Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
MICHAEL
“You’re late, mate,” Isaiah called out as I stepped out of my sleek red Atlas V8 that I’d parked into the narrow entrance of Azel. I spotted him leaning casually against a stone pillar near the entrance, his arms folded against his chest.
“ And you’re driving the competition,” he chastised with a shake of his head in disapproval, though the grin on his face betrayed him.
I left the driver’s side door open, handing my keys to the valet on duty tonight. I shot him a wink in thanks before turning my attention to my known-for-dramatics cousin.
“It’s good to see you too,” I replied with a smirk, striding toward him. “Besides, I’m right on time. You’re just always bloody early to everything. As for the car, if my memory serves me right, it was a handover gift after you made the most controversial move of your career.”
My cousin had previously been with Atlas Racing for six years where he’d won his first World Championship at the age of twenty-three, before he’d made the decision to race for their fiercest rival, Matrix Motorsports.
The sudden swap had made the headlines for weeks, the move seen as a huge betrayal to the team that had given him his first break into the elite sport. But I knew why he’d made the decision and it wasn’t for the money. He had enough of that already.
“Yeah, don’t remind me,” he muttered, rolling his eyes at the memory of that time. “I still have nightmares of the media days following the leak,” he added as we were escorted into the club.
While Azel seemed modest from the outside, the interior was an entirely different story. Isaiah and I had made it a tradition to come here every year before his home race at Silverstone, and yet, every time I walked through the grand oak doors, this place was still just as impressive as the first time I’d seen it.
I’d grown up surrounded by wealth so little could take me aback. I’d seen countless luxurious real estate properties, just my parent’s house giving most of them a run for its money, but Azel still managed to do exactly that every time I visited.
The exclusive social club had been founded in the early 1900s by a group of England’s richest and most noble families. Although Azel hadn’t changed much over the years in that it remained exclusive for the world’s richest and most powerful, it had now expanded into every major city across the globe.
And more importantly, it allowed people who looked like me to become members after the Atlases acquired its ownership a little over fifty years ago. The House had always made it a mission to say fuck you to white supremacy and owning Azel was one of the many ways they’d done that since its inception.
“You know we barely ever see each other, you could have made an effort,” Isaiah remarked, giving me a onceover, as we approached the imposing solid bronze bar that stood as the centerpiece of the lounge.
Isaiah lived in Monaco whenever he wasn’t racing, so he rarely came home anymore. The only times I did see him were at the annual King family’s gathering in August that was mandatory—that was if he even graced us with his presence, not that I blamed him, his father was a lot—or for our yearly drinks before the madness of his home race started.
I raise an eyebrow at him. “I’m in a suit on a Monday evening. What more do you want?” I said, taking the plush leather chair next to him. I normally only wore suits for events, but Azel didn’t allow any member to walk through those doors without the appropriate attire.
The bartender immediately came over to take our orders before he moved to prepare our drinks as I looked around the quiet room. Although we were in the middle of summer, the place was emptier than usual which I very much welcomed after the whirlwind these last few weeks have been.
“Yeah, but you still look like you haven’t slept in weeks,” he said, huffing out a laugh.
Because I barely have.
Being a surgeon already limited my sleep schedule, but ever since my birthday, I’d spent practically every free waking hour working on my Order.
It had already been a week since the first part of my plan was brought into motion. It wasn’t long after I’d given Adnan the ultimatum that he’d handed in his immediate resignation from AGH.
As I’d suspected, when Nyx learned that Ziani had resigned from AGH, Arthur had come barging at his door the same night and I’d had the perfect view when it happened. Equipped with both photographs and audio, I’d paid another visit to Ziani and it hadn’t been difficult to remind him what was at stake.
The hospital had desperately tried to offer him anything he’d want to stay, but like the reasonable man I knew he’d be after my last visit, he’d insisted that he was happy finally retiring from a place where he’d spent the last four decades.
I would be lying if I said I hadn’t felt a slight tinge of remorse from forcing Ziani’s hand, but I had a job to do and he’d sealed his own faith the day he’d dishonored the oath we’d vowed to cause no harm to people.
As for Arthur Nyx, let’s just say he wouldn’t dare go against my wishes. Not after I’d welcome him into his office last week with enough evidence of his fraudulent activities to put him in jail.
The bartender returned and we each grabbed our drinks—a whisky for me and a bourbon for Isaiah.
“I could say the same about you,” I replied, redirecting the conversation and taking a drink from my glass.
Isaiah didn’t know anything about the House and I could use work as an excuse, but I’d seen myself in a mirror before coming here. My lying skills were excellent, but he was the closest thing I had to a brother and I hated doing it to him.
So diversion seemed like the better option.
“I mean, I am in the middle of a triple header,” he deadpanned, but I could tell something was on his mind.
“That’s fair. You do have a big race coming up,” I said, leaning forward slightly, trying to nudge the conversation to where I knew it was going.
Isaiah wasn’t big on sharing, but I knew these rare get-togethers were the only time he could let go of the persona he put on for everyone else.
He shrugged, though I could still see the tension in his shoulder. “It’s just another race, right?” he said, but I didn’t know who he was trying to convince more.
Myself or him.
“Right,” I replied. “Your family’s all coming, yeah?”
He tossed back his drink, his face wincing from the alcohol, before he gestured to the bartender for another one.
“Mum is, but Dad is still unsure whether or not he’ll be able to make it,” he said, giving me a stiff smile. His refill came a few seconds later and he took a long sip of his drink, his eyes shifting briefly to the side, avoiding mine. “Something about an important business meeting, but you know how it is with him. Every meeting is extremely important,” he muttered.
To say my uncle James hadn’t taken my cousin’s team change well would be an understatement. Where I had a strained relationship with my father, Isaiah had a tumultuous one with his.
Although his father was—used to be—his biggest supporter, he’d also been his harshest critic. My uncle abided by a strict and uncompromising mentorship to push his son to success. He firmly believed that it was necessary for Isaiah to thrive in the competitive world of motorsports.
I could still remember quite vividly one day where Isaiah had finished second in a karting championship and my uncle had stormed in the room right before the podium ceremony, furious at his son’s ranking.
“Only wankers are content with a second position and I won’t have one carrying my name and legacy.”
The smile that had previously been on my cousin’s face had completely shattered and he’d spent the entire drive home berating himself for not doing well enough although he’d only finished second by a point off.
I wasn’t fond of his father, but he was my mother’s only brother and unfortunately my family. I’d tried to intervene once and that led to him leaving both Isaiah and I at a gas station in the middle of winter when we were twelve to walk back home for daring to go against his criticism.
James had barely even made it to Formula One—only competing for three seasons before he’d been replaced for his lack of results—while Isaiah was light years more talented than he ever was.
I never understood why some parents just seemed to hate being parents. What was the point of having children if it was to make them feel like shit for no valid reason.
Not that there should ever be a reason to treat your children the way I’d seen Isaiah's father treat him.
I’d never given much thought about having kids, because no matter what my feelings about it were, I’d be obligated to provide an heir for the Atlas’s legacy to carry on. Although if it was up to me, I didn’t know if I’d even want to bring children into the fucked up world we lived in.
“Fuck him.”
He glanced at me sideways as he let out a derisive laugh. “I wish it were that easy.”
Yeah, if only it were that easy, I also thought to myself, thinking of my own.
“Alright, enough about family, how’s the new teammate?” I asked, hoping to lighten the mood.
He groaned at that. Well, I clearly touched another sore spot.
Cynara Cruz, the first ever female driver in Formula One, had become my cousin’s teammate right after their summer break last year. It was rare for F1 drivers to be replaced in the middle of the season, but she’d wowed the entire motorsport crowd with her incredibly raw talent.
“I guess it’s going as well as it’s portrayed in the media.”
He looked at me, like he was debating whether or not to say anything. Then, he exhaled in frustration, running a hand through his dark hair, styled in a similar fashion as mine.
“She’s fucking impossible, mate. At first, I thought it was cute, but now we have to work and do all these media things together and she’s always so… angry at me. I mean for fuck’s sake, I should be the one who’s angry. She crashed into my car three times already this year and of course, she keeps blaming it on me not leaving her enough space.”
He clenched his jaw and rubbed the back of his neck.
“And she’s got this way of…”
“Making things complicated,” I finished for him because I knew the feeling all too well.
My mind instantly conjured the image of a lethally beautiful doctor who I had to work with every day while simultaneously ignoring the pull I felt toward her.
“Yeah, definitely complicated,” Isaiah said, lost in his own thoughts.
“Alright, let’s stop these drab talks,” I proposed, needing to stop myself because otherwise I’d spend the rest of the night thinking about her . “Tell me about this new film.”
We launched into conversations about his latest project he’d been a part of. Isaiah was approached by a renowned director a few weeks ago about being part of this new movie where Hollywood would meet Formula One. He’d been brought on board as a producer and key advisor for the project.
Isaiah explained how everything was going and where they were heading, informing me that they’d be filming this weekend for it, but I was only paying half attention, because my mind wouldn’t stop going back to thoughts of her.
“Wanna make a run for it?” I asked Isaiah, my voice breaking through the silence of his driver’s room. He’d been staring at a blank spot on the wall for the last fifteen minutes without saying a word.
He jerked his head in my direction, blinking at me. “What?”
“Wanna make a run for it?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow. “I could probably come up with a medical reason to get you out of the race,” I suggested, only half-joking. I wasn’t exactly known for being the greatest at cheering people up, so this was the best I could do, but it worked. At least, a little.
He shook head, a reluctant laugh escaping him. “I’m fine. Fifty-two laps to the finish line and it’ll be over,” he said, sounding more resigned than relieved.
Today was Isaiah's most anticipated event of the entire race calendar. Not only for him, but for his fans who’d packed the stands.
Which was why I’d taken the entire weekend off to be here for him—just like I did every year. I wasn’t the type to take time off, but I’d always made sure I wasn’t scheduled to work during his home race because I knew this was the hardest one for him.
Isaiah always felt like he had to prove himself even more when it came to racing at home, understandably, and not winning wasn’t something he wanted to experience in his own backyard.
Especially when his father had decided to show up.
The tension in the garage had been palpable from the moment James had stepped into the room wearing his son’s old Atlas Racing merchandise. Everyone in the garage gave him looks, but no one dared to say anything as he strolled past them.
My uncle had mostly kept to himself, standing stoically beside my aunt in the viewing area, and muttering curses under his breath every once in a while when Isaiah made a marginally small mistake.
I opened my mouth to reply, but a knock on his door came from someone in his team to alert him that the pre-race National Anthem would be starting in ten minutes. Without missing a beat, Isaiah frantically shot up from his seat. He bolted for the door and exited his room in a hurry, running straight into someone.
I watched as he managed to catch Cynara, and righted her, preventing them from both tumbling to the ground.
He opened his mouth to apologize, but she was already pushing him off. “Watch where you’re going,” she hissed, glaring at him, before promptly storming off.
Isaiah glanced at me over his shoulder. “See what I mean?” he grumbled, shaking his head.
I couldn’t help but laugh as I followed him back to the garage.
A voice over the loud speakers announced the impending anthem just as we made it back. “Bloody hell, I better get going before they fine me. I’ll see you after the race,” he called out over his shoulder, already breaking into a sprint toward the grid.
I had about fifteen minutes or so before the race started, so I decided to use the spare time and pop over to the neighboring garage to see Amar, who was attending the race as one of Atlas Racing’s guests.
The House was ingrained in many facets of our society, and Formula One was just another of its many ventures. Amar’s grandfather had purchased a significant stake of a previous team that had been in dire need of financial endorsement after its former owner filed for bankruptcy.
Something tells me it wasn’t a coincidence.
Once inside, I spotted Amar straight away. The British national anthem had just come to an end, and he was deep in conversation with what looked like a couple. At least, that’s what I assumed given how the man had his arm possessively around his partner’s waist.
At first, I couldn’t quite make out who they were, both of them slightly turned away from me since I was entering the garage from the back, but as I drew closer, I instantly recognized who it was.
Edward O’Donnell and Hazel Mendoza—one of the world’s finest goalkeepers and his manager’s daughter turned fiancée. Who also happened to be Azara’s best friend. Something I’d discovered while looking into her for research purposes, of course.
My eyes instantly flickered around the red and gold garage, searching for her, but disappointment set in when I realized she wasn’t there.
“Michael,” Amar called out, once he caught my gaze.
I closed the remaining distance between us, offering a smile as I came to stand beside him and the couple. “Hey, man. Just thought I’d stop by and see you before you guys lose today’s race.”
Amar shook his head, gripping my shoulder. “Cocky as ever,” he said with a grin before turning to the other two guests. “Hazel, this is Michael—someone I’m very unfortunate to have in my life. And Eddy, well… you two have already met.”
I huffed out a laugh at the dig before shifting my focus to the couple. “Good to see you again, Edward,” I said, giving him a clasped handshake in greeting. I then turned to Hazel, holding out my hand before pressing a brief kiss to her knuckles. “Michael Young. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you properly, Hazel. Eddy never shuts up about you.”
I hadn’t spent a ton of time with the football player, but every time we’d met with him before a game or spent time at an event, he’d always found a way to bring her up in conversations.
Hazel briefly glanced at her fiancé, a faint blush coloring both of their fair complexions, before she focused her attention back on me, a flicker of curiosity in her hazel eyes.
“Young?” she asked, raising a brow. “You wouldn’t happen to work at Amanar General, would you?”
I blinked, caught off guard by her question. “Er, I do, actually. I’m a surgical consultant there.”
Hazel’s smile widened, her eyes now gleaming with a quiet amusement, as if she was privy to something I didn’t know. “Cardiothoracic?” she asked, her tone suggesting she already knew the answer, and it only deepened my confusion.
This was our first time meeting, and although I didn’t remember the name of every patient I’d operated on, I did remember their faces. The only time I’d ever seen hers was through digital pictures.
“Yes, that’s my specialty,” I confirmed warily as her fiancé glanced down at her with the same puzzlement I was feeling.
“So you’re the hot doctor,” she remarked under her breath, but I still managed to hear her.
“Sorry?” I said, unsure if I’d heard her correctly.
“Oh, nothing,” she said lightly, waving me off, but the mischievous grin she had clearly stated differently.
I would have pressed for more answers, but the drivers had started their formation lap so I brushed her comment to the side, knowing I had to head back before the race started.
“Alright, well, that’s my signal to head back, but I’ll see you all at the podium ceremony, when you come to cheer my cousin for breaking another record,” I teased before quickly saying goodbye and heading back to Matrix Motorsports garage.
Throughout the entire race, as I watched my cousin lead by a significant margin, my curiosity kept going back to the peculiar conversation I’d just had.
Even when Isaiah won his eleventh consecutive race, the only thing that occupied my thoughts was what Hazel meant by ‘hot doctor’, and if it had anything to do with Azara.