28. Eloise
28
ELOISE
The moon hangs low in the sky, shining a path over the bleak landscape. I’m not sure if it’s because it’s almost the witching hour or if it’s truly this town.
Echo Ridge.
Margot gave me the Cliffs Notes version of it earlier today. At the turn of the century, it was a bustling metropolis of industrial revolution, and now it looks like the place dreams go to die.
I follow the GPS directions, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary to calm my nerves. It’s an odd combination—excitement bubbling under the surface, mixed with the heavy weight of anxiety pressing down on me.
There’s a lot more riding on this race than I initially thought, and not all of it has to do with the prize money or advancing to the next round.
Part of me knows exactly why I’m this jittery. Now that I’ve decided to dive into whatever this thing is between Beau and me, it’s been hard to think about much else. I’m doing my best to keep my expectations low. No strings, no drama, no pressure.
But I won’t lie. I’m low-key hoping for a few more nights like Clearwater, and maybe this time, I’ll get to take the lead.
I’ve fantasized about that night more than I feel comfortable admitting. I’m not ashamed of sex, but I’ve been selective with my partners. It’s not for lack of interest, but for time. Between raising Margot and Vivie, my mental bandwidth for relationships—romantic or otherwise—has been razor-thin.
I’d tell myself it was fine. I’d never trade my personal happiness for their safety. But this feels new. Exciting.
And it’s fucking terrifying to acknowledge how much I want to let myself get wrapped up in him. For all the ways I’ve had to grow up fast, I feel woefully inexperienced when it comes to my sexuality.
The smoke stacks of an old industrial park crest the tree line ahead. My directions tell me to turn left, guiding me toward the hulking silhouettes. The closer I get, the more desolate the surroundings become. Boarded-up houses line the cracked pavement. Parks are overgrown, vines snaking up rusted swing sets and through busted cement blocks.
The moonlight lends an eerie silver glow to the whole scene, like something out of a low-budget horror movie. It’s the kind of place teenagers explore for a thrill before they end up running from a masked killer with a chainsaw.
Headlights appear in my rearview mirror. A quick glance in my side mirrors confirms my hunch—several cars are heading in the same direction. I lower the volume of my playlist, which has been set to something chill to keep me calm, and turn into the industrial park entrance.
Rust coats everything, from a Chevy truck abandoned by the gate to random barrels piled haphazardly along one wall. The brick buildings vary in color, their windows broken or boarded, the shadows they cast creeping like ghosts. If this race were a test of endurance inside one of these buildings, I’d fail immediately.
I follow the car in front of me around a bend, the lot opening up into a massive clearing. Groups of cars and people dot the area like constellations. It’s similar to the scene at Clearwater or The Alley but feels out of place in the middle of this abandoned wasteland—a strange, antiquated time capsule.
I pull in behind a sleek black Camaro and throw my car into park. For a moment, I stay put, my gaze sweeping the crowd as Beau’s warning plays on repeat in my head. From this vantage point, I can’t see anyone clearly, least of all Slick Rick and his boy band of hyenas.
But I don’t want to get out either. The tinted windows provide a thin layer of anonymity, and in a racing scene dominated by men, staying in the car feels like the smarter option. The longer I sit, though, the more it feels like I’m overthinking.
My phone vibrates in the cup holder, jolting me.
Unknown Number: Turn your radio to 88.9 FM
Switching off my Bluetooth, I dial the radio to the given frequency. Static crackles for a moment before a robotic feminine voice fills the cabin.
“Welcome to the Gauntlet. The first race starts in fifteen minutes. In the next five minutes, you’ll receive a GPS device. Keep this device in your car at all times during each race. This is your guide and tracking system. Tampering will result in disqualification. Attaching it to another vehicle will result in disqualification. Attempting to hack it will result in disqualification. The first twenty-five drivers to complete their routes will advance. This message will repeat for the next ten minutes.”
I exhale slowly, realizing my shoulders are practically glued to my ears. Lowering the volume but not turning it off, I let the message loop in the background.
“Fuck,” I mutter, tipping my head back against the headrest.
A sharp knock on my driver’s side window makes me jump. My heart pounds as I turn to look, but the moment recognition sets in, I relax.
It’s Nate. He’s grinning like the cat who caught the canary.
“C’mon, Thorne, you gonna make me wait out here all night or what?”
I push the door open with a slow grin. “What are you doing here?”
He steps back just enough for me to get out before pulling me into a firm hug. I let him. His steady presence feels grounding in the chaos of the moment.
“As if I’d let you do your first Gauntlet race without me,” he murmurs, his arms tightening briefly before letting me go.
I step back, resting one hand on the open door. “You can’t ride with me, you know. It’s against the rules.”
He arches a brow, leaning his forearm casually on the top of the doorframe. The move shields me from the crowd but puts my back to the rest of the lot. A faint uneasiness prickles at my neck, and I glance over my shoulder, scanning the faces milling about.
“Thorne, you listening to me?” Nate’s fingers brush my chin, drawing my attention back to him.
“What?” I lean out of his touch. “Yeah, sorry. Thought I saw . . . someone.” My voice trails off as my gaze locks on a familiar figure across the lot.
Beau Carter.
He’s leaning against the bumper of his Hellcat, arms crossed over his chest. The black graphic tee stretches across his broad shoulders, his baseball cap casting a shadow over his face. He’s surrounded by a group of at least ten people I don’t recognize, which isn’t saying much.
A few of the guys look like they might be racing. They all wear that cocky confidence, like a bathrobe tucked around them tightly. It’s hard to tell if the women are driving tonight. Two of them are dressed in short skirts and crop tops, hanging off of two different guys. And the third woman is wearing a neon pink racerback dress, her hands wrapped around Beau’s arm, her body pressed against his.
I hate the jealousy curdling in my stomach like spoiled milk. It’s ridiculous and out of place.
Nate clears his throat, and I drag my eyes back to him. His brow is furrowed, a question in his eyes as he glances between me and the general direction I was looking in.
“You good?” he asks, his voice low.
I nod quickly, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just nervous, I guess.”
He studies me for a long moment, his dark eyes searching mine. “You sure? You seem distracted.”
I shake my head, letting out a shaky laugh. “I’ll be fine.”
Nate doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he lets it go with a nod. “Alright. Well, I just wanted to come by and wish you luck.” He hesitates, his gaze flicking over my shoulder again before returning to me. “And to give you a heads-up.”
My stomach drops, a cold sensation trickling down my spine. “A heads up about what?”
Nate leans in closer, his voice low. “Word got out that Seven Pines has a driver in the Gauntlet. Could be something, could be nothing. You know how it is.”
Fuck. I swallow hard, my mind racing. “Yeah, alright.”
“Just watch your back out there, okay?”
I nod a few times, letting my gaze drift over his shoulder and trying not to let my thoughts spiral. I didn’t even think we had enemies like some of the other crews in the area. My mind snags on one tiny detail. “Hey, how did you even know where to find me?”
He drags a hand through his hair, shrugging. It’s a non-answer if I’ve ever seen one. More Seven Pines shenanigans, I’m sure.
I sigh, stealing one last glance over my shoulder. Beau’s gaze collides with mine, and my breath catches. The air seems to crackle with electricity, and I’m suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of my body, every nerve ending singing with anticipation. My heart kicks up a notch, adrenaline surging through my veins.
He slides his cap around to the back, and instead of the smirk I anticipated, a frown mars his handsome face. It triggers my own, the corners of my mouth tipping down into a scowl.
I glance at the sliver of space between the woman in the pink dress and him as if I could measure the degree of their closeness in inches. It's stupid. I'm being stupid.
I know I have no right to be jealous, no claim on Beau or his attention. But that doesn’t stop the ugly, twisting feeling in my gut.
I tear my gaze away, focusing back on Nate. His brow is still furrowed, his eyes darting between me and Beau like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. I clear my throat, straightening my spine.
“Thanks for the heads up,” I say, injecting a lightness into my voice that I don’t feel.
“Say the word, and we’ll bail.” Nate’s voice has an edge to it now.
“Nah, I’m in it now. Might as well show these assholes how a woman runs the Gauntlet.” It’s cocky and kind of dumb, but I’m desperate to move the conversation along before this jealousy starts eating me from the inside out.
Nate nods, grinning and glancing around. “Hell yeah, Thorne.”
The industrial park is a scene straight out of a dystopian movie. Rusted-out trucks are parked haphazardly, barrels and debris scattered along the crumbling walls of old brick factories. The buildings loom like forgotten giants, their windows broken or boarded up, casting eerie shadows in the moonlight. The air smells faintly of oil and damp concrete, tinged with the faint metallic tang of rust.
“Alright,” Nate says, leaning in closer to keep his voice low. “This first race is all about survival. Don’t take unnecessary risks, don’t try to show off. Just focus on speed.”
I nod, already forming a mental checklist. “What about the GPS? Do you know how accurate it is? Any delays?”
He shrugs. “From what I’ve heard, it’s pretty reliable. Just follow it and keep your head on a swivel. Some of these motherfuckers will do whatever it takes to win.”
“Yo, here’s your GPS, man.” A hand appears in front of Nate’s face, a small black screen clutched between his thumb and index finger.
“Thanks,” Nate murmurs, plucking it from his grip and handing it to me.
I hold the device in my hand, turning it over. It’s sleek, no bigger than a smartphone, with a single screen and a blinking red dot marking my position on the map. A surge of adrenaline spikes through me as I slide back into my car and tuck the GPS into the mount on my vent.
Nate leans against the doorframe, his gaze steady. “You’ve got this, Thorne. Just trust yourself.”
I nod, gripping the steering wheel. “I always do.”
The radio crackles, and the robotic feminine voice fills the car again.
“Drivers, the race begins in five minutes. Please ensure your GPS device is securely mounted and operational. This message will not repeat.”
Nate straightens, giving my shoulder a firm squeeze. “Do your thing, baby.”
“Don’t call me baby,” I grunt out, glancing in my rearview mirror.
“See you back home.” He steps back.
“Later, Nate.” I close my door, the world outside muffling into a dull hum. I look at the GPS screen, watching as a faint blue line snakes across the map. My fingers tremble slightly as I reach for my playlist and crank the volume, the familiar beat of my favorite racing track filling the cabin.
The radio crackles again, and the same voice begins the countdown.
“Five. Four. Three. Two. One.”
I slam my foot on the gas, the roar of my engine ripping through the industrial park as I peel out of the lot. My tires screech against the pavement, and the adrenaline hits me like a freight train, clearing my mind of everything but the race.
The world blurs into motion, headlights slicing through the darkness as the other drivers fan out, each one chasing their own line of the route. There’s no time to think, no time to doubt. Just instinct and determination.
This is it.
The Gauntlet has begun. And I’m not going down without a fight.