Faster Deeper (Take Me...#2) (New Adult Bad Boy Racer Novel) Read online

  “Why don’t you get our stuff,” Bex says to Charlie, “I’m gonna walk Siena down—”

  “I’m fine on my own, Bex,” I say, a little more harshly than I mean to, “See you love birds in Moscow, I guess.”

  I charge past them, hot tears pricking my eyes. If Charlie has anything to do with those photos, as I’m guessing he does, this is a double betrayal. It’s bad enough that he’s probably involved, but if Bex is moony-eyed over him all of a sudden...it’s too much. Is there anyone on this entire season that I can trust?

  Dad, Enzo, Gus, and the other guys of Team Ferrelli are all waiting in the lobby by the time I get downstairs. A stormy silence hangs over them all, despite the falsely cheerful smiles they’re all wearing. Everyone is trying to pretend like nothing is wrong after our second place finish, but they’re doing a piss-poor job. The truth is that deep down everyone is scared shitless about Harrison. That includes me, for different reasons, of course.

  “Have you seen Charlie?” Gus asks, as I draw up to the group.

  “Oh, I’m sure he’ll be coming in a second,” I say dryly, noting my accidental double entendre.

  Oh God...I wonder how far things have gotten between Bex and Charlie? They must have been eyeing each other the whole time this season’s been going on, and I never even noticed. Thinking about the two of them together makes me incredibly sad. If everything with Harrison wasn’t about to go to shit, I’d think it was wonderful that they were getting together. But if Bex is sidling up to Charlie just as he prepares to ruin my chances of happiness, then I’m going to lose them both.

  Of course, there’s always the chance that Charlie has nothing to do with those pictures. Sure, he’s the most likely suspect, but if he really has been carrying on with Bex this whole trip, would he have the extra time to be tailing me and Harrison? Maybe there’s someone else out there who’s just as eager to keep us apart. Someone who’d be willing to put a permanent stain on Harrison’s racing career if it meant breaking us apart.

  “Oh no...” Dad mutters, looking toward the hotel’s entrance.

  I follow his gaze across the lobby and feel my insides twist painfully. Through the sliding glass doors strides Team McClain, with Harrison Davies front and center. I barely notice Bex and Charlie slip in among our number as Harrison spots us across the space. His eyes linger on me for just a moment, but I can read the question in his eyes even from here. He’s wondering why I’m not responding to his texts, whether I’m angry that he beat my brother, if anything is different between us. The short answer is, of course, that things are very different between us now. But how can I tell him that without pissing off my blackmailer?

  The other young people of Team McClain stroll in after Harrison. Andy and Cora walk arm in arm beside him while Sara and Shelby linger behind, their eyes buried in their iPhones. One by one, they spot me across the way. Cora and Andy give friendly smiles, Sara manages a little wave, and Shelby raises her cold eyes right to mine. I watch as the faintest hint of a smile plays across her lips—and it’s not the friendly kind, either.

  Shelby. Of course. Why didn’t I think of her straight away? She could easily be the mystery caller who’s threatening to out me and Harrison as a couple. From the start, it was clear she didn’t like me. And she was there that first night in Barcelona when things first started to heat up between Harrison and I. Could she really have been trailing us from then on out, lurking in shadows, waiting to snap incriminating pictures of us? I have no idea. I’ve barely met the girl. Why the hell would be she doing a thing like this? Maybe she’s carrying a torch for Harrison, and I went and got in her way? It’s insane, but not impossible.

  I look back and forth between Charlie and Shelby. Which one of them is more likely to be behind this? Or—and this thought scares me more than anything—what if it’s not either of them? What if some complete stranger is out there with a batch of pictures that could ruin my life? Someone I can’t reason with or understand, someone who’s just out to make our lives miserable. This isn’t how I pictured things going at all. I was just starting to hope that maybe Harrison and I could find a way to become public without inciting a shit storm. But any chance of that seems about as likely as the Pope converting to Judaism right about now.

  Enzo takes a swaggering step forward, snapping me out of my panicked mind. My brother heads straight for Harrison, who breaks away from his own pack. They walk toward each other across the marble lobby, and the rest of us fall silent. I halfway expect them to take their forty paces before opening fire on each other. But I have a feeling that if a duel does occur between these two, it’s going to go down on the track, not in the lobby of some fancy hotel.

  “Heading out early, Lazio?” Harrison asks, drawing up to my brother. The two men are almost exactly the same size. They’re both tall and muscular, without being outrageously built. I wonder who would come out on top in a fight, if it came to it? Oh Christ, I hope it doesn’t ever come to that. I don’t think I could stand it.

  “Just getting a head start,” my brother replies, crossing his arms.

  “Hoping to get some extra practice in before the next race?” Harrison smiles.

  He’s ribbing Enzo, trying to piss him off. Jesus, do we have to watch this little pissing contest right now? Sometimes even the most manly men can act like overgrown boys.

  “I don’t really believe in being reckless,” Enzo says coolly, “We run a pretty tight ship.”

  “Yes, I see that,” Harrison says, nodding to the rest of us, “But you know, Lazio, sometimes it’s good to shake things up a bit.”

  “You call sleeping through your preliminary shaking things up?” Enzo scoffs.

  “Paid off, didn’t it?” Harrison smiles.

  “It’s dangerous,” Enzo says, “All you do, Davies, is make an already risky sport riskier for us all. It’s inconsiderate, and unsportsmanlike.”

  “But I suppose that cutting off drivers left and right and making personal attacks is the height of acting like a true gentleman, eh Lazio?” Harrison shoots back.

  “No one’s attacking you,” Enzo says, “Don’t be so dramatic.”

  “You know full well what I’m talking about. And you know that I’m right,” Harrison says, “We both know that I’m making you nervous, especially now that I’ve beat your ass, and you’re trying to make yourself feel better by taking cheap shots at my family. Well guess what, Lazio? I’m not my father. And you’re not yours. It’s just you, me, and the rest of the drivers out there. We’re equals.”

  “You are not my equal,” Enzo spits, “You’re a lucky rookie who’s going to get his ass handed to him by the time this championship is over.”

  “You’re dreaming,” Harrison says with a grin.

  “You’re deluded,” Enzo returns, “You’ll burn out in no time, Davies. Sooner or later, you’ll crack. You’ll slip up, and the world will be able to see you for who you really are. A no-good, womanizing, drunkard of a racer who’ll fizzle and die out before long.”

  I watch as Enzo’s words sink into Harrison’s mind. I know he’s thinking the exact same thing as I am: he really does have something to hide these days, but it’s got nothing to do with his father. It’s me he has to worry about.

  “See you in Russia, Lazio,” Harrison says, snapping out of it, “I’ll be the one racing laps around your ass.”

  “Keep telling yourself that,” Enzo laughs, “Poor little boy. I remember my first F1 series. Once you’ve got some experience, you’ll start to understand that strategy and precision trump a movie star smile any day. You may be a charming little bastard, but I’ve been training far longer than you have. And that’s what counts in the end. I’m just going to sit back and watch you figure out how inferior you really are.”

  “That’s about enough of that,” Harrison says, his voice quietly intense.

  “Have I finally struck a nerve?” Enzo smiles, “Good. You should be unnerved. You’re out of your league.”

  “That’s pretty hig
h talk coming from someone I beat this afternoon,” Harrison says.

  “That was luck, plain and simple. And you being a dirty opportunist, of course.”

  “What the hell is your problem, Lazio? You’ve had it out for me from the start.”

  “Damn right,” my brother says, “And I still do.”

  “You threatening me?” Harrison asks, taking a menacing step forward.

  “What of it?” Enzo asks, edging forward himself.

  “I mean to protect myself, is all,” Harrison growls, “And I don’t go down without a fight, I’ll tell you that.”

  “That so?” Enzo asks, shoving Harrison lightly.

  “Damn right,” Harrison returns, shoving back with just a little more force.

  “That’s enough!” Dad shouts, pulling Enzo away from Harrison.

  “Come on,” Andy says, stepping forward to pull Harrison away from my brother, “This isn’t you, mate.”

  “A little friendly rivalry never killed anyone, right Harrison?” Enzo shoots, turning back to Team Ferrelli.

  “There’s a first time for everything,” Harrison replies, storming out of the lobby.

  “What was that?” Enzo shouts, as Team McClain disappears into the hotel, “What the hell did he just say to me?”

  “Stop your yelling,” Gus grumbles, punching Enzo on the arm, “You’re acting like a teenage hot head. Let’s all just make it to Moscow in one piece, shall we?”

  Team Ferrelli goes on toward the doors, but I linger behind. Against my better judgment, I let my eyes follow Harrison toward the bank of elevators. He turns toward me, his eyes full of conflicted frustration. I wish I could go to him, soothe him, make things right. But his team closes in around him, with that horrible Shelby person in among his inner circle, and I find myself flanked at once by Charlie and Bex.

  “Come on, Siena,” Bex says, “They’re going to leave without us if we don’t hurry.”

  I let myself be towed across the lobby by my maybe-friends, tearing my eyes away from Harrison. This is going to be harder than I ever could have imagined. Why was I stupid? I seriously thought that we might make it out of this season unscathed, free to be together. What a joke. More and more, it’s looking like whatever chance at happiness we might have had together is sputtering out. I don’t know how to face that, don’t know who to turn to if not Harrison. He’s the first person I’ve ever met who understands me on a level that goes deeper than words, further than logic. And he’s the one person I can’t talk to about this.

  I follow Bex and Charlie out to Ferrelli’s fleet of private cars. We take off toward the airport, where our private jet will be waiting to ferry us all to Moscow. I used to take such joy in jetting around the world with my team, but this season has changed everything. How can I enjoy myself when everything is unraveling all around me?

  As we arrive at the airport, I feel another buzz against my leg. More texts from the blackmailer, perhaps? I haven’t seen Charlie touch his cell the whole ride. I whip out my phone and peer down—it’s from Harrison again. I open up the text, making sure that no one can see its contents.

  “You seem upset,” it reads, “Did I do something wrong? I want to see you in Moscow. Tell me that I can.”

  My thumbs hover over the keypad while my brain scrambles to come up with something to say. Finally, I settle on two simple words:

  “Not now.”

  I’d hate to be on the receiving end of a vague text like that, especially with our stakes being so damn high, but what choice do I have? I’ve got to stall until I figure out a way to fix this. Harrison will understand, in time.

  Chapter Three

  Russian Rendezvous

  After we’ve touched down in Russia and made it to our next hotel, I barely make it into bed before I collapse, exhausted. The emotional toil of these past few days has finally caught up with me. I’ve never been one to sleep in, but I don’t wake up again until noon the next day. Moscow may be a gorgeous, fascinating city, and any other time I’d love to do a little exploring...but today I’d rather not leave my bed, if I can help it.

  I’ve hardly been awake for a minute when I hear my phone buzzing persistently in my purse. Groaning, I pull myself out of bed and blink blearily at my iPhone’s screen. My stomach drops a foot as I see another text from Harrison’s number.

  “I’m starting to get worried, here,” it reads.

  I bite my lip, staring down at the message. If the tables were turned and Harrison was icing me out, I’d probably be busting down his hotel door by now. I hate doing this to him.

  A knock on my door startles me out of my sleepy stupor.

  “C-come in,” I stutter, hastily deleting Harrison’s message from my phone.

  My bedroom door eases open, revealing my father. I wait for him to make a judgmental remark about the fact that I’m still in bed, but instead he remains quiet. There’s a look on his face that I haven’t seen before. He looks anxious, and if I didn’t know better...I’d almost think he looked sad.

  “Dad...are you OK?” I ask, as he closes the door behind him.

  “What? Oh. Yeah, of course,” he says, smiling thinly, “I just wanted to come check on you is all.”

  Now I know that something must be up. My dad’s never “just come to check on me” in my life, especially not when his mind is consumed with an impending race. Dad wasn’t a cruel or totally negligent father, but it was always very clear to Enzo and I that his career as a driver had to come first in all circumstances. Luckily for us, he was winding down his time on the track by the time our ages hit double digits. Most F1 drivers opt out of racing by the time they hit their late thirties, and Alfonso Lazio was no exception.

  Dad was a racing wunderkind in his day, and was a well-respected driver well before he made it big in his mid-twenties. His whirlwind career charged ahead for more than a decade. He married my mother and saw both of his children born while he was Team Ferrelli’s star driver. But at some point, he decided to take on a less dangerous role in the world of F1. When I was five years old, Dad hung up his helmet and moved on to the world of management. He doesn’t own Team Ferrelli, but he’s one of the team’s most influential shareholders. This way, he’s still involved with his team and sought out for advice, but doesn’t have to get tangled up in anything he’d rather not deal with. Mostly, he concentrates on grooming Enzo, and he’s obviously been doing a bang-up job, at that.

  “Are you just waking up?” he asks now, sitting down at the desk.

  “Oh...yeah. Just catching up,” I say vaguely.

  “Well. You’ve earned a bit of a rest,” he tells me, “I know that this championship season hasn’t been the most peaceful.”

  A hundred memories of Harrison flood my mind, unbidden. If my dad had any idea just how exciting this season has been for me—

  “You look a little flushed,” he says, “Everything alright?”

  “Oh. Yep. Yeah,” I say, wanting to kick myself for blushing like a damn schoolgirl, “Did you, uh, need me to do something? Work-related, I mean?”

  “No, no,” Dad says, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth, “But I like that industrious attitude. You’ve always been such a hard worker, Siena. You get that from me.”

  “Thanks Dad,” I say.

  “I just want you to know that it doesn’t go unnoticed, all your effort,” he says, “I know I give you a hard time, and that I’m not the easiest man to please, but I know that at the end of the day, I can count on you to know what’s good for this team. Sometimes, you know better than I do. Public Relations-wise, of course.”

  “Of course,” I smile.

  “Enzo’s always thought of himself as your protector, your big old brother, but you take care of him just as well, Siena. Thank you for that. Thank you for putting family first and keeping an eye on him.”

  “Sure Dad,” I say, “But...Can I ask what the sudden praise is all about?”

  “Oh God,” Dad laughs, “I hope I’m not so stingy with compliments that
this is strange for you. Am I really that bad?”

  “You’re...not forthcoming with the positive notes,” I allow, “Not that I mind. I like to be challenged in my work.”

  “I’m sorry, Siena,” Dad sighs, standing.

  He crosses the room and wraps me up in an unexpected bear hug. I freeze for a moment, unsure of what to do. We’re a loving family, but Dad’s never been the affectionate type. We always relied on Mom for hugs and kisses, and Dad for tough love. I give into the sudden hug, but unease is stirring in my gut. Something seems off, here. I just can’t tell what...

  “I’m really proud of you,” Dad says, resting his chin on the top of my head, “This isn’t an easy world for young women to get along in, but you’re really holding your own. Even if you weren’t my daughter, I’d try and poach you from another team in a heartbeat.”

  “I enjoy it,” I tell him, pulling away and looking up into his eyes.

  “Is Public Relations where you want to stay?” he asks, pulling me over to sit beside him on the couch.

  I settle down, mulling over the question. “I mean...I think I have a knack for it,” I tell him, “And there’s definitely a rush involved, having the power to shape narratives and stories and all.”

  “But...?” Dad asks, leading me along.

  “But...I suppose the position feels a little limiting,” I admit, “If I’m really honest...I wouldn’t mind having a little more influence someday. There are hardly any women on the managerial side of F1, you know?”

  “I figured you’d have your sights set higher,” Dad says, looking downright elated.

  “Well, you always taught us to go after our dreams,” I say, “I guess I was listening.”

  “I guess you were,” Dad says, “For what it’s worth, I think you’d make an excellent player in the F1 game. Your PR and marketing strategies are brilliant, I’m sure your racing strategies would be just as spot-on.”