Chapter 4

Five in the morning, I arrived at the Devil's Bend test track.

It was remote, the track conditions brutal.

I ran the entry angle over and over, breathing in the engine heat and the acrid stink of scorched rubber.

My heart hammered, wild, at the thought of meeting the idol of my youth.

Eight o'clock sharp.

A jet-black off-roader slid into a perfect drift and stopped clean at the edge of the track.

The door opened, and Hunter Holt stepped out in a sharply cut black racing suit.

He was taller than he looked on screen, straight-backed, his features cut cold. My heartbeat skipped.

He walked straight up to me and held out a hand.

"Sara, your late-braking technique is stunning."

"I didn't read you wrong. Go all out."

The test began.

I pushed past my limits lap after lap, sweat soaking through my suit, drowning in a kind of fierce, clean joy.

During the break, my lawyer sent over the digital divorce papers.

"Ms. Bennett, confirm sending to Mr. Black?"

I stared at the screen. The perfume on Ethan's clothes flashed through my mind, and that grand firework birthday in the floating text.

I didn't hesitate.

"Send it."

The afternoon test was winding down. I'd just pulled off my helmet when the text surged across my vision like something gone rabid.

[Holy shit. Mr. Black took Daisy to the Isle of Man TT.]

[He booked out the entire death course just so Daisy could experience it.]

[I'm dead. This is straight out of a fairytale. So romantic.]

[Daisy's driving the Phantom. Mr. Black said the car is hers from now on, her personal ride.]

[The most iconic scene from the novel is coming. Mr. Black waits at the finish line, then sweeps Daisy into the deepest, most heartfelt kiss. A vow sealed at full throttle. I'm slain.]

The helmet hit the concrete hard.

A cold went through me, head to foot. My hands shook so badly I couldn't work the zipper of my suit.

"Sara?"

Hunter Holt caught the change in me and came over fast.

I leaned against the wall, my head ringing.

That was my dream, the course I'd have given anything to conquer.

The place he had sworn he would ride with me.

And he'd just casually ground eight years of my youth and faith under his heel into dust.

Hunter saw my face go ashen, my breath coming short, and barked out an order.

"Medical. Get the oxygen over here."

He stripped off his oversized jacket and draped it around my shaking shoulders, half-supporting, half-carrying me back to the lounge.

I stared at the floor, feeling like the world's biggest joke.

I checked my phone. The divorce papers had been sent three hours ago.

From Ethan, nothing. Not so much as a punctuation mark.

He was probably busy kissing his true love at the finish line.

At ten that night, a knock came at my hotel door.

Hunter Holt stood outside holding a cup of calming tea.

"Get some sleep. There's a real race tomorrow."

I took the cup and thanked him, promising over and over that I'd never let personal matters touch my driving.

He nodded, then spoke again.

"Next month, my mentor retires. There's a tribute exhibition race. I want to hire you as my partner."

I went still.

"Why me?"

He looked into my eyes and said it plainly.

"Because there's a soul in the way you drive."

"My mentor admires you too. He wants to meet early, talk strategy. He's downstairs in the restaurant. Is that all right?"

I nodded right away, changed into something casual, and went with him.

In the private dining room, the white-haired old man was warm and kind, pouring my tea himself, telling me I looked livelier than I did on tape.

He told us how he and his wife met through racing and stood by each other through life and death for forty years.

The mood was warm and easy. Then it all came apart at once.

The door slammed open, kicked in hard.

Ethan, eyes bloodshot, locked onto us.

He charged forward and swept the tea service off the table, then jabbed a finger at Hunter Holt and screamed at me.

"Sara, did you crawl into his bed already? Is that why you're in such a rush to divorce me?"