Page 181 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)
Noah came up beside me after I finished saying hi to Simon, who was back in the game now that his foot was fully healed.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he said quietly. “You’re still on thin ice with Coach. If he finds out…”
“He’s not going to find out.” Adrenaline streaked through my veins, dulling my sense of danger. Coach, the paps, the slim but ever-present possibility of crashing—they didn’t exist at that moment. All that existed was the shining lure of victory. “I can’t back down after I agreed to the race. You know that.”
Noah frowned, his expression troubled. He didn’t attempt to talk me out of the race again, but he hung back from the rest of the crowd, clearly uneasy as shouts and laughter rang through the air.
I was surprised he was here at all. He was usually home with his daughter at this time, but he recently hired a new nanny, so maybe he had more freedom to stay out late.
Bocci hadn’t finished making his rounds.
I let him take his time. In half an hour or so, he wouldn’t be so happy.
“Asher.”
I turned at the sound of Vincent’s voice. He stood between me and my car, his face half cast in shadows.
He didn’t know about my promise to his sister, and I didn’t tell him. I couldn’t dwell on that right now. Not when we were a heartbeat away from the race.
Vincent dipped his chin in a cursory nod. “Good luck.”
I nodded back, and that was that. Nothing else needed to be said.
Two minutes later, the race finally started.
Bocci and I climbed into our cars—his Lamborghini versus my trusty Bugatti. He lived in Holchester but owned a house in London, and he kept part of his auto collection in the city.
We drove to the designated starting point on the main street.
I gripped the steering wheel, my body alive with nerves and anticipation.
A small voice screamed that this was a bad idea and I should back out before it was too late, but it wasalreadytoo late. Like I told Noah, I couldn’t back out now—not without doing irreparable damage to my reputation.
This face-off with Bocci had been months in the making. In hindsight, it was foolish of me to assume we could settle our differences through a polite, regulated match on the pitch. It had to be something grittier. More personal.
Scarlett’s face floated at the edges of my consciousness, but for the first time since we started dating, I pushed it aside.
I hated breaking my promise to her, but I wasn’t racing tonight for an unnecessary thrill. Ineededto do this. It was the only way for me to close the door on this chapter of my past.
I’m sorry, darling.
My grip tightened on the wheel.
All I had to do was win this one last race. After that, I was truly done.
Simon had offered to count us down, and the revs of our engines drowned out everything except the next few seconds.
Three.
Two.
One.
The flag came down, and we were off.
CHAPTER 46
SCARLETT