Throttled (Dirty Air Series Book 1)

I spend time relaxing on Bandini’s deck after a successful qualifier. Barcelona’s afternoon sun warms my skin as I lounge on a couch overlooking the ocean, blue waves rolling against the sandy coast while birds fly above.

It’s purely coincidental when the Alatorre family shows up on the deck. I take the opportunity to watch Maya and Santiago hang out with their parents, curious to see what their dynamic is like with the people who raised them. Something heavy presses against my lungs at the idea of not having a family supporting me at a race. Must be nice to share the weekend with people you love.

I never had that. My dad usually shows up for the Sunday race and ditches after I place on the podium. He doesn’t care to join me at different events, forgoing a post-race dinner unless he wants something. Manipulative motherfucker. My mother equally disappoints, recently contacting me to hook her up with tickets for her and her friends to see a Prix. The usual shit from them both.

Maya’s mom looks like an older version of her daughter, making it easy to see where Maya gets her good looks from. Her dad rocks Bandini’s gear and a permanent smile while his gray hair peeks out from underneath a scarlet cap. Their parents seem to be loving the F1 experience.

I find it difficult to ignore the pang of jealousy swirling around in my chest, mixing in with sadness and wistfulness—an unwelcome feeling I want to push away. Maya’s family seems simple yet extremely happy, making it hard to overlook how I grew up with a crappy dad and an absentee mom. And it annoys me because I never wanted for anything except attention, something fundamental yet robbed from me. The Alatorres’ ordinariness and my shitty thoughts put me in a negative mental space.

My scowl lifts to a smile at the sight of Maya coming up to me. Her brown hair bobs in the usual ponytail I love to pull, held up with a scrunchie, along with ripped overalls and a white top. I don’t miss the hint of cleavage. The outfit would look ridiculous on anyone, except Maya’s sensual enough to pull it off. A fucked-up nineties girl grinning at me.

“Hey, want to come and meet my parents? They’ve asked about you a few times, wanting to know who Santi has to compete against every week.” She focuses on her feet, absentmindedly pushing around invisible dirt with her sneaker.

If it puts a smile on your face…sure, why not.

I get up and introduce myself. Her mother pulls me in for a surprise hug, showing me how touchy Spanish people are.

“Maya shares such nice things about you. It was kind of you to help her with her videos.”

Not what I expected to come out of her mouth. Maya says good things? I look over at the girl I can’t get out of my head lately. Her face turns red as she stares at her sneakers again, making my small smile break out into a full-blown grin.

‘It’s no problem. I had fun helping her out.”

“She’s lucky to have you around. Especially since she’s all alone when Santi is busy. We tell him he works too hard.”

I doubt her mother would have the same opinions about me if she knew half the thoughts I have about her daughter.

Her dad glares at me like he wants to assess me from the inside out. He acts like he can read the expression on my face, his scrutiny and deep brown eyes making me shift uncomfortably.

“Take care of my little girl.” Hidden meaning fills his statement. I don’t try to get into his daughter’s pants, I just think about it a lot. But I’ve been respectful compared to the way I act with girls I want to fuck. He should be grateful.

Call me an entitled prick. Fuck if I care.

“Santi’s not the one who needs help because he always was our good kid. Maya, on the other hand—” her mother brushes a stray lock of hair out of Maya’s face—“trouble. But the good kind with such a big heart. She’s a little rebellious like her dad.” Maya’s mom smiles up at her husband with love and affection.

I chuckle. “What is the good kind of trouble? I’m curious how I can sell that one to my PR team when I mess up again.”

“She always has good intentions, but they sometimes miss their mark. Overall she’s the best daughter anyone could ask for.” Maya’s mom gazes at me with the warmth only a mother can have.

“Mom,” Maya groans. “Stop talking like I’m not right here.” Her honey-brown eyes look at me for the first time in a while. “Ignore her. She loves telling ridiculous stories.”

“Do you know she used to steal Santi’s kart and ride it around the neighborhood? She was only five years old. Santi exploded when she put a couple of unicorn stickers on the steering wheel.”

I barely contain a laugh as Maya rubs her face, hiding behind small hands.

“Ugh, not a good moment. Santi was mad at me for weeks.” Maya’s lips turn down.

“You liked karting?” I pull on her ponytail to get her attention.

Santi’s eyes narrow in on my hand while her dad scowls at me. Message received.

“I did it a few times on the side, but it was more Santi’s thing. I liked to do whatever he did, including beating boys his age.” She smiles up at me. Damn my chest tightens at her smile, proof of how much of a sucker I am for them lately.

“How about the time she tried to forge her middle-school report card?” Santi fails to control his amusement.

Maya’s cheeks turn into two bright red blobs.

“Maya Alatorre, did you live a life hardened by crime?” I scoff.

“Oh, I remember this one since her mother made me punish her after. Always got stuck disciplining. She actually took her report card out of the mailbox and tried to white-out her bad conduct grade. She sealed the envelope with a steamer before putting it back. If we hadn’t been so angry, we would have been impressed. She cried when I took away her cell phone for a week.” Her dad joins in on the fun.

Maya looks everywhere but at me.

“You guys are literally the worst. Santi, if you keep it up, I’ll tell Mom and Dad about the time you drove their car at fourteen because you wanted to go do donuts outside.”

Oh, shit. The looks on her parents’ faces tell me they don’t know about this story. Maya’s statement shuts up Santiago quicker than I ever could.

He puts his hands up in a mock surrender.

“Truce. No need to fight so dirty.”

The idea of Maya fighting dirty entices me.

Fuck.

I banish those thoughts, choosing to focus on having a normal conversation with my teammate’s parents. We all end up having a good time together until my dad shows up on the deck, sneaky like a snake with enough venom to match. I am surprised he showed up earlier than race day, a rarity that makes me regret skillfully avoiding his phone calls for two days.

The time we spend apart never seems long enough. Cold eyes land on me, two blue orbs as inviting as skinny-dipping in the Arctic Ocean. He keeps his dark hair slicked back and his suit perfectly pressed with not a wrinkle in sight. To others he comes off as welcoming, but his deceptiveness covers up all the darkness simmering beneath his skin.

Maya eyes him curiously. My dad ignores her family, passing by them without a glance. He comes to greet me, giving me a pat on the back, acting happy to see me. Nicholas Slade couldn’t give less of a shit if he tried. But since he cares about a show and his image, my life acts as a side project to keep him busy from decaying during retirement.

He watches Maya’s family suspiciously, paying attention to them for the first time by assessing each of them. Competitors getting along is his worst nightmare. And for a moment I forgot Santiago and I are just that, talking with his family like we don’t have a rivalry.

It felt nice. To be the three of us hanging out with their parents, the Prix on the backburner while they got to know me. Parents who actually seemed curious to ask me questions and learn about the man outside of a Bandini car.

“Son, a second of your time?” The tick in my dad’s jaw tells me everything words won’t.

“I’ll see you all later at the event.” I throw the statement over my shoulder as I follow my dad toward the suites.

“You ignored my calls. I fly all the way out here for you and this is how you treat me? I expect better from my son.”

Right, we both know why he comes out to these events.

I bite back a snarky comment. “I’ve been busy qualifying and getting ready for tomorrow. It’s good that you found me between events.” Lies. But I’ve learned from the biggest fraud of them all.

“Yeah. We need to come up with a plan for tomorrow.”

We enter my private room. My dad settles into one of the couches, a dark cloud against the white walls of the room as he sucks the energy from me. He grabs one of the red pillows and props himself up against it.

“How are you going to go about winning the race?” He jumps into it.

I haven’t seen him in almost a year, and he doesn’t even ask how I am, unsurprising, but still grating on my nerves.

“By racing the best I can?” I meet with strategists and engineers for hours each week to prepare for a Prix. Don’t need his shitty two cents.

“It’s Santiago’s home race. That means it’s a big one for him. You should have seen his parade today. Thousands showed up.”

“That’s awesome for him. A home Prix is usually the best for those racers. I can’t wait for the Austin one, to go back to the States and eat Southern food.” My mouth waters at the idea of barbecue food.

“Well, you obviously need to wipe the floor with him tomorrow. There’s nothing worse than losing in your hometown,” my dad sneers.

I struggle to hide my irritation. Racing fuels a passion of mine while easing the edginess inside of me. Yeah, it’s a job, but it’s much more because I enjoy it and compete against the best. My dad sucks the fun and excitement out of anything, making everything a rivalry. No wonder he had no friends back in his day.

“Sure, Dad. I’ll try my best.”

“You better. I’m here and the press will eat that shit up. They love a good father-son moment.” He treats me like a shiny accessory.

“I need to get going. It’s a busy night before the race tomorrow.” I throw him a wave before taking off.

Race day in Barcelona. The crowds bounce around in the stands, charged up with excitement. Machines buzz, drills hum, and computers beep in the pit. Sophie’s dad tests out the team radio in my ear to ensure we have an open line of communication.

I zip up my racing suit and put on my flame-retardant headgear. I look down at my helmet, savoring the moment of representing Bandini’s brand and appeasing my fans. This life is all I know, and it brings me comfort to put on my helmet. Honey, I’m home.

Crew members push my car toward my grid location. Liam has pole position, while I’m second, and Santiago’s third.

Before a race, I spend hours studying the track, making sure I’ve memorized all of the turns. A total of sixty-six laps made up of sixteen turns stand between me and the Spanish Grand Prix’s podium.

The race kicks off with a bang. An American team driver crashes his car into the barrier on the first turn, taking down two other drivers with him. What a shitshow as metal flies around and cars run into one another.

Liam holds first place for the first few laps. We play a game between the two of us, me trying to pull up to his side and him being aggressive on the turns. Sweat trickles down my neck as my skin warms from the heat of the engine. I take a couple sips of my drink to stay hydrated because nothing is worse than getting woozy as I drive around at top speeds.

I narrowly avoid clipping Liam’s tire at one of the sharper turns. He pulls away from the curve, flashing me a glove-clad middle finger. His rattled state makes me chuckle. The car continues hauling ass down the racetrack as I hit a main straight. An opportunity for overtaking presents itself when Liam lets down his defenses for a split second. I pass him at one of the turns. My foot presses on the accelerator, allowing my car to pick up speed and race down the straights, leaving Liam in my rearview mirror. Too bad, so sad.

Fans wave their Spanish flags and big face cutouts of Santiago in the air. They blur past me as I continue down the track.

Negative thoughts fill my head about the crap my dad said yesterday. I don’t want to be a teammate who steps on others, trying to one-up them every time, acting like my father. No one likes a piece of shit. The type who takes everything, not caring how it affects the other person. Santi’s had a rough go starting out this season. His rashness fucks me up, but he wants to win as much as anyone else.

Losing in Austin would suck. How disappointing—all those fans showing up, hoping you represent them well but falling short.

Fuck me, I hate thinking while racing.

After a pit stop, I make my way back up the race ranks from fourth to first again. I hold onto my first-place spot for another twenty-six laps.

“Noah, Santiago’s gaining speed behind you. He’s in second now. For the love of God, don’t crash into each other at a turn.” My radio relays the team principal’s message.

“Copy. What happened to Liam?” I growl at his words because I’m not crashing into anyone today.

“Don’t worry about that now. Santiago is behind you by about five seconds. Be careful not to let him overtake you.”

“Got it, thanks.”

My defensive position at the head of the pack takes minimal effort to keep. Blurring crowds welcome me as I pass the starting point again, a wave of red and gold colors flying by me, matching the Spanish flag the Alatorres had earlier. Their cheers get louder as Santiago passes them while he closes the gap behind me. A few seconds away from me now. If I were Santiago, I would do anything to win this race.

He tails me the whole time, waiting for me to slip up.

The image of Maya and her family coming all this way to see him succeed flies through my mind. Shit. I try to push away the thoughts, but the invasive images don’t let up, accompanied by sounds of Maya’s laughs and cheers. My hands grip the steering wheel as I think about the sacrifices his parents made for his career. Sacrifices Maya made living in his shadow. Never being one to steal the spotlight, preferring to dance around in the dark while her brother gets all the attention. Unfortunately for her, people like me thrive in the shadows.

Fuck. I never think this much during a race, like ever, because thinking makes me stupid. Thinking leads me to come up with my rash, selfless plan in the first place.

A fucking anomaly.

On the sixtieth lap, I let down my defenses more. I do it slowly, making sloppier turns, allowing more space for anyone to overtake me, while I still stay in control of my car. Messing up too quickly would draw negative attention to myself.

“Noah, is everything all right? Santiago’s gaining speed. He wants to overtake you. Make your turns tighter.”

“Copy. I think something’s off with the car, but I can’t figure it out. Do you see anything on the screens?” I sure as shit know there is nothing wrong, but I have to milk it to the point where I believe my own words. Fans can tune into my team radio via live television.

“Nothing over here. Can you describe what’s happening? We can figure it out for you.” My engineer sounds hopeful.

“Not really. I think there’s something wrong with the steering wheel. It feels loose.” The lie leaves my lips easily as I make another bad turn.

“Got it. Just keep going and we’ll figure it out later.” They all buy it, my authentic display working on the team. I still want to land on the podium anyway.

By lap sixty-four, I make worse turns that leave myself open for an overtaking. To no one’s surprise, Santiago passes me at one of the corners, rattling my car as he zooms by.

My lips lift at the corners.

The crowd goes wild, releasing deafening roars when Santiago crosses the finish line first, red smoke billowing up into the air from canisters. I solidify my second place on the podium when I get the next checkered flag.

Better luck next time.

Santiago’s family celebrates behind the barrier next to the podiums as they watch us on the stage. His parents light up the entire stage with their smiles alone. Maya has decked herself out in Bandini gear, with a Spanish flag wrapped around her as she dances around to the music streaming from the stage speakers. Watching her happy makes my heart clench like a chick.

Usually, when I meet a woman, the first thing that attracts me is a set of perky tits, a tight ass, and seductive lips. But for the first time in my life, I’m interested in someone for a different reason. With Maya, the most beautiful thing about her is how her eyes light up with happiness when she grins, an infectious smile that makes my lips turn up every time. Her beam is hands down one of my favorite things. A bubble of positive energy, dancing in circles without a care in the world.

Does she have a great body? Sure.

But at this moment, her smile draws me to her. I want to keep them all to myself and bottle them up for the bad days. Don’t get me started on her laughs. I feel them all the way down to my cock, every single time.

Champagne sprays all around me, but I barely pay attention, too enamored by her.

And fuck, it scares me.

I smirk one last time at the sight of her before turning back to the rest of the crowd. They chant my name, and although it feels great to hear them, nothing beats the smile on Maya’s face as she watches us.

My dad paces the motorhome’s lobby after the winners’ ceremony. He follows me to the private suite area, his agitation evident in his jerky steps. The sounds of our shoes against the smooth floor distract me. I pull him away from others because we don’t need an audience for his explosion. He enters the suite first, and before I have a chance to close the door, he shoves me toward the center of the room. His dirty move catches me off guard. My feet trip on the slick tile, but I right myself before hitting a couch.

So this is how today is going to go.

“What the fuck, Noah? You call that racing?” His voice echoes off the walls. Someone’s cranky about my second-place win.

“Last time I checked we called it racing. But maybe the concepts have changed since you last drove. It’s been a while.”

My dad’s chest heaves up and down as his eyes dart around, wild and uncontrolled. It’s the same look he gave me every time I failed to land on a shitty kart podium or crashed my F2 car. A glare he saved for our alone time in his office before he smacked my ass into the next day. Lucky for us bruises aren’t visible when you wear race suits daily. Not a single scar was left on my skin except for the mangled remains of my heart, a mistrusting organ ruined by the man before me. A cliché of the worst kind.

“I don’t sponsor this team to see a shitty performance like that from my own son. I don’t buy your crap with the steering wheel. All the tests came back fine; nothing seemed loose.” His voice gets louder as his agitation grows. My face remains flat because I don’t feed into his anger. The fallout from his rage is a lesson I don’t wish to revisit anytime soon, at least not in this lifetime.

I look over his shoulder and catch the suite door ajar, a shocked Maya staring back at me through the crack with a hand covering her mouth. Acting like Spanish Nancy Drew piecing together what I did.

Just a bad day in racing. Steering wheel problems happen all the time.

“There was something off. Hopefully they find out what happens before the next race, that way I can get first place next time.”

“Bullshit! Don’t try to pull something over on me, acting all coy. You know I basically fund your career here. People would kill for your seat. I could replace you like that.” He snaps his fingers.

“Go ahead. I’m sure McCoy would offer me a seat in a heartbeat. That team probably pays more than Bandini does anyway. Wouldn’t you like that?”

A resounding crack fills the small room as my head snaps to the side. My dad fucking backhanded me. I try my hardest not to start something with him, my breaths becoming labored as my self-control teeters. Maya’s gasp and the whooshing sound in my ears make it difficult to make out any other noises.

I wipe away blood trickling down my mouth. It feels like I’m ten years old again, getting third place in a kart race, my dad pissed and taking his anger out on me. Looks like old tricks never die.

“Oh Father, I thought we were past this. You should put more meaning behind a hit like that; maybe age is getting to you.”

“I thought we were moving on from your shitty attitude, but I guess I was wrong. Fix yourself up. You look like a fucking mess.”

Thank fuck Maya has the foresight to disappear because my dad barrels through, ending our crappy conversation. I take a deep breath before looking into the hall, surprised yet relieved to find it empty, a nosy Maya long gone.