Page 85 of Knot So Fast (Speedverse #1)

PHOENIX RISING

~AUREN~

T he morphine is starting to wear off, and I can feel every single one of my injuries screaming in harmony like some fucked up orchestra of pain.

Three broken ribs that make breathing feel like swallowing glass.

A concussion that turns the garage lights into stabbing needles behind my eyes.

Internal bruising that makes my organs feel like they've been rearranged by someone who learned anatomy from a Picasso painting.

And let's not forget the delightful collection of cuts and contusions that have turned my body into a Jackson Pollock piece done entirely in purple and black.

But none of that matters right now.

What matters is that I'm standing in the Titan Racing garage, wearing Rebecca Chen's racing suit—thank god we're roughly the same size—with her helmet hiding my identity while the entire racing world thinks I'm lying in a coma.

The ultimate plot twist: I'm not.

I've been conscious for the past twelve hours, much to the medical staff's horror and my determination's credit. The moment I clawed my way back to consciousness after dying three fucking times—which, by the way, zero out of ten stars, would not recommend—I knew I had to be here.

Not because I'm some masochistic adrenaline junkie with a death wish.

Not because I can't let go of racing even when my body is literally held together by determination and medical tape.

But because forty minutes ago, Katie burst into my hospital room with news that changed everything.

"Rebecca Chen isn't an Omega," she'd said, her face pale with the realization of what this meant.

"She's a Beta who's been using suppressants to mask her scent.

Someone must have paid her off or threatened her, but if she races and they test her after—which they will—Lachlan gets disqualified.

Titan loses the championship. Everything we've worked for goes up in smoke. "

The solution was obvious, even if it was insane.

Get me to the track. Get me in that car. Save the championship and expose the real villain in this twisted game.

Because here's the thing about dying three times and coming back: it gives you clarity. Like someone took a pressure washer to your brain and blasted away all the fog and confusion and half-remembered fragments that have been haunting me for over a year.

I remember everything.

Every. Single. Thing.

Including who's really behind all of this.

And it's not Lucius.

But first, I have to survive Lachlan's scrutiny, because he's currently striding toward me with the kind of purpose that suggests he knows exactly who's under this helmet. The man has always been able to read me like a book, even when I couldn't read myself.

"Rebecca?" His voice is carefully neutral, but I can hear the suspicion underneath. "Can we talk real quick?"

I nod, trying to move like someone who isn't held together by spite and prescription painkillers. Every step sends shooting pains through my ribs, but I keep my gait steady, professional. Just Rebecca Chen, substitute Omega, nothing to see here.

He leads me to a supply closet—because apparently, we have our most important conversations in closets now—and the moment the door closes, he takes a slow, deliberate breath.

"Auren, if that's you, I swear to all things holy?—"

"You'd be disqualified at the finish line," I cut him off, my voice muffled by the helmet but unmistakably mine.

The silence that follows is deafening. Then he's lifting my visor with shaking hands, and our eyes meet. His are red-rimmed, exhausted, carrying the kind of grief that comes from thinking you've lost everything that matters.

The moment he confirms it's me, his face crumbles. Relief floods his features so intensely it's like watching someone come back to life. Tears he's probably been holding back for hours finally break free.

"Fuck, Auren. Sugar."

His voice cracks on my name, and then he's pulling my helmet off completely, his hands desperate but gentle, aware of my injuries even in his emotional state.

The kiss that follows isn't sweet or careful—it's deep and desperate and tastes like salt from his tears and the metallic tang of fear that's been living in his throat.

"You can't be here," he says against my lips, pulling back just enough to search my face. "You're hurt. You're in pain. Christ, Auren, you died three times?—"

"The morphine's gonna run out in about thirty minutes," I admit, because lying to him now seems pointless. "So you better make this race quick or I'm fucked."

He actually laughs at that—a broken sound that's half sob, half disbelief—before pressing his helmet against my forehead, our own version of an embrace when we're both in full gear.

"Fuck. You're not in a coma. You're not going to die."

"Nah," I say, trying for casual even though every breath feels like my ribs are trying to escape through my skin.

"Dying is overrated. Three times was enough to know it's not really my vibe.

Besides," I pause, meeting his eyes with the full weight of what I'm about to say, "I remember everything now.

And I'd really like to get Ferrari permanently banned from racing. "

His eyes widen, pulling back to study my face properly. "What?"

"I remember everything, Lachlan. Every race, every moment, every fight, every kiss. The accident, what led up to it, who was really there that day." I take a breath that sends fire through my chest. "And the one who sabotaged my accident? It wasn't Lucius."

His frown deepens, confusion replacing relief. "Then who?—"

"Terek."

The name hangs between us like a loaded gun. Lachlan's expression cycles through confusion, disbelief, and then a dawning horror as pieces start clicking into place.

"What?" His voice is barely a whisper.

"Our beloved team manager has been playing all of us," I explain, the words coming fast because we don't have time for the full story.

"He made a massive bet that you'd lose to Ferrari this season.

Except you didn't. You kept winning, I kept placing, and suddenly his sure thing turned into a financial disaster waiting to happen. "

"That's why?—"

"That's why the brake failures happened to both me and Dimitri. He was trying to take out Ferrari's best driver and me simultaneously—make it look like targeted sabotage against both teams to throw off suspicion. When that didn't work and you still kept winning, he got desperate."

I lean against the wall, needing the support as a wave of dizziness washes over me. The concussion does not appreciate all this standing and talking.

"The threats, the surveillance, even Rebecca being a Beta—it's all him. He's been setting up Lucius as the fall guy this entire time, using his gambling debts and connection to those Swiss assholes to paint him as the villain. Meanwhile, Terek's been pulling strings from inside our own team."

"Jesus Christ." Lachlan runs his hand through his hair, the gesture making his helmet shift. "Does anyone else know?"

"Katie and Luke, as of about an hour ago. And," I can't help but smirk despite the pain, "my parents. Particularly my father."

"He's fucked," Lachlan breathes, and there's something like awe in his voice.

"Oh, he's beyond fucked. You know what my father does to people who hurt his family? Remember the Castellano situation?"

Lachlan winces. The Castellano situation had ended with an entire crime family mysteriously deciding to relocate to Antarctica. Or at least, that's what the official story was.

"But first," I continue, "we have to win this race. It's the only way to prove everything, to make sure all his planning was for nothing. Can you do that? Can you race knowing your team manager wants you to lose?"

"Can you?" he counters, his hand coming up to cup my face gently. "Auren, you can barely stand. The moment the adrenaline wears off?—"

"Then we better make sure it doesn't wear off until after the checkered flag." I lean into his touch for just a moment, allowing myself this single second of vulnerability. "One more ride, Wolf. One more race. Then we can deal with all the mess that comes after."

He studies my face, and I can see him cataloging every bruise, every sign of pain I'm trying to hide. His thumb brushes over the cut on my cheek—the one from Lucius's thrown glass that feels like a lifetime ago but was only yesterday.

"You'll be careful?" It's not really a question, more like a prayer.

"Like you're one to talk about being careful. Just try not to murder your brother out there. Turns out he's just as much a victim in this as we are."

"Auren—"

"He's been trying to protect us, Lachlan. In his own fucked up, self-destructive way, but still. The gambling debt, working with Ferrari—it was all to keep their attention on him instead of us. He made himself the villain so we wouldn't have to be victims."

The pain that flashes across Lachlan's face is almost physical. All that anger at his brother, all that sense of betrayal, and it turns out Lucius was falling on his sword the entire time.

"We'll deal with that after," I say, because we're running out of time. I can already hear Harrison calling for final preparations over the garage speakers. "For now, just focus on winning. I'll be right behind you."

"In more ways than one," he murmurs, and despite everything, I laugh.

"Was that a sex joke? Now? Really?"

"You're rubbing off on me."

"Phrasing," I point out, which makes him groan and laugh simultaneously.

He helps me get my helmet back on, his hands steady and sure despite everything. Before he lowers the visor, he leans in close.

"I love you," he says simply. "Whatever happens out there, I need you to know that. You're everything, Auren. My Sugar, my Spice, my Phoenix who keeps rising from the ashes. Everything."

"Save the speeches for the podium," I tell him, but my voice is thick with emotion. "We've got a championship to steal from a traitorous bastard first."