Page 87 of Knot So Fast (Speedverse #1)
THE PRICE OF VICTORY
~LACHLAN~
F inal lap.
The words pulse through my mind like a heartbeat, like a prayer, like a death sentence.
Twenty-two laps of pure aggression, calculated risks, and barely controlled violence have led to this moment.
The Yas Marina circuit stretches out before us, every meter of tarmac I've memorized, every apex I've perfected, every braking zone I've conquered a thousand times in practice.
But practice never prepared me for this.
My twin brother is alongside me, his Ferrari matching my Titan Racing machine meter for meter, our cars so close I could reach out and touch his mirrors if physics and common sense didn't exist. Behind us, Auren—my beautiful, broken, impossibly stubborn Auren disguised as Rebecca Chen—holds third place with the kind of determination that only comes from having literally nothing left to lose.
The truth about Terek burns through my mind like acid, each revelation another twist of the knife.
Our team manager, the man who helped build my career, who stood on countless podiums celebrating our victories, who I trusted with my life every time I strapped into this car—he's been trying to destroy us from the inside.
For money. It always comes down to fucking money.
Marcus's voice explodes through the track speakers, his commentary reaching fever pitch: "THEY'RE WHEEL TO WHEEL! THE WOLFE brOTHERS FIGHTING FOR THE CHAMPIONSHIP IN THE FINAL CORNERS OF THE FINAL LAP!"
Dex's more measured tones provide counterpoint: "This is unprecedented—twin brothers, one fighting for his fifth consecutive title, the other racing for redemption after three years of controversy.
And Rebecca Chen holding that crucial third position that could swing the constructor's championship! "
If only they knew "Rebecca Chen" can barely breathe through her broken ribs, that she's racing on pure spite and rapidly failing morphine, that she's already died three times this week and apparently decided that wasn't enough excitement.
The straight before the hairpin stretches out like a drag strip to heaven or hell. Lucius and I are side by side, engines screaming at maximum revs, both of us knowing that whoever gets to the hairpin first will likely win this race. The championship. Everything.
I glance sideways, just for a millisecond, and our eyes meet through our visors.
In that fraction of a second, I see everything. All the years of rivalry and resentment. All the missed opportunities to be brothers instead of competitors. All the times we chose pride over connection, chose independence over family, chose to be alone rather than admit we needed each other.
We could have fixed this. Could have stood together against Terek's manipulations, against the blackmail that trapped Lucius, against the attempts on Auren's life. Could have been the united front our parents always wanted us to be instead of two broken halves pretending to be whole.
The regret tastes like copper and wasted time.
The braking zone approaches—150 meters, 100 meters, 50—and I move my foot to the brake pedal for the heavy deceleration required. We're doing 320 kilometers per hour, and we need to shed over 200 of those in the space of a heartbeat.
My foot goes down.
The pedal doesn't move.
"Fuck!" The curse rips from my throat as I pump the brake, trying to build pressure that isn't there. The pedal is solid, locked, like someone's wedged a steel bar behind it.
"What's wrong?" Harrison's voice crackles through the radio, sharp with sudden concern.
The car is starting to vibrate, the engine confused by the lack of deceleration. The hairpin rushes toward us, that tight right-hander that's claimed more victims than any other corner on this circuit. At this speed, without brakes, I'm not going to make it. The physics simply don't exist.
I pump the pedal again, harder, desperate. Nothing. The hydraulics are completely locked, probably the same sabotage that nearly killed Auren in Canada. How did we miss this? How did Terek get to my car when Kieran said he'd checked everything?
Unless Kieran didn't check everything. Unless in the chaos of Auren's "death" and resurrection, in the emotional devastation of thinking we'd lost her, someone made a mistake. Left a window of opportunity that Terek exploited.
I'm going to crash.
The realization hits with crystalline clarity.
At 300 kilometers per hour, heading into a corner that requires dropping to maybe 60, with no brakes and nowhere to go, I'm going to hit that barrier like a missile.
The car will disintegrate. And at this speed, at this angle, the survival cell might not be enough.
"My brake is jammed," I whisper into the radio, the words feeling like a confession, like an epitaph.
The entire team channel goes silent. That specific silence that comes when everyone realizes simultaneously that they're about to watch something terrible happen.
"What?" The voice that cuts through is unmistakably Auren's, her cover blown in her panic. But there's no time to process that revelation, no time for anything except the wall of Armco approaching at fatal velocity.
I grit my teeth, hands locked on the steering wheel, already bracing for impact. Maybe if I get the angle right, if I can somehow scrub enough speed, if the safety systems hold?—
Lucius's eyes widen as he reads my face, understanding dawning in that twin telepathy we've always denied having. He knows. Sees the locked posture, the desperate pumping of my brake pedal, the trajectory that's going to send me into the barrier at unsurvivable speed.
Time dilates the way it does in moments of absolute crisis. Seconds stretch into hours, heartbeats become drum solos, and I have enough time to think about everything I'm about to lose.
Auren, who came back from death three times only to watch me die on the track.
My team, who'll blame themselves for not catching the sabotage.
My parents, who'll lose a son to the sport that defined our family.
And Lucius, who'll have to live with watching it happen, being right there and unable to help.
Except—
His car moves. Not away from me, creating space for the inevitable crash. Toward me. A deliberate, calculated movement that speaks of instant decision and terrible mathematics.
"No—" I start to say, but it's already happening.
Lucius turns his wheel hard right, bringing the nose of his Ferrari into my sidepod with surgical precision.
Not a racing incident, not a desperate move for position, but a deliberate sacrifice.
He's using his car as a battering ram, taking the impact to redirect my trajectory away from the barriers.
The contact is violent. Carbon fiber explodes in a shower of black shrapnel. Both cars lift onto two wheels, and for a moment we're flying, suspended in that terrible space between control and chaos.
My car spins, the world becoming a kaleidoscope of track and sky and barriers.
But the impact has changed my vector—instead of head-on into the Armco, I'm sliding sideways across the runoff area.
The gravel trap catches my car, slowing it with violent jerks that make my teeth rattle, but it's survivable.
The barrier approaches in slow motion, and when I finally hit, it's a glancing blow that crumples the rear wing but doesn't penetrate the survival cell.
I hear Auren's car scream past, her engine note rising as she floors it through the corner we couldn't take. She's going to make it. Going to win. Going to secure the championship despite everything Terek tried to do to stop us.
But Lucius?—
His car took the worst of our impact. The Ferrari is airborne, rotating on multiple axes in that sickening way that means all control is lost. It's not sliding or spinning—it's tumbling, each impact with the ground launching it higher, making the next impact worse.
"LUCIUS!" I scream his name, fighting with my harness, trying to get out even though my car hasn't fully stopped moving.
The Ferrari hits the barrier upside down, the roll hoop disintegrating on impact. The car continues over, clearing the Armco entirely, disappearing from view on the other side. The crowd's roar turns to screams.
And then?—
The explosion is immediate and total. A ball of orange fire rises above the barrier, the kind of fire that comes from ruptured fuel cells and destroyed batteries combining in the worst possible way. The kind of fire that doesn't leave survivors.
My car finally stops, lodged against the tire barrier at an awkward angle. I'm pulling at the harness release, but it's jammed—of course it's fucking jammed—and I can only watch as the fire grows, black smoke billowing into the Abu Dhabi night sky.
"LUCIUS!" I scream again, my voice breaking, raw with the kind of grief that comes from watching your other half die. Because that's what he is, what he's always been, even when we hated each other. My twin, my shadow, my reflection in a darker mirror.
And he just died saving me.
The marshals are running toward both scenes, fire extinguishers already deploying, but I know it's too late. No one survives that kind of fire. No one walks away from that kind of impact. My brother is gone, turned to ash and memory in the space between heartbeats.
Through the smoke and chaos, I hear Dex's voice, professional composure completely shattered: "Oh my God—Lucius Wolfe's car has—there's been a massive accident—the Ferrari is?—"
Marcus cuts in, his usual bombast replaced by hollow shock: "The safety car is deployed. Medical teams are responding. This is—folks, this is the worst crash we've seen in years."
But I can barely hear them over the roar of blood in my ears, over the sound of my own voice still screaming my brother's name even though I know he can't hear me. Even though I know he's already gone.