45. Beau
45
BEAU
The gravel crunches under my tires as I pull into the turnout, a deserted strip of road surrounded by fields of corn stretching to the horizon. The sun hovers low in the sky, casting the world in a golden haze that’s almost enough to trick me into thinking tonight is going to be simple. It’s not.
My hands tighten around the wheel as I spot her parked a few yards ahead, leaning against her car like she doesn’t have a care in the world. Like this is just another Monday drive and not the semifinal in the Gauntlet.
My Eloise.
It’s fuckin’ wild to realize how much winning the Gauntlet pales compared to keeping her.
She looks up as I park, her face breaking into that smile that fucks me up every time. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, her sunglasses perched on top of her head. She’s wearing another one of her strappy sundresses, looking like she stepped out of a daydream I never want to wake up from.
I kill the engine and step out, the late afternoon air sticky and heavy around us. She looks up as I approach, a slow smile spreading across her face. The setting sun glints off her peach hair, setting it ablaze, and my heart stumbles in my chest.
“Hey you,” she murmurs as I reach her, golden eyes sparkling with mischief and something softer, sweeter. Something that makes my heart kick against my ribs.
“Hey, baby.” I cage her against the side of her car, hands braced on either side of her head. I dip low and capture her mouth in a slow, thorough kiss. Her lips part on a sigh and I lick into her, tasting the sweetness of her. She melts into me, her hands fisting in my t-shirt, pulling me closer.
I lose myself in the kiss, in the feel of her soft and pliant against me. Desire simmers low in my gut, a banked fire ready to ignite at the slightest provocation. But now’s not the time, no matter how much I want to lay her out on the hood of this car and take my time with her.
I reluctantly pull back, resting my forehead against hers as I catch my breath. “You ready for this, Peach?” I murmur, my hands sliding down to grip her hips.
She exhales shakily, her fingers flexing against my chest. “As I’ll ever be. You?” Her voice is light, but her eyes give her away. There’s a flicker of nerves there, the kind you only catch if you’re looking for it.
I flash her a crooked grin. “Born ready, baby.”
She laughs softly, shaking her head. “Your confidence is something else, Beau Carter.”
“What can I say? It’s a gift.” I brush a kiss against her forehead before stepping back while I still can. “Be careful out there tonight, Peach. We’re in the semifinals now, and these guys, they’re fucking ruthless now.”
Her laugh is soft, but her smile turns razor sharp. She props her foot against her car and cocks her head to the side. “I’m playing to win, Beau. Aren’t you?”
I step closer, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. My hand lingers, my thumb brushing against her cheek. She leans into the touch, just a little, and it’s enough to make the rest of the world fade.
“Nah, Peach, I’m playin’ for keeps.”
Her eyes widen slightly at my words, pupils dilating. She draws in a soft breath before her lips curve into a slow smile, equal parts teasing and tender. “You’re gonna have to catch me first, Beau.”
I huff a laugh, tracing my thumb along the delicate line of her jaw. “Oh, I plan to, Peach. Trust me on that.”
A shiver runs through her and she tips her face up, bringing her mouth a hairsbreadth from mine. “Then I guess I better make it a good chase,” she murmurs against my lips.
I press my lips against hers. It’s not a desperate kiss—it’s steady, lingering, like I’m staking a claim without words. She melts into me, her hands finding their way to my chest.
“See you on the other side, baby.”
“Not if I see you first,” she murmurs, cheeks flushed and lips swollen.
She pushes off her car, and I walk backward toward the Hellcat. I know she thinks she’ll be fine, but I have a bad feeling. A hollow ache in the pit of my stomach.
I watch Eloise climb into her car, a knot of unease tightening in my gut despite her playful confidence. Something about tonight feels off, a sour note in the air.
As I slide behind the wheel of the Hellcat, my mind races, running through possibilities and contingencies. I trust Eloise’s skill behind the wheel, but the unpredictability of the other drivers sets my teeth on edge. Especially after the stunt that asshole pulled in the last race. That Seven Pines fuck is still on my to-do list, and if I see him tonight, I’m going to make sure I repay the favor, tenfold.
I flex my fingers around the steering wheel, jaw clenched tight.
No matter what happens tonight, I won’t let anything happen to my girl. I’ll have her back out there, whether or not she realizes it.
I follow behind Eloise the couple of miles through winding country roads, fields of tall corn swaying like a sea on either side of us. The sun dips lower on the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant streaks of orange and pink. It would be beautiful, idyllic even, if not for the knot of tension coiling tighter in my gut with each passing minute.
We finally arrive at a large clearing, the sudden openness jarring after the miles of dense crops. It looks like an old airfield, a long strip of cracked asphalt cutting through the overgrown grass.
The old airfield had been reclaimed by nature, the asphalt cracked and buckled, tendrils of grass and weeds pushing through like stubborn fingers grasping for the sun. But the crumbling tarmac wasn’t the only path carved into this forgotten landscape.
Dirt tracks snaked off in every direction, winding their way through the surrounding fields as if drawn by an errant child’s hand. Some disappeared into the towering corn, others into the wooded area to the left.
As I pull up next to Eloise, I take in the scene before us. The old airfield is transformed, filled with a chaotic energy that pulses and thrums like a living thing.
People mill about, the excited buzz of chatter and laughter carried on the warm evening breeze. I half wonder if the coalition chose this spot for the semifinal race because the old tarmac runway is the perfect spot for the spectators to let loose.
Several other cars are already parked haphazardly around the clearing’s edges, a few drivers out and walking around, eyeing the competition with wary suspicion. The air feels charged, electric with tension and anticipation.
My girl stays in her car, her tinted windows giving her a thin veil of mystery. Though I’m pretty sure the other eight drivers know exactly who she is by now. I think the only person in the Gauntlet who is playing by the rules is Eloise. Everyone else has already made their own.
I keep a watchful eye as more cars arrive, pulling up alongside us. Engines rumble and doors slam as the final competitors gather. The growing crowd pulses with a feral energy, the thirst for speed, danger and glory palpable in the air.
The Camaro pulls up on the other side of Peach, revving his engine in that obnoxious way asshole drivers do. Before I can think to get out of my car, my phone vibrates with an incoming text.
Unknown Number: Turn your radio to 88.9 FM
I pause my playlist and turn on the radio. Static crackles in my speakers for a few seconds before the same robotic voice bounces around my car.
“Welcome to the Gauntlet. Congratulations on advancing to the semifinals. The race starts in ten minutes. In the next five minutes, your GPS device will turn red. Keep this device in your car at all times. 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 five drivers to complete the twenty-mile maze will advance. This message will repeat once.”
“Fuck me.” I blow out a weighted breath.
A maze? That can’t be good. I scan the horizon again, my mind spinning with possibilities. After this is over, I’m going to find out which asshole on the coalition decided on a goddamn wooded corn maze, and I’m gonna send them a glitter bomb.
A maze means tricks, dead ends, backtracking—it means more opportunity for sabotage.
My thumb flies over my screen without a second thought.
Me: I don’t like this. Stick with me, yeah?
She replies right away.
Peach: I’ll be fine, Beau. Don’t worry so much.
Me: Humor me.
Peach: Try to keep up then.
I chuckle despite the unease churning inside me.
I set my phone aside just as a red light blinks to life on my dashboard. The GPS tracker. Right on cue. I grab the small device and stick it in the phone holder attached to my heating vent, making sure it’s secure.
The sun’s last light sinks lower on the horizon, and the sound of engines revving echoes through the field. One by one, cars begin pulling into position, lining up.
The familiar hum of anticipation thrums through me, sharpening my focus until there’s nothing left but the race and the challenge ahead.
For a split second, I think of Peach. Her fierce determination, the way she kissed me like it was the last thing she’d ever do.
I grip the wheel tighter, my resolve hardening.
This isn’t just about winning anymore.
It’s about protecting what’s mine.
And nothing has ever been more mine that Eloise Hawthorne.
“Drivers, start your engines,” the robotic voice says over the radio.
I grip my clutch in one hand, the steering wheel in the other. “Time to drive.”
“Five. Four. Three. Two. One,” the robotic voice says.
The Hellcat’s engine roars to life as I peel out onto the old tarmac. Eloise’s car rockets forward in front of mine, a blur of sleek curves and gleaming paint.
The other cars scatter, some veering left toward the cornfields, others gunning it straight down the cracked airstrip. But my focus narrows to the red taillights in front of me, to keeping Eloise's car in my sights as we race into the unknown.
We hit the first fork in the maze almost immediately. The GPS doesn’t give us the correct path, more like highlighting the maze’s perimeter so we’ll know if we veer out of the maze.
Peach goes left, and I’m hot on her heels as we plunge into the towering corn. The stalks whip past my windows, a disorienting blur of beige and green.
The corn seems to close in around us as we speed down the narrow dirt path. I keep Peach’s taillights in view, determined not to lose her in this twisting labyrinth. The Hellcat’s engine growls as we take a sharp turn, tires spitting dirt.
A flash of movement catches my eye to the right. Between the stalks of corn, another car speeds down a parallel path. I floor the gas, pulling alongside Peach and putting myself between her and everyone else.
We hit another fork in the maze, the path splitting into two narrow dirt lanes that disappear into the sea of corn. I veer left without hesitation, the Hellcat’s tires kicking up clods of earth as we skid around the turn.
For a split second, I think Peach is right behind me, her headlights filling my rearview mirror. But as the dust settles, I realize with a sinking feeling that it’s not her sleek little coupe on my tail—it’s a Mustang, its black matte paint job seeming to absorb the light.
Fuck.
Where is she?