Chapter 309

They crossed the finish line to start the second lap. Eliza was right on his bumper.

She saw an opening. Anson drifted wide on the hairpin turn. Eliza didn’t hesitate. She downshifted, the engine screaming as she dove into the inside line.

She passed him.

The Ferrari roared ahead, putting a full car length between them.

Adrenaline flooded Eliza’s system. Her hands were steady on the wheel, her focus absolute. She felt powerful. She felt free.

The straightaway stretched out before her. She upshifted. The speedometer climbed — 180 km/h. 200 km/h.

Up ahead was the Reaper’s Curve, a sharp, ninety-degree left turn with a concrete barrier on the outside. It demanded precise braking.

Eliza lifted her foot off the gas. She pressed the brake pedal.

It went to the floor.

There was no resistance. No bite of calipers on rotors. Just a sickening, empty slide.

Her heart hammered against her ribs. She pumped the pedal. Once. Twice.

Nothing.

The wall was rushing toward her. She was doing 200 kilometers per hour in a metal coffin.

She tried to downshift to use the engine to slow the car, but the speed was too high — the gearbox locked her out. She yanked the wheel, trying to scrub speed by drifting, but the car was a missile now.

“Damn it!” Eliza screamed, her voice tearing through her throat.

Dallas’s voice crackled in her earpiece, sharp with panic. “Eliza? Brake! You are coming in too hot!”

“The brakes are gone!” Eliza yelled back. “Dallas — they’re gone!”

In the box, Dallas tried to stand. The pain in his shattered leg was a white-hot explosion that forced him back down, but he didn’t feel it. He felt only the cold terror gripping his heart.

“Impact brace! Eliza! Cover your head!” he roared into the mic.

On the track, Anson saw the brake lights on the Ferrari flicker and go dark. He read her line. She wasn’t slowing down.

She was going to hit the wall. At that speed, she would die.

The realization hit him harder than any crash. Eliza. Dead.

No.

Anson didn’t think. He didn’t calculate. He slammed his foot on the accelerator.

The GTR surged forward, closing the gap. He pulled alongside her, then yanked his steering wheel hard to the right.

He wasn’t trying to block her. He was trying to use his car as a brake.

“Anson! No!” Eliza screamed, seeing the black car slide into her path.

CRUNCH.

The sound was sickening — metal tearing, glass shattering, the screech of tires on pavement. The red Ferrari slammed into the side of the GTR. Anson’s heavier vehicle absorbed the brunt of the kinetic energy, acting as an anchor, scraping and grinding along the concrete barrier and forcing both cars to decelerate violently.

Sparks showered the track like fireworks.

The two cars tangled together, a smoking mass of ruin, sliding fifty meters before grinding to a halt in the gravel trap.

Silence fell over the Speed Club — absolute and terrifying.