Chapter Thirty Six – Bahrain Race Weekend
Aleksandr Volkov – Bahrain International Circuit, Friday
I’d barely stepped out of the garage when Terri caught sight of me. She tried — and failed — to disguise the grin threatening to split her face in two.
“Morning,” she said, too brightly, holding out the day’s schedule on a tablet. “Sleep well?”
“I don’t sleep,” I muttered, scanning the document with half my brain.
“No, of course not,” she chirped. “Too busy breaking the internet, right?”
I shot her a sideways look. She winked. I said nothing.
The paddock was already baking. By mid-morning the tarmac would be a griddle. I tugged the collar of my polo shirt and tucked the tablet under my arm as we turned into the garage.
The energy had shifted. Everyone was still moving — engineers checking tire temps, mechanics running diagnostics — but the usual smooth rhythm felt... jagged. Like they weren’t sure whether to meet my eye or keep their heads down.
Callum sat on a folding chair, helmet between his knees, fiddling with the chin strap. He glanced up as I passed and gave me a single, grudging nod.
“Nice move,” he said, not quite under his breath.
I didn’t slow down.
Heidi cornered me the second I stepped onto the gantry.
“Aleks.” She said it like a warning, not a greeting.
I turned. She looked like she’d already been up for twenty hours — hair scraped back, phone in one hand, stylus clutched in the other.
“You should’ve cleared it with me.”
“I know.”
“You put us in a difficult position.”
“I know.”
She crossed her arms, staring me down. “And?”
I hesitated. Then, “It needed to be said.”
She watched me for a beat. Then, unbelievably, smiled.
“You’re lucky it landed as well as it did. If you’d flinched once on camera, I’d be fielding sponsor walkouts right now.”
I didn’t smile back. But I held her gaze long enough that she knew I was listening. Maybe even grateful.
“Go find Patel,” she said, already turning away. “Valerie wants both cars on track as early as possible.”
I found Patel at the back of the garage, reviewing telemetry from last year’s data. He was wiry, clean-cut, and barely looked old enough to rent a car. When I stopped beside him, he looked up and nodded, tight-lipped.
“Morning,” he said. “Ready to see how it feels out there?”
I folded my arms. “We’ve run one sim session. You going to keep up when the car’s moving for real?”
That got a flicker of a smile. “I learn fast.”
He held my gaze for half a beat too long, then glanced back to his tablet. Confident. Not cocky. I liked that.
“Turn Ten usually gives a bit of understeer,” he added, almost casually. “Let’s get a baseline run in, then we’ll see where we stand.”
I gave him a short nod and moved on. I didn’t need warm and fuzzy from my race engineer. I needed fast and accurate. Patel might be green, but he had potential. And for now, that would have to be enough.
Practice One went smoothly. The car felt twitchy on the corners, but stable enough on the straights. I kept the radio chatter to a minimum. Patel was efficient, focused, and mercifully not overeager.
After the session, I peeled off my gloves and climbed out of the car. Valerie Lin was waiting just outside the garage, arms folded, tablet tucked to her chest. She didn’t say anything — just nodded once.
“That’s all?” I asked.
“I’ve got six FIA compliance inspections to prep for and half a team still in meltdown. You showed up. You drove clean. That’s all I need from you today.”
Fair enough.
As I headed back to the hospitality suite, someone called my name. A track worker — no one I recognised — gave me a thumbs up as he passed.
Terri met me at the bottom of the stairs with a smoothie and a look of mischief.
“You’re trending.”
“I don’t care.”
“Liar,” she said, grinning wider.
I took the smoothie. Said nothing.
Inside, I found a moment to breathe. Just a moment. I opened my phone and checked the IMR website.
The interview was front page. Still climbing.
I closed the screen. I had nothing left to say.
Tomorrow, I’d let the car speak for me.
Elena Archer – Bahrain, Friday Afternoon
The paddock buzzed like a wasps’ nest. Every team, every driver, every journalist still wore the tension of the scandal like a second skin, even as qualifying loomed on the horizon.
I slipped past a group of mechanics from Nova, heading towards the media centre, when I heard heels clicking behind me at pace.
“Well,” came a familiar voice, dry and just a little amused, “you got there first.”
I turned, heart thudding faster than it should’ve. Caroline stood with one hand on her hip, the desert sun gleaming on her slicked back hair. Aviators hid her eyes, but I could feel the sharpness behind them.
“Wasn’t personal,” I said, lifting my chin. “I had to protect him.”
“I figured that out,” she replied, tone unreadable.
A beat of silence passed. The distant whine of an engine echoed from the pit lane.
“I was pissed off,” she admitted, slipping off her sunglasses. “You pulled the rug out from under me, and I hated you until about two hours ago.”
“Fair.”
“But… then I watched the whole thing.” Her expression softened, and she gave me a grudging smile. “You were right to do it yourself.”
I blinked, not expecting the olive branch.
“You’re good, Elena. And you’re in love with him. It shows.”
I swallowed hard, the emotion catching in my throat. “Thank you.”
“Don’t make a habit of scooping me, though. I’ll only be nice about it once.”
“Deal.” I let out a quiet laugh, the weight between us lifting. “Truce?”
She nodded. “Truce.” Caroline turned to go, but paused after a few steps and called back over her shoulder. “You should check the screen by the soft drinks stand. They’ve been looping your golden hour moment on repeat.”
I stared after her as she disappeared into the crowd, my pulse picking up speed again — for entirely different reasons now. I made my way past a row of sponsor stalls and hospitality booths, weaving through the crush of fans and VIPs.
Then I saw it — a crowd clustered in front of one of the big screens. The IMR logo flashed, and the audio was low, but I recognised the framing. The soft lighting. The unguarded expression on Aleks’s face.
My chest squeezed tight.
“It’s been a revelation, really,” Aleks said. The gathered crowd went quiet to hear what he had to say. “The people I thought I could trust most turned out to be the people pulling the strings.”
“And do you see yourself as their puppet?” My voice was softer, off camera.
A moment, a frown, a nod. “I suppose I do. It’s not a feeling I’m used to. I’ve built a career, a life, on being in control. Surrendering control is new to me. I don’t like it.”
I smiled. He really did a good job.
I left the circuit and joined Aleks in his suite just as the sun was setting. He scooped me into his arms.
“How did practice go?”
“Smoothly, considering.”
“Any trouble with your team about… anything?”
He shook his head and leaned down to capture my mouth with his. He walked me backwards to the bed, peeling off my clothes along the way. I was as eager to undress him, and could not stop grinning like a fool.
We dropped onto the bed and spent all evening worshipping each other’s bodies.
F1 Pulse Broadcast: Bahrain Qualifying Day
MARTY: Well, well, well. If anyone thought Aleksandr Volkov was going to roll over after two weeks of chaos, they were very much mistaken.
TARA: Not only did he show up — he showed up swinging. A commanding pole position here in Bahrain, and if that doesn’t send a message, I don’t know what does.
MARTY: Qualifying was electric. Fastest through every sector, clean, clinical. Classic Volkov — with something extra.
TARA: You can see it in his driving. He’s always been fast, but today? It felt like he was proving a point. Like he had something to say and said it with every turn of the wheel.
MARTY: He’s under the biggest microscope of his career, and he responds by going fastest of anyone this weekend. That’s what champions do.
TARA: And yet—he doesn’t seem… brittle. You know what I mean?
MARTY: He seems lighter. Looser. Not relaxed, exactly — this is still Volkov — but more grounded. Like he’s found solid footing again.
TARA: There’s been a lot of talk about that interview yesterday. I won’t get into the gossip, but—
MARTY: No need to. The performance on track does the talking.
TARA: And it’s saying loud and clear: Don’t count him out.
MARTY: Buckle up, folks. Tomorrow’s race just got even more interesting.
Aleksandr Volkov – Saturday Night
I woke to flickering blue light and the murmur of a voice. My voice. Then Elena’s. I rolled over in the huge bed and my arm landed on Elena’s feet. I looked up to find her sitting up, her knees crooked and her phone propped on them.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice heavy with sleep.
“Watching our interview again,” she said with a grin.
“Again?” I pulled myself up to sitting beside her and rested my head against the top of hers. “How many times have you watched it?”
“Dunno. Lost count.”
“You should be asleep.”
“Couldn’t. I’m horny as fuck but you need to sleep. Race day tomorrow.”
“You’ve never let that stop you before.”
“Shh, it’s one of the best bits.” She turned up the volume on her phone and I squinted down at my own face.
“I knew before the story broke, yes. But only pieces. I never had the whole picture. I got that in real time with the rest of the world.”
“And how did that make you feel?”
“Fractured. My world fell apart. Especially when Mac, my engineer told me he’d been involved.
That was a huge betrayal. He’d been with me since I joined Obsidian.
But since I last spoke to him I’ve come to understand why he did it.
He thought he was protecting me. I think that’s why I never knew what was happening.
I was shielded from it. That’s something I don’t think most people realise.
We, the drivers I mean, mainly, we live in a sort of bubble.
We have people all around us managing our entire lives.
If there’s anything someone doesn’t want us to know, it can be fairly easy to keep it from us, to manage our flow of information. ”
I took Elena’s phone and locked the screen, silencing the video.
“Hey!” She reached for it but I held it out of her reach. “We were about to see the last question.”
“No. Sex first, then sleep.” I tossed her phone over the side of the bed then pinned her down. She giggled but didn’t protest as I slid down her body. Her hands guided my head to between her thighs, her fingers threaded through my hair.
“It’s funny,” she said as I began to work on her pussy with my tongue. “For a man of so few words, when it counts, you know exactly what to do with your mouth.”
I chuckled, inadvertently tickling her. She squirmed but I reached up and pressed down on her hips, holding her in place as I resumed my midnight feast.