Chapter Twelve – Shanghai
Aleksandr Volkov – Shanghai, Tuesday Night
I shouldn’t have come.
The bar was too loud, the lighting too low, and the alcohol too warm. I didn’t like crowds off the track. Didn’t like chaos I couldn’t control. And yet here I was, sandwiched between Oliver and Mason, nursing a drink I didn’t want, laughing at jokes I barely heard.
Because she was here.
And I couldn’t stop watching her.
Not directly. I wasn’t that stupid. But in the mirror behind the bar, in the curve of her cheek when she smiled at that bastard Kavanagh. In the sound of her laugh—light, genuine, rare.
I hated that I could pick it out so easily.
She looked… tired. The kind of tired that went deeper than lack of sleep. Her eyes didn’t scan the room much. They stayed locked on whoever was speaking, or her glass, or the middle distance where thoughts lived. And when she caught someone looking, she smiled like she meant it.
She hadn’t looked at me once.
Good. She shouldn’t.
I’d spent the last three days pretending I didn’t feel like my skull was full of bees. I’d barely spoken to Mac. Ross was circling like a hawk, waiting for another excuse to twist the knife. And Suzuka? A fucking disaster.
Because of her.
Because of me.
I couldn’t decide which.
The kiss had been a mistake. I knew that. Knew it the moment my mouth left hers and the guilt crashed in. But it hadn’t felt like a mistake in the moment. It had felt like truth. Hot, wild, unspoken truth.
And that terrified me more than anything Ross could threaten me with.
“Mate,” Oliver said, elbowing me. “You alright?”
I blinked. “Fine.”
He gave me a look. The kind that said ‘you’re full of shit’ without needing to say it out loud.
Across the joined tables, Jax was still holding court. Hale tossed in the occasional punchline. Ren sat with his arms crossed but his eyes smiling. The press pack were looser now, the tension from dinner dissolving into alcohol and anecdote.
And Elena?
Still smiling at the wrong man.
Jamie Kavanagh leaned in close to whisper something, and she laughed—soft, unguarded. It twisted in my gut like a blade. Not jealousy. Not exactly. I knew Kavanagh wasn’t a threat. He was too obvious. Too polished. Too safe.
But I still wanted to shove him off his stool.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I took another sip of beer and leaned back, forcing myself to look away. Oliver was telling some story about a track walk in Monaco that ended with him getting locked in a public toilet. Everyone laughed.
I didn’t.
Because all I could think about was Elena in that spotlight. Her body against mine. The heat. The fire. The fury. The way she’d looked at me—like I was both the answer and the problem.
And now she wouldn’t even look at me.
Good.
Let her keep her distance. Let her write her story, burn down my team, do whatever the hell she came here to do.
I didn’t need her.
I didn’t want her.
But I watched her anyway.
Because not wanting something doesn’t make it go away.
Especially when it’s sitting three feet from you, pretending not to burn.
It was late. The group was dwindling away but she had stuck around. I watched her head to the bar, seething and sizzling in equal measure. Her dark curls were tied up but slipping from their knot, brushing her long neck. Fuck.
Nope. I couldn’t just sit there. I slipped from my stool and followed her with my empty glass, planting it on the bar beside her and leaning my elbows on the surface.
I’d long-since removed my sports jacket and my shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbows.
The bar was sticky beneath my forearms, but I ignored the sensation. Finally I was at her side.
She glanced sideways at me and quickly returned her gaze to the shelves of bottles behind the bar.
“Still here?” I didn’t have game. I’d never had it. And now I was proving it. I cringed at myself.
“Yep. Still here, Champion. I have events to report on. It’s my job.” She still didn’t look at me. The young, male bar tender approached us with an expectant expression. “Whisky, neat. Please.”
The bar tender nodded and looked to me as if we were together.
“Vodka, also neat, thank you.”
He turned away to fetch our drinks and we were alone again. Alone in a busy bar. Our peers sitting just a few feet away, potentially watching us, maybe even gossiping about us. I wasn’t naive enough to think that her probing wasn’t well-known up and down the paddock.
I moved a touch closer, my forearm gently touching hers. She glanced at my reflection in the mirror and our eyes met, lingered, then moved away.
“You can stop calling me that.”
“What?”
“Champion,” I said, grimacing.
“But you are one. Whether on merit or not is debatable.”
“Fuck,” I hissed under my breath. “Just stop it, will you?”
“Never.”
Silence hung in the air between us. Seething, I shifted my weight and broke the contact between our arms.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“What for?”
“The spotlight.”
“Oh.” My insides squirmed. She regretted it.
The bar tender placed our drinks in front of us and before she could hold out her credit card, I passed mine to him. “I’ll get these.”
“Thanks.” Our eyes met in the mirror again.
“You shouldn’t apologise for that.” I lifted my glass and stared into the clear liquid. “I won’t.” I knocked back the drink and slammed the glass back on the bar. I turned and stalked back to the table. I grabbed my jacket without looking back.
“You calling it a night?” Oliver asked, looking from me to Elena.
“It’s time.”
Elena arrived at the table with her drink, her face pale.
“See you later,” Oliver said and he offered me his hand. I wrapped mine around it and pulled him into a brotherly embrace.
“Later, Aleks,” called Jax. I nodded his way and left, not wanting to drag out my goodbyes. I stepped into the street and stared up at the sky. It glowed orange and smelled like imminent rain.
Dammit. I wanted her to follow me. I wanted to take her back to my hotel room. I wanted to kiss her again and all the rest. But how could she possibly know that?
The bar door opened behind me and I spun around with a hopeful heart. But it was fucking Kavanagh and another journalist.
“’Night,” Jamie called as they passed me.
I waved and stared in through the window.
Elena was left with Jax and Oliver. The sight did something unpleasant to my innards.
Conflicting thoughts clashed inside my head.
On the one hand, she might try to dig up dirt on me with my two closest friends on the grid.
On the other, Jax might try to bed her. He did that a lot.
And I couldn’t have that. A hissing snake reared up inside me at the thought.
But Oli was there. My oldest friend. I trusted him with my life.
We’d been team mates until three years ago when he made the move to Hawthorn.
He’d look after her, make sure she got back to her hotel safely. Make sure Jax kept it in his pants.
I set off walking towards the Hyatt. I got about ten paces before my racing thoughts halted me in my tracks and made me turn around. I strode back to the bar, flung the door open and stormed to the table. The three of them looked up at me with puzzled expressions.
“I can’t find my phone,” I lied. I looked up and down the table in vain, knowing full well it was in my back pocket.
The guys immediately started looking under and around the tables. Elena sat perfectly still, her gaze locked on me. I made a brief show of looking before allowing my gaze to settle on her. Was that a smirk trying to break free?
“I can’t see it, mate,” Oliver said, emerging from under the table.
“Me neither. You sure it isn’t in the wrong pocket?” Jax said, rather too helpfully.
I patted my jacket pockets first, then the front of my jeans, before finally landing on the right one. I feigned an expression of surprised relief and tugged the phone free. I waved it before slipping it into my inside jacket pocket.
“Turns out three beers is enough to crack that shell of control,” Jax said with a lopsided grin. “You dumbass.”
“Don’t forget the vodka,” Elena said, her smirk breaking out now. “It was probably the vodka.”
The guys looked at her, Jax with his head tilted to one side, Oli just frowning.
“Vodka?” Oli asked.
“Funny. Funny journalist with your stories.” There was more bite in my voice than I’d intended. I hoped it would be brushed off as alcohol-induced, but regretted it all the same.
“I’m an honest one, remember?” She crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow.
“OK, now then, kids,” Oliver said, getting to his feet. “That’ll do.”
Elena stood up too and tugged her coat on over her black shirt. The same shirt she’d been wearing when we kissed.
“I’m calling it a night. Thanks, guys. This was fun.” She moved around the table towards me.
“I’ll walk you to your hotel,” I said. A reflex. What was I thinking?
“What a gentleman,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Oliver said, sliding into his jacket.
Jax got to his feet too and swept his blond hair back from his face. “You two clearly need a chaperone, or one of you might end up being mysteriously pushed into oncoming traffic.”
“Ha ha,” I replied, canting my head.
The four of us filed out of the bar and into the street. This wasn’t quite what I’d been aiming for.
“Where are you staying?” I asked, turning to Elena.
“The Holiday Inn,” she replied, pointing along the street. Me and the guys were further away in the Hyatt, but without question or objection, the three of us accompanied Elena back to her hotel in near silence.
Oliver had ended up between us but she fell back a touch and I fell into step beside her.
I closed the gap and reached my fingers towards her.
Our knuckles brushed clumsily against each other.
I glanced sideways and our eyes met for a second.
Our hands touched again, slower, cautious but intentional.
“…better than whatever shoebox you were in in Suzuka?” Jax asked, turning his head back to look at Elena. Our hands flew apart, hers grabbing the strap of her bag, mine sliding into my pocket.
“Yeah, much better, thanks. Not the Hyatt, but you know, fine.” Elena adjusted her pace, moving ahead to walk beside Jax. Oli dropped back beside me.
“Everything OK?” he asked quietly.
“Fine.”
“Your standard response. Default setting.” He chuckled, his hands sliding into his pockets. “But if you’re ever not fine, you can talk to me about it.”
“Thank you, but I really am fine.” I gave him a nod, but the look in his eye told me he wasn’t buying it.
We arrived at Elena’s hotel and saw her into the lobby. Jax made as if to follow her to the elevator, but Oli grabbed him by the back of his shirt and yanked him back.
“Nope.” Oli barked. “Goodnight, Archer! See you in the media pen!” He marched Jax back towards the doors and I stood for a moment, caught between competing desires. I watched her hit the call button and just as I decided to follow her, Kane’s voice sliced across the marble lobby. “Oi. Volkov!”
I turned and left, but this time I did look back and she was looking right at me, her eyes heavy with longing. Fuck.