Crash Course Omega (Driververse #1)

1. Maddock

Maddock

I've been cursed this season by winning second place in nineteen races so far. We have four left of the championship after Brazil, and it looks like I might lose my streak. It’s infuriating, but with no driver consistently coming in first place, it puts me second on the season leaderboard.

“Jacob, tell Jaxx to let me pass,” I say into the microphone inside my helmet. At the other end is a team of strategists in the Grace comms tent planning moves for the race. Jacob Grace isn’t just my race engineer; he’s my best friend and our Team Principal, the man in charge of us all.

He isn’t supposed to be on the comms, but I won’t talk to anyone else during the race. Mainly because he’s the only one who will relay messages straight to my partner.

There’s a second of silence as he passes on the message.

“Negative, Jaxx is maintaining P3,” Jacob sighs, because he knows what’s coming.

“My tires are newer, and I’m beating his lap times! I can do it. Just tell him to fall back!”

But there’s nothing on the other end, but Jaxx won’t give it up. He never does.

It doesn’t matter that I can get us a win. Not to him.

I've raced the Brazil circuit with F1 eight years in a row. I know what I’m doing. This is Jaxx's fifth go. He spent three years building his skills in F2 with slower cars and slower races. This is his second year out on the F1 circuit—he isn’t on the same level.

The Blue Ox is pulling away, and we’re losing ground as we fight for P3. If Jaxx just stayed in line, I could use the slipstream created by the speed of his car to cruise before we reached the sweet spot where I could take over.

But my teammate is an asshole.

“He pitted twelve laps ago! I did five. Just tell him to tow me until the straight.”

We speed around the corner, keeping close to each other.

I prepare for the overtake, hoping Jaxx gets the message.

The second we run out into the straight, I push the car, getting up to 200kmph as the red barriers that run alongside the track shoot by in a blur.

I should have a clear run if Jaxx goes wide. But of course, he keeps it tight.

He won’t let me through, and a growl tears from me. If I give in to my anger, I’d slam my car straight into his, and then we'd both be fucked.

I watch him maintain a balance between me and the Ox. You could measure the distance between the three of us with a ruler and wouldn't have found an inch difference. It would be perfect. Because Jaxx is that fucking good. But he never uses his talent to win.

“He has an opening! Tell him to go for it!” I shout to Jacob. If Jaxx isn’t going to help me, he can at least help our team by getting into P2.

As we reach the corner, Jaxx brakes too late, and he has to go wide.

It was close. So fucking close.

As I spin the corner, the car screeches, and I keep in fourth gear to get us around.

One oversteer, and I could sail into Jaxx.

But I keep it tight and hurl out of the corner just in time to clip Jaxx’s front wing.

There’s a screech somewhere. I feel the shudder in my car, but I can’t lose my concentration.

“Maddock, what the hell are you doing?” Jacob shouts. “We told you to hold. Jaxx almost lost his front left.”

“I'm going for it,” I say, tightening my grip.

“You are not. Hold your position. Stay with Jaxx. Finish P3 and P4.”

“Not a chance. I'm going for it.”

His growl rumbles through the earphones, but I ignore it.

It’s our time.

It’s our year to win everything.

And we can’t do it without taking risks.

The Ox is pulling away. We slowed too much and we have two more corners before the next straight run of the track.

“How many seconds ahead are P2 and P1?”

“1.4 and 5.8 seconds, respectively,” he replies dryly. “But P5 is 3.6 behind you. Just focus on keeping that.”

“Shit. Tell Jaxx to put his foot down or get the fuck out of my way.”

We still have two laps to catch the Ox. We can do it, as long as Jaxx gets his act together.

There’s a move I've practiced nonstop in the virtual training simulator for weeks before the Championship started that is exactly for hairpins. I've almost got it down, but I haven’t been able to get the last angle right.

But I can do it. The hairpin is right there.

Three seconds away. Two. One.

Right as I’m about to slide into position to set up, Jaxx angles his car just enough to cruise in the middle of the track and cut me off.

“Asshole!” I shout.

Silence hums around me, not even the buzz of my engine as I chew down the gears can get through the white noise that shakes me when I am really pissed off.

“Sorry, Maddock, he's refusing to budge,” Jacob says.

It’s shit like this that makes Jaxx a good driver overall. Because he knows where he needs to be at exactly the right time. But it doesn’t make him a winner. Neither of us has stood in first position on the podium or won a Championship, or any Grand Prix’s.

This is our chance. If Jaxx just works with me instead of pulling his usual shit.

I hit the pedal, pushing us along as we trawl through the hairpin at fucking 80kmph. We need more speed. We need something .

I’m so tempted to just slam into the back of Jaxx and DNF us both. But even if we come in behind the Ox and Warren, we still get our points. But it isn’t the same as crossing the finish line with no one in front of me.

We get out of the hairpin just in time to see the Ox shoot away.

“What's P1?” I ask.

“Sorry, Maddock. He's over by six seconds.”

“For fucks sake!”

As we speed down the last line, I go for it.

I didn't come here to be a gentleman, especially not to someone like Jaxx.

We aren’t getting first, but I’m sure as hell not getting in fourth.

The crowd ripples as we pour into the final corner and onto the wide curve toward the checkered flag.

I dart out, slamming down the pedal to roar past my teammate.

We don’t bump, but neither of us is giving up. It’s too fucking close, and he knows I'd rather lose a podium place than lose a race.

230. 275. 300kmph. Both of us in top gear, our engines screaming.

And finally, right when it doesn’t matter, Jaxx pulls back.

We’re seconds from the finish line. The Ox and Warren are already through, and the crowd goes wild.

I glance at Jaxx, and he lifts two fingers, giving me a firm salute as I zoom past.

I stick my hand up from the cockpit, a middle finger raised at the asshole who cost us the race as I speed across the line in third place.