Page 24 of Redline
Every moan Sienna let out was just background noise to the memory of Carter’s silent judgment at the track today. She’d invaded my refuge, stood there with that observant tilt of her head, and dismissed my entire career with a single look at a stopwatch.
I took my frustration out on Sienna, my grip on her hips bruising, my pace unrelenting and automatic. I wasn't here. I was back in the tight, suffocating confines of that closet, feeling the friction of someone who actually had the nerve to fight back. I was trying to bleed the thought of her out of my system, using the girl in front of me to erase the one who was currently ruining my life.
I didn't want Carter. I wanted the control she’d stolen from me.
Then, footsteps.
Hesitant. Right on time.
I almost smiled against Sienna’s neck.
The door creaked open. A sliver of light cut through the dark, hitting the floor.
Carter stood there.
The air in the room died, turning thick and stagnant. Sienna whimpered my name, her head tipped back and eyes squeezed shut, lost in a fantasy that was seconds away from shattering. But I was looking past her.
I expected Carter to scream. I expected her to gasp, to turn on her heel and bolt down the hallway in a fit of pure, virginal horror. That was the script. That was part of this trap.
But Carter didn’t run.
Her fingers curled around the edge of the door, her knuckles turning a stark, bone-white against the dark wood. She didn't flinch. Instead, she watched. I saw the surprise flicker in her eyes, followed by a surge of raw, blistering anger, but she held her ground. Her chest rose and fell in a quick, shallow rhythm, and then I saw it—the deep, undeniable bloom of red creeping up her neck and staining her cheeks.
It wasn't just embarrassment. It was want.
The sight of her standing there, flushing while she stared me down, hit me like a physical blow to the solar plexus. My pulse didn't just ramp; it detonated.
I looked at her—straight at her—as I continued to move. I didn't stop. I wanted her to see. I wanted to see her break, to see that stubborn pride finally crumble under the weight of what I was doing. But she didn't break. She held my gaze with a fury so sharp it felt like a razor dragged slowly against my throat, her eyes burning with a look that told me she hated this, hated me, and yet was tethered to the spot.
The shock of it—the fact that she was watching me, her face flushed and her defiance unwavering—tore the last shred of control right out of my hands. My breath punched out of me, a low, ruined sound that I couldn't leash.
It wasn't Sienna’s touch. It wasn't her voice. It was the girl in the doorway who refused to look away.
I went over the edge with a violence that left me empty, my fingers digging hard into the wall beside Sienna’s head as I stayed locked on Carter’s eyes. I finished because of her. Because she stayed. Because even now, she was finding ways to get under my skin that I hadn't authorized.
And I hated her for it. I hated that she’d seen the cracks, and I hated my body for responding to her presence like it was the only thing that mattered. She hadn't been the one trapped—I was.
Carter’s eyes held mine for one more shattering second. Then, she exhaled—a small, fractured sound—and faded from the reach of the light.
The door clicked shut.
Sienna sagged against me, murmuring something satisfied and sweet, her voice a dull hum in my ears. I didn't hold her back. I couldn't. My hands were still shoved against the wall,palms pressed flat with crushing force, my skin crawling with a sudden, sharp spike of resentment.
I hadn't just reacted. I’d been tripped up.
I’d spent the rest of the afternoon on the track trying to prove I was the one in control, only to have my body betray me the second Carter looked at me. It wasn't some grand moment—it was a lapse. A humiliating, visceral lapse in judgment triggered by someone who didn't even have to touch me to be a nuisance.
The fact that it had beenherthat dragged that final, ragged breath out of me made my blood turn to battery acid. I wasn’t interested; I was livid that she was capable of distracting me from the only thing that mattered. It was an insult, a break in my composure that I hadn't seen coming. She was supposed to be the audience to my control, not the cause of its collapse.
Then, the noise rose from below.
A muffled crash. The sharp, frantic swell of voices. The unmistakable crackle of a disaster blooming exactly where I’d planted the seeds. I heard a shout, then the heavy, rhythmic thud of feet as people rushed toward the stage.
The irritation in my gut shifted, replaced by a warm, mean surge of victory.
Landon was currently being dismantled in front of the very donors my father worshipped. My father’s hand-picked addition to my team was currently bleeding out under a spotlight I’d built for him with a few well-placed lies. It turned out even the most precise hands fumbled when the floor was rigged to drop.
I straightened, shoving Sienna off me with a coldness that finally silenced her fluttering. I fastened my belt and adjusted my shirt, my movements becoming smooth and calculated again. The slip was over. The plan had landed.
