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I push into first place again at the next turn, my front wing creeping ahead of his. Just a few inches apart.īoth engines rev as the accelerators hit their maximum. On the next straight road, Santiago pulls up to my side, our wheels nearly touching. I don’t fold on my first-place spot, having no interest in letting Santiago overtake my car. Hands clench around the steering wheel as I take a few deep breaths. The fucker races right up to my rear wing, closing the gap between our cars-unwise for the narrow set of twists coming up. His skills are decent for a new guy, but one too many close calls during this race season make me hesitant to let him get close.

He acts like a young shit who tries to show off a little too much, attempting to make a name for himself with his team and the F1 circuit. I shake my head as my car hugs another turn. Speak of the devil, Santiago’s royal blue car shows up in my side mirror. Don’t underestimate him, he wants the win.” More chatter echoes through the radio. “Santiago cut in front of Liam at the last turn. After a grueling season fighting off Liam, Santiago, and Jax, I have one last Grand Prix between me and the World Championship win. Relax out there, you still have fifty-two more laps to go. Liam pulls back, unable to pass me, as my car surges forward.Ī mechanic talks into the radio. Metal trembles as the right tires lift off the ground before slamming back down. I pull a risky move, pushing on the brake a few seconds later than recommended for a curb. Adrenaline flows through my body as Liam’s car comes up next to mine at one of the curves, the recognizable steel-gray paint glistening under the desert sun. The first few laps of the race go without a hitch. My foot presses on the brake seconds before I make another turn, soft tires screeching against the asphalt. The hum of the engine fills me with exhilaration as I speed down another straight at over two hundred miles per hour. I stay defensive of my position, making it difficult for anyone to overtake my car at the turns. Keep up the pace and mind your turns.” The team principal’s voice carries over the radio in my helmet. “Noah, I want to let you know Liam Zander’s behind you, followed by Jax Kingston and Santiago Alatorre. But I suffer from tunnel vision on the track. Tires skid across the pavement, squeals sounding off behind me from other drivers. I press against the throttle, and my car rushes down the straight road before I pull up to the first turn. Lights shut off to signal the start of the Grand Prix.

One by one, red lights illuminate above me, shining off the hood’s glossy red paint.

#THROTTLED LAUREN ASHER PDF HOW TO#

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