Throttled (Dirty Air Series Book 1)

I ended up placing runner-up in yesterday’s race. Jax put up one hell of a fight for the first-place spot, deserving his Prix win. The hard track and my placement keeps me pleased with my performance.

My dad, on the other hand, is not.

Regrettably, he invited me to dinner, a rare occasion since he never stays after a race, choosing to leave as soon as he can. The whole idea of dinner puts me on high alert. I can count on one hand the total amount of outings we’ve had together since I joined F1.

To put it short, my father deserves to be fucked right up the ass with a tub of Icy Hot Extra Strength for lube.

He comes off condescending to me and the waiters. My hands curl every time he speaks to someone with a chip the size of a twenty-pound kettlebell on his shoulder. It takes everything in me to not jump over the table and pull him by the shirt, spit in his face and rip him a new asshole to match his personality.

My chest tightens at the thought of acting similarly to him. I want to forget the countless girls, the cockiness, and my attitude. To protect myself, I gave up bits and pieces until I was void of feeling. Deception plays cruel jokes on people. Turns out while I busied myself with putting on a show, I was the person I lied most to. Eventually I believed all the deceits, the excuses I made for my shitty attitude and moodiness, becoming the asshole I was escaping.

My dad’s piss-poor attitude drives home all the points I’ve learned along the way this year. And the worst part? I actually feel bad for my dad. I pity him.

Nicholas Slade has no one, using money and power to get his way, never loving someone else. How can he when the man he adores happens to be his own reflection? To be honest, he doesn’t love me. Fuck, he doesn’t even like me, let alone share any semblance of the four-letter L word. He’s a selfish bastard who lives vicariously through me.

But to move forward in life, I have to face these issues from my past. My therapist will be pleased with how I sit silently, taking deep breaths, putting up with his shit.

I put out a lifeline for him. A test of sorts.

“Maya mentioned you chatted at the race together.” My voice stays relaxed despite a tingling sensation growing inside of me.

“Mm, yeah. She’s a pretty piece of ass. When are you going to drop the bomb on Santiago? It’s a smart plan, fucking with his head before the final Prix.” His grin leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. How does he sleep at night? Restless, with a soul as black as the darkness that surrounds him.

“She’s my girlfriend.”

Not officially. But he doesn’t need to know.

He tilts his head at me, offering a sinister smile. “If that’s what you call your fuck buddies now, all the power to you.”

My skin wants to crawl off my body and take up shop somewhere else. I attempt to give him a chance, waging an internal war.

“I’m probably going to marry her one day. I think she’s the one.” I say the words with confidence.

The idea is a little premature, sure. But I have a good feeling about her. Maya breathes new life into me, not wanting to piece me together but accepting all my jagged parts. Waking up next to her makes my mornings, not because of her phenomenal blowjobs, but for the special smile she gives me when I hit her snooze button five times. I love the way she lies in bed reading books in the middle of the day, unbothered and shooing me away when she hits a good part. She brushes off my gruff attitude with a smile and a kiss because I can be a moody asshole when I don’t place first—conditioned because of the shitty man sitting in front of me. Most of all, I like how she makes me want to be a better person. For her, for me, for the whole goddamn world.

My dad gives me a tight smile. “Better hire a lawyer for a prenup then. Women like her are only after one thing, and it’s not your shining personality and good looks.”

My façade drops. I run out of fucks to give him because he is too far gone to help. I made sure to prepare for this exact moment because I had anticipated the stunt he pulled with Maya. After all, I’ve watched him for years. I didn’t expect him to threaten Santi’s contract because I thought he would come after mine.

I let out a long exhale. He looks up at me, his dark eyes glaring at me.

“After spending time with people who care about me, I realized some things. People who love you spend time with you both on and off the track. They go to events and stay until the end to be around you because they want to. It’s not about whether you win or lose. I’m a World Champion and you treat me like a piece of shit on your shoe. Inconvenient and unwanted.”

He tries to say something, but I throw up my hand to shut him up. The upscale restaurant he chose allows us the privacy we need for this heart to black fucking heart.

“And you threaten my girlfriend? You actually fucking told her that her brother may lose a contract with Bandini? Like how sad and shitty is your life that you’d do that? I’m done trying with you. You’ve been a crappy dad my whole life, only caring when it benefits you. In the end, being in my life is more about your image than about being there for me.”

I only pay attention to his rapid blinking and lowering my heart rate.

“You can’t cut me out when I sponsor your team. I was serious about Santiago’s contract renewal. Try me.” He hisses like the fucking snake he is.

“Oh, Father. The thing is I have it all handled. Bandini no longer needs your generous donations. I attended almost every sponsor event, meeting, and gala held this year, slowly securing enough sponsorships to outbid yours. You’re done with my team. Feel free to back another group if you want. Not sure if they need a donor with a crappier attitude than the sewer you crawled out of, but hell, you are a legend after all.”

“This isn’t over. I’m still a sponsor this year, so I’ll do whatever the hell I want.”

I throw my cloth napkin on the table. “I don’t give a fuck. Do whatever you feel like, but stay the hell out of my way.”

No need to sit around and spend another minute with this man, my stomach threatening to rid itself of shame and a sixty-dollar steak.

He doesn’t bother with an apology.

I leave my past behind at the table of some fancy-ass restaurant. Fuck him to the farthest galaxy and back because the moon is just too damn close for comfort.