Nora
My car.
The Crimson Lotus #2 gleams under the neon lights. Its deep red is like polished silk, a sight that captures my heart. To be honest, I've never been a fan of the color, but on this beast… well, it's badass.
I turn for a second, instinctively looking for Stephan, and catch his gaze lingering on me. I flash him a defiant smile. Sure, his #1 is incredible—a true technological marvel. I wouldn't expect anything less for a champion. They must have dangled some serious bonuses under his nose to convince him to tear up an F1 contract just to come to this hell of dust and burnt rubber.
I see him talking to Zandar and another man—his teammate, I assume. They circle the car, and then the engine fires up.
A roar hits me square in the sternum like a warning. It isn't the clean, refined sound of a European racing engine; it's a mechanical scream, jagged and starved for oxygen.
"Eight hundred horsepower on a chassis that weighs as much as a feather. Zandar doesn't want drivers; he wants martyrs on the asphalt."
The low voice, almost a growl beside me, belongs to Zuri.
"What are you doing here?" I ask without turning around. "I thought you'd be lost in contemplation of your own car."
Zuri snorts—a low, frustrated sound.
"My Iron Lion has nothing to envy yours. A naturally aspirated V12 with enough raw power to leave you practically standing at the starting grid."
I turn, and his eyes are glued to my car. "Then why are you drooling over mine?"
He smiles with his mouth, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Nora, listen to me. These cars don't have a torque limiter. If you floor it in the wet..."
This time, I'm the one who snorts.
"You think I don't know that, Zuri? I've spent the last year studying how to shatter lap times. And now I finally have the machine to do it. Don't worry about my torque. Worry about your mirrors—you're going to be seeing me in them a lot."
With a sudden jerk, he grabs my shoulders, spins me around, and gets right in my face.
"Listen to me, you reckless brat! You think I came here because I'm attracted to death? I'm not here to race, Nora." He pauses briefly. "I'm here for you! I don't want you to—"
I see the pain in his eyes and the lines marking his handsome ebony face. I shake my head and reach out two fingers to brush his cheek.
"Go home, Zuri. I'm staying. And if you're afraid I'll follow Adriano's fate, I can assure you that won't happen." I sigh and pull away from his hands, taking a step back. "My brother believed in the spirit of racing; he was dutiful and respected his opponents. I don't."
I throw a fiery glance toward Stephan.
"I won't let this go. Not until I know what happened."
Zuri takes a step toward me, but I block him. "I don't want to go to your funeral, so I'm telling you again: go back."
He shakes his head, closing his eyes for a moment. When he reopens them, they are icy and determined.
"You want competition? You want the truth? Fine, kid. I'll show you what racing really is. Let's see who makes it home first."
His tone betrays his irritation, and I know he's doing this out of brotherly affection. If he's going to protect me, I'll do the same for him. I hold out a hand to seal the pact.
"See you under the checkered flag."
He squeezes my hand firmly, then turns his back and walks away.
"Protective type," Zandar comments, approaching.
"Clingy, I'd say," I reply, giving him a grim look. "Couldn't you have left him out of this?"
"And miss out on a dramatic atmosphere like this? Nora, you'll learn to know me better."
"Just give me what I want and keep me out of your little games," I huff, stroking the car as I walk around it.
"If I only wanted a race, adrenaline, and the smell of burnt oil, I would have bought a championship. Here, I am building a world of breath-taking races—a set of light and shadow over all your lives, and lots and lots of money and sponsors. A sort of dollhouse where I play with your lives."
I pierce him with a murderous look. "Aren't you too old to be playing puppeteer?"
"Life bores me, as does money. But if I can define the destiny of others, then the stakes get interesting."
"You won't have mine."
"That's why I brought you here." He leans in and whispers in my ear. "You are the roll of the dice, the unknown variable no one accounted for. You are the joker in my deck of cards, darling. And in exchange, I will bring you the head of your brother's killer."
"Wilson?"
"You'll find out."
With a smirk, he straightens up, adjusts the jacket over his shoulders, and leaves the pit box.
"Gaudenzi, this is no time to be flirting with the Boss."
A small, lithe woman with Oriental features approaches with a graceful stride. Her smile is sincere, as is the hand she offers me.
"Mei Ling, your teammate. And the one who will save your ass in tight spots."
Unexpectedly, I burst out laughing and return the handshake. "Sisterhood alliance?"
"Mostly, I'm interested in the prize money. And I know you're someone worth betting on for the win."
I nod and cross my arms. "Even if my goal is something else?"
She studies me for a few moments, then nods. "Then play it smart and don't reveal your hand right away. Make yourself unreachable, mysterious. And on the track, show no mercy."
"Mysterious? Um, apparently everyone knows who I am."
"But not the bettors. You've been away from the track for a long time; here, you're practically a rookie. Pick a name, drop a heavy surname, and rewrite your story."
There is a certain logic in her words. A new me. A new Nora.
"What's your nick?"
She smiles, her cheeks narrowing her eyes. She is beautiful.
"Xuěhuā. It means 'Snowflake' in Chinese."
"Then I'll take my mother's surname: D'avalos."
"A noble house? Hmm. I'll call you The Lady."
"Alright girls, now that you've bonded, how about we test the cars? Zandar ordered a static warm-up and a few practice laps."
With two pats on our shoulders, Adam Norris, the head mechanic, pushes us toward the back of the pit to put on our racing suits.
I am ready.