15. Chapter 15
15
Chapter 15
CAMILLE
I sleep through the plane ride to Kannapolis. We’re at the Skorost headquarters and McKenna McIntyre is way younger than I expect. She’s in her mid-twenties and has a passion for her job that is just infectious. Their headquarters are on the edge of a racetrack, one they use to test their cars. A couple of race cars are on the track already. I watch them through the glass wall of the massive second-floor open space, which McKenna calls the lab, but Anatoly Petrov, who hovers close by, calls “bardac.”
He’s as polite as always, but it’s obvious he’s uncomfortable with us here, filming in the lab. He’s the one that deflected our filming enquiries in the past, but the Grande Prima executives finally came to the table to push it through, and he caved under the pressure.
Jay pans the vast room. At the far end, a team of engineers are stooped over a huge table covered in blueprints and plastic molded car parts are strewn everywhere.
“It’s biomimicry,” McKenna says excitedly and scoops up a part. “Nature really has the best designs.” She launches into a very technical explanation of birds of prey and airflow dynamics in bird flight. “We recreated it in the upgraded design for the next racing season.”
There are specific regulations that dictate when changes to the cars can be made, and though they are tweaked throughout the racing season, major developmental upgrades usually take place over the winter break, which is end of November through January typically.
“So, while the aerodynamics of the car is one thing, by implementing biomimicry into the production materials as well, we’re not only recreating the aerodynamic properties, like wing shape, but we can also apply structural and materialistic improvements based on natural structures.”
She snatches up a blueprint enthusiastically. Anatoly starts forward in an attempt to keep at least some of their research private, but McKenna easily pulls it out of his grasp.
“Don’t worry, Mr Petrov, this is all basic. I won’t elaborate on the microstructure implementation. This information really is readily available to anyone who owns a pair of binoculars and spends any amount of time watching birds of prey.”
He gives a polite sigh and steps out of the shot.
Jay grins at him.
“You see, the key is in how the structure needs to change to adapt to different types of flight,” McKenna continues, tracing elegant curves on a design with her finger.
“The shape changes between soaring and high-speed dives and allowing the spoiler shape to change while driving gives optimal airflow versus application. If you can control airflow, you can reduce turbulence and provide maneuverability. We can literally dictate down force. ”
She ends with a cheery grin and takes in our faces. We’re riveted for sure. She’s explaining it as plainly as possible, but some of it is going completely over our heads.
“It minimises drag. So more stability in corners.”
We all nod, impressed.
It’s hard not to be.
She wears a lab coat over jeans and a t-shirt, her black hair tied into a glossy ponytail, with see-through framed glasses that make her baby blue eyes seem even bigger. She looks like a teenager, and it’s refreshing. So far, this sport has a lot of men, and seeing McKenna in her element is not only entertaining, but also educational and engaging.
Casey gave her winged eyeliner and a red lip that really brings out her classic beauty. Casey never hesitates when she does makeup, seeming to make it up as she goes along, and always seems to produce an end result where people look more like themselves than before. It’s a genuine talent, and I tell her often.
We pack up and make our way to the racetrack. The two cars are parked at an angle to make sure they show their good side for the camera.
Next to them, on a stand pegged into the ground, is an actual falcon, wearing a little leather hood. Its head swivels this way and that as it listens to us setting up.
Alexei is here and dressed, ready to test run the designs.
His eyes follow McKenna as she launches into the design for the upcoming season, and he steps aside to let her point out the rear wing shape.
Then she dons a large leather glove and scoops up the falcon, removing its hood. It’s a peregrine falcon, and it ruffles its crest feathers to shake them out and then sits contentedly while it watches us.
It’s apparent McKenna has a huge passion for birds of prey.
“My mom has a rehabilitation centre out in the countryside. She takes in all birds of prey who were hit by cars or raised in captivity.”
Rafa Navarro joins us soon after and we spend a delightful two hours trying to get a slow motion shot of the cars passing the flight of the peregrine on the forefront. McKenna places him on his stand and then whistles him over to her glove every time the cars pass.
There’s a reason I hate working with animals, but we end up getting the shot, and Alexei and Rafa cheer over comms. They made quite a couple of turns around the circuit.
The mechanics scurry over to interrogate the drivers and then pass all the info over to the engineers via handheld radios. A data analyst is downloading info from the cars to analyze later.
The team is so excited about the new car design we can’t help but get swept up in it along with them.
We capture Anatoly and McKenna off to one side, oblivious to the lenses. It’s obvious they have great respect for one another.
I sigh.
If this new design is as revolutionary as they think, the next season they will be dogged by other teams trying to infiltrate them to steal or replicate their designs. And if they can’t, well, there’s always money. Anatoly had stumbled onto McKenna by accident. Other teams could offer her ten times more money to work for them.
I watch her launch the falcon into the air and we’re all watching it peacefully as it climbs lazily and hovers out over the vast empty air above the track.
I’m curious to see how her career will unfold over the next few years.
The sun starts setting, and I promised the crew a round of drinks at the hotel bar, so I make my way over to thank everyone who allowed us to film them and to wish them well in the upcoming season.
With a sharp whistle, McKenna calls the falcon to her, and it lands on her glove with a flurry of wings, sharp claws digging into the protective leather.
She hands it a piece of raw meat that it gulps down in seconds.
Then she puts on the little hood and the falcon settles down comfortably with a ruffle of its feathers.
I guess we’re all like that, I think. Way more comfortable turning a blind eye towards the world and all its problems.
I am doing the same thing, I think uncomfortably.
I agreed to film through to the end of the season. When I spoke to Dixon, I told him I was happy to stay on, give him time to recover from the toll the past few years had taken on him, but in reality I can’t help but wonder if it’s because of Finn. I’m enjoying my time with him, ignoring the flutters I feel low in my belly, trying not to have thoughts of “what if.”
But at the end of this season, he’ll be done.
You can’t be a race car driver and have a life.
He won’t be a driver anymore, and I’m wondering how his life will look from then on.
My belly flutters.
I’m wondering if I’ll be a part of it.
* * *
FINN
“Finn?” She’s shaking me by the shoulders, her voice low and urgent.
I’m still twisted in pain, my shoulder searing with the flames as sweat pours over me, the impossible weight of the car at my back as I strain to dampen the fire. I watch as Grace’s face melts before me.
“Finn! Wake up!”
It drags me from the nightmare I was having, skin covered in sweat, the sheets wrapped around me in a tangled web.
It’s the same nightmare I have had for years. I relive the moment, unable to change even the smallest detail. Just relive the worst moment of my life again and again.
I struggle to pull free, Camille’s voice soft on my shoulder as she murmurs against my skin. I swing my legs off the bed and sit up, lowering my face into my hands.
I shiver.
I’ve been battling this spiral for weeks. Camille’s warmth was a place I could grab hold of, cling onto.
I haven’t seen her since Japan. She’s been away filming Skorost. When she landed here in Austin, Texas, I was already frothing at the mouth. My whole system is poisoned by the memories of the circuit here, Grace, the fucking flames. Every year when we return, it haunts me. I haven’t slept in days.
I knew it was coming but it’s always when I’m back here that I can look at the weeks leading up to it and, in hindsight, see the warning signs.
It feels like drowning. Like I’m fighting not to sink and when I’m hanging, suspended, at the bottom where nothing can reach me, I stop.
Stop feeling completely .
And with Camille gone I needed something to hold on to. Desperate, I reached for her.
When I finally drag her into my suite, her eyes were wide and quiet, taking me in. When I kissed her, she licked at her lip, where my bite had broken the skin. And then she looked me over for a moment more and surrendered to me.
I don’t know how else to think about it.
Usually when we fuck, she meets me halfway. This time she was like a piece of flesh, there for the taking. When I pulled her to me, she bounced up against my chest, and when I nuzzled at her neck, she lay her head back, giving me the full bare length of it to run my nose along. When I tore at her shirt, she didn’t peel it up for me, arms crossed as she tugged it over her head. She just lifted her arms, watching me tear it off, chest rising and falling with her heavy breathing. She didn’t undress me. She let me tip her back on the carpeted floor and drag her jeans from the tangle of her legs. I couldn’t bear how she looked at me. When I flipped her over, she looked back at me over her shoulder. It gave me pause.
She closed her eyes in a slow blink and gave me a nod. I tugged her ass up by the waist and undid my jeans. When she rose on her elbows, I pushed down on her neck, keeping her head low.
She was gloriously wet and tight when I slammed into her, straining against the carpet to offer me resistance.
I finished fast, furious, and when I pulled back, she turned over, tugging me down to her chest, and I collapsed there, breathing slowly.
She didn’t speak, just traced the dark circles under my eyes with a fingertip, eyes light and open as a morning sky, foggy with thought .
I thought about Grace, and the fucking letter from her daughter in my bag, crumpled from handling it, unopened still.
She didn’t speak when I rose, pulling her up by the hand.
We showered together, long, the room dense with steam, and when we were done, she wrapped her arms around me from behind and laid her cheek against my back.
Her fingers traced the raised flesh of the burn scar.
I thought about the way the car spun in the air, and the noise it made when it ripped through the chain-link fence.
I grabbed her hand and spun her around, pulling her to my chest. Her curls, dark from the water, clung wetly to her neck, and I pushed them back with trembling fingers.
I lowered my face to the beating pulse in the strain of the muscle as she laid her head back, eyes closed, but I held it there.
I didn’t like how she had surrendered to me. I had spent the fury I had carried with me this week. Now, all I had was fear.
This is why I never fuck before a race.
And I’m tired of it. Tired of the cycle, holding onto my anger, building it up every week, clinging to it during the race, and afterwards, the relief. Temporary respite before the whole thing starts all over again.
And the next race was at the track where it all went down fifteen years ago.
Camille was a desperate respite, and I’d set out to have her before I died. I had achieved that goal weeks ago, but even so, I could not let go. Still, I had not had my fill of her.
It was time to let go.
Her breasts brushed against my ribs, her nipples peaked and hard .
I wanted to fuck her again, but this time, I didn’t want her to meet me halfway. I wanted her to push back, angry and vengeful like me. Because I was furious that this would be our last time.
“Camille?”
She shivered.
“Camille,” I murmured against her neck, running my hand up her waist, cupping it around her breast, brushing my fingers over her nipple. “You want me to fuck you again?”
“Hmm.”
I ran my hand up her back and gripped her behind her neck, drawing her to me.
She moved to kiss me, but I tightened my grip, holding her back.
She squirmed.
“Beg me.” I threw her words back at her, the challenge she gave me at the ball, when she was wearing the lace mask and licked her blood-red lips.
When she opened her eyes, they were a stormy grey.
She took me in quietly.
“No,” she breathed.
My erection was rock hard. I turned her towards the counter, pushing her against the sink. The edge dug into her ass as I pressed my body up against hers. My dick twitched against her soft stomach.
“Beg me,” I said again.
“No.”
I kissed her then. She threw her arm around my neck, drew me close, and wrapped her other hand around my dick, stroking me. She hitched herself up against the counter, parting her legs. She wanted to guide me inside her .
I pulled her hand away, stepping back, shaking my head.
I could see the challenge echoed in the slow smile she gave me.
She pushed off of the sink, stepped up to me, gave me a playful smile, and walked out towards the bedroom. I followed her and paused in the doorway.
She made her way lazily towards the drinks trolley and poured two whiskeys.
When she held one aloft to tease me over, I relented, and I saw how her eyes grew stormy as she took me in when I made my way over to her.
I took the glass and she tapped hers to mine. Then she knocked hers back and gave a small gasp as it took her breath away. The last of the drops of water on her skin have dried, but her hair was still wet.
I knocked back my own as she set down her glass.
She twisted her wet hair into a single strand and pressed the water out of it. It ran down her body, dripping on the carpet.
She wiped at it, fingers skimming her breasts, her thighs.
I watched her absently, drinking her in, and she reached out her wet hand and grabbed me by my cock, firmly.
Trailing a hand over my chest, she walked me backwards towards the edge of the bed and then she pushed me down.
I fell back and hitched myself up by my elbows; I wanted to watch her climb on top of me, lower herself onto me slowly. I like to see how I disappear inside her.
She didn’t straddle me; she knelt between my legs and trailed kisses down my chest, dipping her tongue out to swirl wet circles over my skin.
Her wet hair left icy fingers down my abdomen and thigh before she gripped my cock again, swirling her tongue over the head, licking up the droplet that formed there while I shivered under her cold hair and warm mouth.
My hips bucked involuntarily, and she smiled lazily through her lowered lashes. I quivered with anticipation.
She stroked me slowly as she made a show of trailing her other hand down between her breasts, where it disappeared out of sight.
And then she took me in her mouth, gagging as she drew me in deep and the heat of her mouth was intoxicating. Now and then she swirled her tongue around the head of my cock and sucked down hard, and I edged closer and closer. Her tempo increased, her eyes still open and on mine.
She came to a slow, torturous halt.
I was so close.
She just looked at me with her stormy eyes, waiting.
“Please,” I breathed.
And with a victorious smile she trailed her tongue up the shaft and took the length of me inside her mouth and it was seconds before I came undone.
I spent the whole night returning the favour, and right before I fell asleep, in that second where thoughts disperse like oil on water, I realized that I was sated, satisfied.
I’m ready.
* * *
FINN
I stand up, naked, shaking off the nightmare. The aftershock of it tremors through me. I pad to the kitchen and make coffee.
It’s race day.
I’m ready. I’m done. The regret of it aches through me. She follows me. She’s wearing my shirt again, and she backs towards the island, lines up her palms, and hitches herself up to sit on the countertop. She straightens her legs before her, crosses them at the ankle, and then swings them as she watches me.
Her hair is an absolute mess of tangled curls. Her skin is pale from sleep, her cheeks flushed. The freckles on her nose stand out.
I don’t think she’s ever been as beautiful as in that moment.
When I hand her her coffee, she smiles at me through the steam, inhales the vapour, and sighs contentedly.
I need to shower, get ready.
Instead, I go to stand against her.
She opens her legs and wraps them around me, hugging me to her.
We’re both silent as we drink our coffee.
Her eyes are soft as she lifts a finger, tracing the deep furrow of my frown. Then it drops to trace the smile lines at my eyes, a remnant from a long-gone time.
“Finn, the nightmare…?”
More than anything, I don’t want to have this conversation. The dream flashes back into my mind, the fear and desperation.
I’m saved by the bell when her phone vibrates on the coffee table in the sitting room and she pushes me away to hop off the counter.
It vibrates again.
Relieved, I put my cup down, stretch, and go to kiss her neck before I head off to shower.
“Oh my God.”
She’s staring down at her phone. I place my cheek on her shoulder, glancing down at the screen.
DELTA VICTOR OFFERS brENNAN CONTRACT EXTENSION AFTER REDEMPTIVE SEASON.
Fuck.
She turns to me then, joy on her face. When she smiles like this, it shines from her.
“Finn, congratulations!”
She throws her arms around my neck and jumps up. I throw my hands to her thighs to catch her, hitch her up.
She makes to kiss me, but I draw back.
I watch the smile die on her lips. The little crease of a frown between her eyebrows.
“Don’t shut me out.” Her voice is very soft.
“I turned it down.”
“What?”
I set her down gently, and she steps back to look up at my face.
“I turned it down weeks ago. He leaked it on purpose to strong arm me.”
She frowns again. “Who?”
“Erik.”
“Weeks ago?”
Shit . I nod.
“But in Japan you said they weren’t renewing your contract.”
“Actually, I said I didn’t want to talk about it. And I still don’t.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Does it matter? I told you I was done with racing.” I lick at the corner of my mouth.
“I know, but I just assumed-”
“You assumed wrong. ”
“Is everything okay?”
I shrug her off.
“Finn, please talk to me.”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair.
“Camille, please.”
“There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“You never told me you submitted the proposal to WebFlix Max.”
She frowns. “What? I…”
“Didn’t think it mattered?”
“It’s not the same.”
“Camille, it’s not like you had plans to hang around indefinitely. You were honest about that from the start. I did you the same courtesy.”
“You said that you found your passion for it again. Back in London when I asked you about how you’ve been driving.”
I just look at her as she thinks back, tries to remember. I don’t want to do this. When I made love to her last night, I was content. I had had my fill of her, could leave this world sated.
“But if you turned him down, then you won’t be a driver,” she continues. “You’ll be retired. You could…” she peters out.
“Camille.” My voice is low, empty. “I told you, I have nothing to offer women long term. You know that.”
She looks at me incredulously.
“What did you think this was?” I ask.
“Finn.” Her voice is barely audible.
“What do you expect from me?” I ask softly.
Her eyes are dark, but not stormy. It’s the blue black of the ocean, a mirrored surface, heavy currents underneath. An undertow of confusion .
“But these past few weeks?”
“What about them?” The words taste bitter. “You always planned on leaving.”
She scoffs.
“But last night…” She shakes her head.
Despite my warnings, despite everything I have ever told her, she’s fallen in love with me.
Fuck.
She continues in a whisper, “You said it was me.” She brings a hand to the base of her throat. “You said I was what changed you.”
I frown. I remember London, how thoughts of her had consumed me, how obsessed I was with fucking her.
How I had let her believe her own lie.
“Finn, why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”I snap at her. I know what she means.
She gestures at me helplessly. She’s honest with her pain. It tugs at the corner of her mouth, brings tears to her eyes.
“Camille, I have been honest with you from the start.”
“Liar.” She touches a fingertip to the corner of my mouth. A tear slips free, runs down her cheek, and she brushes it away angrily.
I do the only thing I can do. I free her from me.
“Did you think you could save me?”
She blanches.
“Save you from what, Finn?”
“I told you, I like to fuck. And if last night is any indication, you do, too.” My voice is low, angry.
An angry blush runs up her neck like wildfire, spreading over her face.
Slowly I watch as the pale shock drains away, gets replaced by anger. Pure fury.
“Finn, you deserve-”
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” I hiss as I step up to her, bringing my face close to hers. “You don’t get to decide what I do and do not deserve .”
“Fuck you,” she spits.
Good. Fury erupts inside me, a powerful core of self-hatred boiling over.
I hold up my hands in mock surrender.
“You knew what this was, Camille.”
“Don’t say my name.”
“You knew this in London, you knew it in Japan, in Singapore, and you knew it last night, when you sucked my-”
She slaps me. It echoes around the room.
I turn my face back to hers, a slow, cruel smile spreading over my face.
“My mistake,” she whispers.
I don’t stop her when she leaves to get dressed. I can hear her in the bathroom, where she snatches up her toothbrush and cosmetics. When she storms back into the room, I’m still standing as she left me, back turned towards her.
I can’t let her see my face.
She slams the door behind her.