Chapter Nine – Japanese Race Weekend #2
But in an instant, Volkov’s mouth was on mine again.
I gasped, swallowing his own breath as our tongues clashed.
Heat, frustration, resentment. It all rushed between us there in that spotlight.
The Obsidian car was warm against my back from the heat of the light.
But despite being pinned against a machine, Volkov was the unyielding one.
He pressed against me hard, his own heat drowning me.
He clamped a hand around the back of my neck, his other hand held me in place by my hip.
My hands gripped his shoulders and I struggled to breathe against the relentless fury of his kiss.
What the fuck was this?
But there was no room in my head for examination of this turn of events. I couldn’t think, I could hardly comprehend it. Until finally he tore himself away from me, staggering backwards out of the pool of light.
I raised a trembling hand to my lips. My eyes wide and watering slightly.
“I—” Volkov said, his shoulders heaving. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“No,” I said, taking an unsteady step forwards. “Me neither.”
“You should go.” He turned and strode towards the glass doors we’d entered through.
He grasped the handle, then stopped, turning his head slightly towards me.
“Write your story if you have to. But I swear to you, I don’t know anything about the engine mapping.
I’ve got nothing to do with it. I just drive the car.
” He swung the door wide and left me staring after him.
Maybe it was the utter confusion over what had just happened, but somehow, I believed him.
Aleksandr Volkov – Post Qualifying
I didn’t look back.
Couldn’t. If I saw her again, if I let the look on her face sink into me, I’d lose whatever grip I still had on control.
And that was the problem. Control had been slipping since the moment she walked into my world.
I pushed through the next set of doors and slammed straight into Mac.
“You wanna tell me what the hell that was?” he barked, grabbing my shoulder and steering me out of the corridor. “You let a bloody reporter into the garage? You think that’s somethin’ we’re just going to ignore?”
I glowered at him and pulled my arm free. “I stopped her from going any further.”
“Ross is waitin’.” His voice dropped. “And he’s not happy.”
Great.
Mac shoved the door open and marched down the hall without waiting. I followed, already composing my defence—not that they’d believe it. Not when they were already circling like vultures.
Ross didn’t look up when we entered. He sat behind his desk, fingers steepled, jaw set in that infuriatingly smug line he reserved for journalists and internal investigations.
“Close the door,” he said.
I did.
“So,” he said, finally raising his eyes. “You want to explain why that nosy reporter was found snooping inside our garage?”
“She wasn’t snooping.” I snapped.
“Because you walked her out,” Mac cut in. “After she’d already seen telemetry, after she wandered into your side of the garage.”
“She didn’t touch anything,” I said. “She barely saw anything.”
Ross’s eyes narrowed. “And yet she was there. Which begs the question—how did she get in, and why did you help her leave without raising the alarm?”
I squared my shoulders. “Because I brought her in.”
Mac’s brow furrowed. “You what?”
“I didn’t sneak her past security,” I said quickly. “But she was asking questions. About the car. About what we’re allegedly doing. So I told her I would let her take a quick look—just a look—so she could see there’s nothing to hide.”
Ross let out a dry laugh. “That’s your excuse? You invited a hostile journalist into the garage in a noble attempt to clear the team’s name?”
“She wouldn’t drop it,” I said. “And I thought if she saw it for herself, it might shut the story down.”
“You’re not a PR officer, Aleks.” Ross’s voice dropped, but there was no hint of softness. “You don’t get to decide what’s good for the team.”
“She didn’t see anything confidential—”
“What if she had?” Mac cut in. “What if she’d taken photos? What if she’d recorded you admitting something she could twist?”
“She didn’t.”
Ross stood, circling slowly around his desk. “You think this was about her seeing the truth? No. She wanted access. She wanted proximity. And you handed it to her on a fucking platter.”
I clenched my jaw. “I’m suggesting you should take her seriously. She’s not some fluff journalist. She’s smart. And she’s persistent.”
“You don’t need to worry about what Elena Archer is or isn’t. We’ve dealt with far worse. What I do need from you is focus. Not whatever the hell that was back there.”
He stepped closer. Too close.
“You’re paid to drive. Not think. Not ask questions. And certainly not… interact with reporters who are trying to destroy the team.”
My blood turned to ice.
Mac watched quietly from the wall, arms crossed. I couldn’t tell whose side he was on.
“I’m not sleeping with her,” I said coldly.
Ross’s mouth curled. “Did I ask if you were?”
Silence again.
“There’s no cheating going on,” he added, tone suddenly calm. “You know that. I know that. But people like Archer?” He shook his head. “They make a career out of suggesting things they can’t prove. And I’m not about to let her ruin yours.”
I blinked. “Mine?”
He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “You’re our golden boy, Aleks.
But gold tarnishes fast in this business.
You understand?” He didn’t wait for an answer.
“Distance yourself from her. Publicly. Privately. Entirely. No more interviews. No more ‘accidental’ encounters. You’ve got a championship to win—and we’ve got a brand to protect. ”
He turned and moved back to his desk. “And if she ever sets foot in our garage again, I’ll have her credentials pulled so fast she’ll be covering karting by Tuesday.”
Mac pushed off the wall, nodding toward the door. “Go cool off.”
I left without another word.
But as I walked the corridor alone, the pressure building in my chest had nothing to do with the race.
Because Ross was lying. I could feel it in my bones.
And the worst part?
So was I.