Chapter 10 #2
“She cares about winning the visual,” Carmen replied. “Which, to be fair, matters. Just maybe not as much as not blowing a valve at one fifty.”
Bree’s gaze drifted past them.
Two bikes sat on stands, front wheels off, frame cradled on padded blocks. One of the younger riders tinkered with the chain on a third bike, humming in time with the music. At the far edge of the taped line, near the hauler, Einstein crouched beside a stripped-down frame.
He’d ditched the over-ear headphones from earlier. Earplugs sat in his ears instead, neon cords trailing. His dark hair stuck slightly to his forehead, damp with sweat. He wore black gloves that fit like a second skin and moved with a precision that made everything else seem clumsy.
Wires snaked along the frame, thin and dark, hugging the angles. Bree hadn’t grown up around bikes; most of what she saw looked like a foreign language. But some things were still obvious if you paid attention.
He wasn’t working where everyone else had been working.
He was working where no one else seemed to ever touch.
“Is that one Marcus’s?” she asked quietly.
Carmen followed her gaze. “Yeah. Main race bike. The spare’s over there.”
Einstein shifted, blocking Bree’s view for a moment. When he leaned back, she saw he’d opened a narrow compartment along the inside of the frame rail, just under where a rider’s knee would sit. It wasn’t big; the cavity was long and thin, barely more than a channel.
He lifted something from a tray at his side.
It was cylindrical and small, maybe the size of a travel shampoo bottle, but heavier from the way it pulled his glove a fraction lower when he shifted it. The metal caught the light, gleaming dull silver, with a small valve stem at one end and a hose already attached.
Bree frowned.
He turned the cylinder in his hand, checked a tiny gauge attached near the valve; his lips moved, counting. Satisfied, he eased it into the open frame channel, snug, as if it had been built for that exact dimension.
“The Dragons are proud of their tankless design,” Carmen said. “Minimalist. All go, no fluff.”
“They are?” Bree murmured. “So why does that look like a tank?”
Carmen frowned. “Maybe it’s a dampener that will help absorb the vibration of the handlebars.”
“It doesn’t seem to be mounted where it would absorb anything,” Bree said. The words came out before she could second-guess them. “It’s hidden.”
Heidi’s voice climbed, irritated. “I don’t care what the old spec says, Elliot, the cameras have moved since then, and if you can’t adapt, you’re holding us back.”
Bree forced her attention away from Einstein for a moment. Heidi had stepped closer to the manufacturer rep, gestures sharp. The rep looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.
“You agreed to the prototype,” he said. “If we reprint the suit, the cost goes up, and the sponsor is already at their cap.”
“They’ll find the money,” Heidi said. “If they want their logo on the Cup podium.”
Marcus appeared then, walking up from the direction of the timing shack, sunglasses hooked in the collar of his shirt. He took in the scene with a quick sweep of his gaze.
“What’s wrong now?” he asked.
Heidi whirled on him. “They butchered the shoulder line. The dragon’s going to look like it’s sliding off your chest every time you lean. It’ll read sloppy.”
Marcus looked at Bree, then at Carmen, then at the suit.
He didn’t glance once at Einstein.
“That is sloppy,” he agreed immediately. “We can’t look like amateurs at the biggest race of the season.”
“Thank you,” Heidi said, throwing her free hand up like she’d won something.
“We can make minor adjustments,” the rep said. “But if you expect us to retool the entire run overnight, it’s not going to happen.”
Heidi launched into a fresh argument, voice climbing. Marcus stepped closer, aligning himself with her, adding his own pressure. Carmen pinched the bridge of her nose.
The argument pulled everyone’s focus. The crew looked over. The girls by the truck leaned in. Even the kid with the chain stopped humming to watch the fireworks.
No one watched Einstein.
Except Bree.
He’d finished securing the small cylinder in the frame channel and was threading the hose along a narrow groove, pinning it under the existing wiring so that at a glance, it looked like part of the original loom. His movements were brisk and confident.
She squinted, trying to follow the line. The hose ran up toward the front of the bike, disappearing under the tank, then emerging again near the handlebars. He looped it around a bracket, then connected it to something that looked innocuous: a small pressure switch wired into the horn assembly.
She saw his fingers test it, pressing the horn button once. No sound. He adjusted a screw, pressed again. Still no audible honk.
But the tiny gauge near the cylinder’s valve fluttered.
Her skin prickled.
She remembered Brian leaning against Hank’s trailer, listing ways to cheat. Hidden nitrous. Illegal mapping. Tricks that give a burst of power when you need it.
She didn’t know what exactly sat inside that little cylinder, but she knew it wasn’t stock.
She knew the frame hadn’t been built to house it, because she’d watched that same frame earlier, empty.
She remembered how clean the inside line had looked when one of the other techs had run a cloth along it.
Her mouth went dry.
Einstein worked quickly, securing the frame panel back into place. Once it was closed, you wouldn’t know anything lurked under there unless you knew where to press.
He smoothed a hand along the metal, satisfied, then stood and stretched his back. He glanced toward the argument by the suit, rolled his eyes once, and turned to put his tools away.
Bree realized she’d been holding her breath.
Carmen nudged her elbow. “You okay?”
Bree forced her mouth into something like a smile. “Yeah. Just… loud in here.”
Carmen accepted that, thankfully. She didn’t push. Most people would’ve asked more questions, poked at her expression, tried to drag out what she was thinking. Carmen simply turned her attention back to the suit fight without a second glance.
Bree breathed out slowly.
Her pulse hadn’t steadied. Her hands hadn’t either. She pressed her fingers around her sketchbook to mask the tremor and focused on slowing her breath.
She didn’t trust her voice enough to speak again just yet.
Einstein moved away from the bike, casual as you please, wiping his gloves on a rag. No one looked at him. Every gaze in the pit stayed locked on Heidi, flinging her hands, and Marcus lecturing the manufacturer rep.
And that was the problem.
No one noticed what they should’ve noticed.
Her stomach tightened. She knew enough to know she didn’t fully understand what she’d seen — but she also knew enough to understand it was wrong. Something about it felt like too much precision in too quiet a corner.
Bree stepped back, pretending she needed a little more space. Her heart beat too hard, too fast. If she stayed another minute, she was going to telegraph her panic, and Carmen would ask questions Bree couldn’t answer.
She needed to get out of here.
She needed Hank.
“Hey,” Carmen said, softer now. “You sure you’re good?”
Bree nodded quickly. Too quickly.
Carmen’s brows knit. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
Bree forced a breath. “Just… overwhelmed. This isn’t really my world.”
Carmen’s expression eased with sympathy instead of suspicion. “Yeah, it’s a lot the first time. Heidi goes overboard, and Marcus feeds off of an audience. You won’t hurt my feelings if you need some air.”
That was all Bree needed.
“I think I will,” she said. “Fresh air. And quieter company.”
Carmen looped a strand of hair behind her ear. “Totally understand. Want me to walk you out?”
Bree almost said yes, but the instinct hit hard and fast: Don’t.
Carmen loved her sister fiercely. She wouldn’t intentionally hurt Bree, but loyalty was loyalty. If she knew Bree had seen something suspicious, even the smallest detail, she’d have to choose a side — and it wouldn’t be Bree’s.
“No, I’ll be fine,” Bree said lightly. “Just need a breather.”
Carmen nodded and looked relieved that she wasn’t abandoning Heidi in the middle of her meltdown. “Okay. Text me if you want company.”
“I will,” Bree lied gently.
She eased away from the thrumming chaos, drifting backward until the Red Dragons’ pit fell behind her. The music diminished. The voices dropped to murmurs. By the time she reached the open space between trailers, she could finally think.
Her pulse still thrummed like a hummingbird under her ribs.
She didn’t fully understand what she’d seen, but she knew — with the same certainty she knew color theory and line weight — that something had been hidden, wired, disguised.
Hank would know the difference between equipment and something meant to tilt the odds.
And he would take her seriously.
She angled toward his pit, scanning instinctively for his height, his shoulders, the way he moved. He wasn’t there yet; only Brian and Colby worked quietly at the bench, the air calm and controlled.
Bree paused several steps away, letting her breath settle. She didn’t want the panic in her voice when she talked to Hank. She wanted clarity and wanted him to hear the detail, not her fear.
Her heartbeat finally slowed. Just enough.
Across the pits, someone revved an engine, and someone else shouted. Bree barely registered it. The hidden cylinder and the twitch of the gauge when Einstein pressed the horn consumed her thoughts.
This time, when she looked toward Hank’s pit, she saw movement.
Hank. Tall. Focused. Eyes scanning automatically for her even before he saw her.
And when he did see her, he started toward her without hesitation.
Relief flooded her so fast her knees almost gave out.
She tightened her grip on the sketchbook and met him halfway.
“Hank,” she said, keeping her voice steady by sheer force of will. “I need to tell you something.”
And she knew, with complete certainty, he was the only person she could trust with it.