Collided (Dirty Air Series Book 2)

Sophie’s dad didn’t throw a grenade at me yesterday. He dropped a motherfucking IED and hoped I knew what to do with it. Lukas plotted with me because Sophie taught me plans lead to effectiveness. I privately spoke with different teams, surpassing an agent because fuck Rick the dick very much.

One of the last items on my list is to confront the sly motherfucker and his goon of a sidekick.

Cameras face me as reporters ask questions about the final Prix and my runner-up standing. I’m proud as hell of my performance this year because despite the stacked odds and snakes in the McCoy pit, I placed second against many talented racers.

“Liam, care to comment on the recent article about you and Miss Mitchell?”

“Since you’re bringing that up, I’d like to announce some important news. My relationship with Sophie Mitchell will be just that. My relationship. I’m tired of you asking me questions about my personal life, or about her. She’s off-limits—to you, to paparazzi, and to any other straight male within a one-hundred-mile radius of her. She’s mine, the end. I’m a lucky bastard who she for some reason fell in love with. That means I’m not allowing my relationship to go to shit because of vultures who want to tear us down. This is my first and last warning regarding the subject. The next person who brings her up in any way besides complimenting her gets blacklisted from the interview schedule. You guys love to comment how damn replaceable we all are here, so let’s turn the tables, shall we?”

Noah’s head snaps toward me, his lips fighting a smile. “Damn. I didn’t think you had that level of assholery in you. I’m impressed.”

Microphones don’t pick up on my voice. “I’ve been watching you be a dick for years. Learned from the best.”

I bide my time, aware one of these reporters will ask exactly what I need. They can’t help it.

“Liam, have you decided what team you’ll be driving for?”

Predictable fuckers. “It’s funny you ask. Here’s some more breaking news.” Camera bulbs flash and reporters seem to scoot in closer, waiting for me to speak. “I will not be competing with McCoy next year. My ex-agent Rick is a con who manipulated me because he wanted me to sign with the team again. Richard Johnson is a fraud and anyone who’s hired him should seek new representation. For months, he lied to me and told me how only two other teams besides McCoy were interested in signing me. He wanted to receive a bigger pay cut from McCoy instead of letting me choose between different offers.” I toss my McCoy ball cap toward the side of the stage.

“And where do you plan on going next year?”

“To be determined. But let it be known, whether I come back or not, I drive F1 cars for the love of it. Not for the drama and sure as hell not for dicks in suits telling me what to do.”

Noah and Santiago clap at my speech. Jax whistles from the sidelines, standing next to Elena, who stares at me with wonder and shock. Sorry, dear, no PR rep can fix this.

I spent the whole season trying to make up for my mistakes with Peter and the team. In the end, my idiocy has no bounds, with me concentrating my energy on a team that didn’t matter instead of on people who did.

As far as me competing next year, of course I am. But I can’t announce anything until I get the girl. Without her, there’s no point.

Jax pulls me aside once the press conference wraps up. “I’ll miss you. Now I really have a chance at winning another Championship.”

“I’m joining a different team, not dying. Better luck in about seven years when I retire.” I pound his fist.

“Nah. It’ll be sooner than that once you start popping out little blonde-haired babies with your future wife.”

I pull him in for a hug.

“As much as I hate to interrupt this powwow, a little warning would have been nice.” Elena’s melodic voice greets us.

I turn around, ready to set the record straight.

She interrupts me before my mouth opens. “I could have helped you devise a better way to say all of that. I’m disappointed you didn’t drop an F-bomb to really drive the point home.”

Jax needs to pick my jaw up off the floor because I didn’t expect her reaction.

I grin at her. “Can I keep you on retainer? I’m bound to fuck up at least once or twice.”

“I’ll give you my card. Looks like McCoy and I will have our hands full with this one—” Elena points at Jax “—but I can handle multiple projects at once.” She passes me a matte business card.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jax snaps her. I don’t know what shocks me more—the way he acts around her, or how she remains professional and ignores him.

She squints her eyes. “Have you picked up a magazine lately? You’ve got more issues than Vogue.”

I drop my head back and laugh for the first time in a while. “You have your work cut out for you. Just a tip, he works best after a nap.”

Jax stares at Elena with a clenched jaw and crossed arms, a gleam in his eye present for the first time in a long while. If I didn’t have any plans, I’d push him for more, wondering what about Elena sets him off. Instead, I say my goodbyes before walking away because I have places to go and people to wreck.

Life comes full circle. Before the season began, Peter and Rick met with me to discuss my issues, cast judgments, and throw jabs at me. Now, I call a meeting with them because I can. Rick squirms in his seat with his gelled hair askew and pinstripe suit wrinkled. Peter remains neutral with a flat smile, clasped hands, and a shining head.

I take a deep breath. “Rick, I wish I could say it was a pleasure to work with you, but I’d be lying. I know honesty isn’t a familiar concept for you so let me break it down. You fucked with the wrong man. I suggest you crawl back to whatever American hellhole you came out of because you’ll never be hired in this industry again, let alone another sport. I’ll make it my personal mission to ensure you never have a chance. I trusted you, and this is how you repay me? Fuck that.”

“I don’t know what you’ve been told, but I’m sure we can work something out.” Rick’s throat bobs.

“Are you really trying to pretend you didn’t fuck with my signing?”

“I didn’t say that. But I’m sure we can come to an agreement about your contract. Maybe Peter is open to offering you more money.” Rick’s eyes alternate between Peter and me.

“To make this all go away, I’m willing to add another ten million. With a stipulation that McCoy is kept out of any drama related to Rick.” Peter taps his hand against the table.

“Are you both fucking for real right now? This isn’t about money, or about a stupid contract for next year.”

Rick’s look of shock feeds the anger and resentment inside me at him not only messing with me, but with Sophie. For making her cry, for being a crappy agent and an even shittier human being. I can’t believe I ever trusted this man.

I continue, staring straight into Rick’s panicked eyes. “I hope it was worth cutting a deal with Peter to receive an extra million if I stayed with McCoy without ever finding out. Truly, your greed for an extra six zeros will need to hold you over for the rest of your life because you’re done here. Same with you, Peter.”

Peter and Rick rotate their heads toward each other. The jig is up, motherfuckers.

“Liam, I don’t know where you got this misleading information but…” Peter’s eyes flare.

If I weren’t in such a piss-poor mood, I would laugh at the rattled site of him. I grab two manila folders from my backpack. Peter shuts up as I slide him the folder.

“Oh, I almost forgot a few things. Anger clouds my judgment like that. Peter, I didn’t invite you here for a show. I hope you enjoyed that false sense of security because I’m about to rip not only the carpet out from under you, but the whole fucking foundation. I respect the hard-working McCoy team too much to screw with the image of the brand. They don’t deserve to suffer from your greed, manipulation, and selfishness.”

Peter shifts in his seat. His eyes remain on the dull yellow folder, not bothering to flip a page.

I offer a wicked grin. “You know, all this time I thought Claudia was releasing information about me to the press. I assumed she wanted to get back at me for what I did and the pain I caused. But imagine my surprise when I found out you were the one behind those articles. Because why would I ever assume the man who wanted to defend the brand—who should’ve wanted to protect me—would do something callous like that? Well-played, I’ll give you that. Unfortunately, I can’t take the credit for outsmarting you. All I can say is that you messed with the wrong man’s daughter. Although you can thank yourself for the bullet wound in your foot, you can thank James Mitchell for the one to your cold, calculating heart.”

Peter opens the folder and flips through multiple pages of transcripts with reporters. Everything is documented nowadays, including Peter’s use of his personal computer to privately message reporters using a fake account. Peter was no match for James Mitchell, who did something along the lines of tracking IP addresses back to hotels or something. I’m too afraid to ask where he learned his hacking skills, but apparently, he was able to connect Peter to the gossip magazines and paparazzi.

“It doesn’t matter what I did when my family owns the company.” Peter has the balls to stare me down, alluding to the venom he expertly disguises. I wish I had realized his deception sooner, saving Sophie from experiencing pain at the hands of these two fuckers.

“Is that so? You’re a smart man since you tricked me after all. But let’s apply some critical-thinking skills here. In the end, you treated me like a pawn in your own game, but unfortunately for you both, you messed with the wrong queen.”

Rick’s wild eyes gaze upon Peter as realization dawns on him. Took his slimy ass long enough to come to grips with how his time is up, with no Peter McCoy swooping in to save him. How can he when Peter’s too busy losing his job?

I stand, the chair’s wheels squeaking against the polished floor as I place my hands on the table. “Enjoy the last ten minutes of managing McCoy.”

Peter sucks in a breath at the knock on the door.

“Looks like your replacement is here.” My footsteps echo off the walls.

Two sets of beady eyes follow me, their bodies frozen.

“Have a nice life.” I salute them with a middle finger and walk out the door.