Page 32 of Full Throttle

Pain shuddered up her spine. There was a sickening crunch, followed by a whipcrack of her neck. Spots exploded in front of her eyes. The world wobbled and then righted itself, reappearing in fireworks of golden sand and blue sky. Someone was calling her name from a distance, accompanied by the slap of footsteps.

“Marchmont!”

Dominic was flushed and breathless, sporting goggle marks around his eyes. It would have been funny, she thought, if her head didn’t hurt so damn badly. A firm hand wrapped around her arm.

“Marchmont? Can you hear me?”

She closed her eyes. “I’m fine.”

Dominic’s voice was urgent. “Did you injure anything?”

Just my pride. Juliette squeezed her eyes until the burn faded. She was painfully aware of the click of cameras, followed by Ranya’s low tones. Trying to do damage control, no doubt. And maybe it was her bruised ego, but she found herself saying, “Why? Hoping I threw my back out?”

He stilled. “Do you really think I’m that much of an arsehole?”

She hoisted herself out. “I know you’re that much of an arsehole.” Her muscles gave a whine of protest, and she hid a grimace. “If you’ve come to gloat, I’d prefer that you wait until I’m out of the smoking car. Just personal preference.”

Something flashed across Dominic’s face, but it was gone so quickly that she wondered if she’d imagined it. “Oh, I never gloat. It’s very undignified.”

“Really?” She lifted an eyebrow. “Then what would you call gloating about your lack of gloating?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I’m not—”

“Forget it.” She scanned her body. No injuries, thankfully. “Don’t worry, Hastings. All the cameras are off. You don’t need to pretend to be nice to me.” She had the feeling that Ranya had threatened the camera operators with bodily harm if they recorded any of this.

“What a relief,” Dominic said dryly. “I’ll just go back to kicking puppies and stealing birthday presents from sick children then, shall I?”

“Marchmont,” Ranya called.

She was spared a response by the sound of approaching footsteps. Juliette took off her helmet. Only Ranya, she thought, could walk toward a burning car and look like the heroine of a Hollywood heist film.

Ranya surveyed her. “You’re okay?”

Juliette wiped blood from her mouth. “Fine. Sorry.”

“I told you to take it easy today.”

A stone settled in her stomach. “I know.” Oh, god, was she getting sacked? She felt like she was getting sacked.

“We have a few weeks until the first race. You can practice in the mornings.”

Relief filled her. Not sacked. That was a good start. “I’ll get better.”

“You’ll have to,” Ranya said bluntly. “We won’t stand a chance of winning otherwise.” She turned to Dominic. “You’ll help her.”

Juliette spun. It was hard to say who was more alarmed by this idea: herself or Dominic. He stared at Ranya as if she’d proclaimed that the flying spaghetti monster was real, and she intended to set up a shrine made of Bolognese.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Ranya said.

Chewing gum appeared in her hand, seemingly from thin air. Dominic stared. “How the hell do you keep doing that?”

Ranya ignored this, popping a piece of gum into her mouth. “You were runner-up in the championship last year. And you’ve mentored Marchmont before.”

Dominic shook his head. “Only for a month.”

“I can learn on my own,” Juliette said. “I don’t need him.”