to the voice, because of course it does.
"Yeah, what's next?" another voice chimes in, this one belonging to DominantDick_42 . "Omegas thinking they deserve to be on actual race tracks? They don't even exist in real racing for a reason."
My hands tighten on the steering wheel, but I keep my voice level.
I've dealt with this shit before, and I'll deal with it again.
"Omegas only deserve to be in the kitchen making us sandwiches," AlphaDestroyer continues, and I can hear the smirk in his voice. "Or better yet, being fucked like the useless baby makers they are. That's all they're good for anyway."
The other voices in the lobby laugh like this is the height of comedy, and I feel that familiar fire start to burn in my chest. The same fire that used to fuel me when I was actually racing, when I had something real to prove instead of just virtual victories.
"You know," I say casually, as if we're discussing the weather, "if you talk so much, that means you can actually win a race against me, right?"
There's a moment of surprised silence before AlphaDestroyer finds his voice again.
"Certainly, sweetheart. I'll show you how a real Alpha handles a race car."
"They're out of your league, mate," Wolf warns, his voice carrying a dangerous edge that I've never heard before. "Trust me on this one."
"Oh, look at this guy," DominantDick scoffs. "Talking trash with a username that's trying to copy that badass Alpha F1 rider. What is it, trying to be like Lachlan Wolfe or something? You think you're the shit, but you could never be like him."
My heart skips a beat at the mention of Lachlan Wolfe.
The four-time world champion, the golden boy of Formula One, the Alpha who's been dominating the sport for years with his calculated precision and ice-cold focus.
I've watched every race he's been in, studied his technique, dreamed of what it would be like to race wheel-to-wheel with someone of his caliber.
"Lachlan Wolfe is going to destroy everyone this year," AlphaDestroyer continues, his voice taking on an almost reverent tone. "Another championship, another year of showing everyone else how it's done. Now that's a real Alpha."
"Too bad he'd be disgusted if he heard how you cocky lot are bullying an Omega online," Wolf says, and there's something in his voice that makes me shiver.
Something familiar that I can't quite place.
"Shut the fuck up," DominantDick snaps. "Fine, let's see what this omega bitch is really about. Time to put your money where your mouth is, sweetheart."
I laugh, the sound sharp and dangerous.
"Alright, boys. Watch and learn."
The race starts, and I immediately go easy on AlphaDestroyer.
Not because I'm feeling charitable, but because I want to see what he's actually capable of before I crush his dreams entirely.
He's not terrible, but he's not great either—the kind of driver who thinks aggression can substitute for skill.
I let him stay close for the first few laps, matching his pace and even letting him take the lead once or twice. But as we approach the final sector, I unleash just a fraction of what I'm capable of. Clean, precise overtakes that leave him scrambling to keep up.
I cross the finish line with a comfortable five-second gap.
"Fucking lucky," AlphaDestroyer grumbles as the other voices in the lobby start making fun of him. "I was going easy on her."
"My turn," DominantDick announces. "I'll show this bitch how it's done."
The next race plays out exactly the same way.
I toy with him for a few laps, let him think he has a chance, then systematically dismantle his confidence with a driving display that would make professionals weep with envy.
"Okay, okay," AlphaDestroyer says after I've beaten both of them twice more. "Let me try again. I was definitely going easy on her before. Time to show what I can really do."
This time, there's no playing around. From the moment the green flag drops, AlphaDestroyer is driving like his life depends on it. He's pushing his car to the absolute limit, taking risks that border on reckless, and somehow managing to keep pace with me.
We're head-to-head as we approach the final turn, our virtual cars mere inches apart as we hurtle toward the finish line.
I can hear him cursing through the headset, his voice tight with concentration and desperation.
I'm on the racing line, perfectly positioned to take the victory, when it happens.
Instead of trying to outbrake me or find a clever way around, AlphaDestroyer deliberately rams his car into mine. The impact sends my virtual vehicle flying through the air in a spectacular crash that ends with an explosion of flames and twisted metal.
My whole body jolts as the simulator responds to the crash, the haptic feedback making it feel disturbingly real. The guys in the lobby are laughing like maniacs, celebrating the dirty move like it's some kind of victory.
"Foul play!" Wolf's voice cuts through the chaos, his tone absolutely furious. "That was obvious cheating! You were about to lose, so you decided to crash her instead!"
But I'm not listening to the argument anymore.