Chapter 426
While Vance and the Warriors moved to the pit lane to inspect the car, another figure slipped seamlessly through the chaotic crowd of mechanics and spectators. Estevan Parrish, Katherine’s cousin, wore a grease-stained jumpsuit that allowed him to blend in completely.
As Vance argued with a track official at the front of the red Ferrari, Estevan slid underneath the rear chassis on a mechanic’s creeper. His heart hammered as he pulled a specialized file from his pocket. The edge of the tool wasn’t merely sharp — it was coated in a fine, glittering layer of silver dust.
With practiced precision, Estevan scored a shallow, nearly invisible line across the main brake fluid hose. The silver wouldn’t cause an immediate leak, but once the brakes heated up during the race, the chemical reaction would eat through the rubber in seconds.
He slipped out from under the car just as Vance rounded the rear bumper.
“All clear, Alpha,” Vance reported through his comms a moment later.
Estevan melted into the shadows, a cruel smile spreading across his face. The trap was set. The race was on. And the wolfless girl was about to take her final drive.
The starting lights flashed green, and the world dissolved into a deafening roar.
I slammed the accelerator, but Braydon’s all-wheel-drive GTR launched off the line like a bullet, instantly seizing the lead. He drove exactly like the arrogant Alpha he was — aggressive, suffocating, and utterly dominant. At every turn of the first lap, he deliberately cut my lines, his heavy black car swerving dangerously close to force me toward the outer edges of the track.
He wanted to break me. He wanted to prove to me — and to Dallas watching from his wheelchair — that I was still just a weak girl he could control.
But I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. I wasn’t that girl anymore. I needed my mother’s diary. I needed to sever this toxic tie to the Hyde family once and for all.
As we tore into the second lap, the track opened up toward the notorious hairpin turn. Braydon, drunk on his own ego and desperate to widen the gap, pushed his GTR too hard. He misjudged the grip of his tires, took the line too wide, and left a massive, fatal gap on the inside.
I didn’t hesitate. I downshifted, the Ferrari’s engine screaming in protest as I jerked the wheel. My tires shrieked against the asphalt, trailing smoke as I cut perfectly into the inside line. For a split second, our cars were inches apart. I glanced sideways and caught the absolute shock twisting Braydon’s face just before I blew past him.
Adrenaline set my blood on fire. I was in the lead. I was in control.
The straightaway blurred past, feeding directly into Reaper’s Curve — a brutal, unforgiving ninety-degree left turn bordered by a solid concrete wall. The speedometer hovered over 200 km/h.
I eased off the gas and pressed my foot against the brake pedal.
Nothing.