That did not go how I planned. But I don’t have time to give it the headspace it requires, so instead, I smile and wave to the press as I walk in. I go to my assigned garage at the track and change into my fire suit and boots. I go through the checklist with my pit crew. We have a game plan, and we need to work that.
I have a race to win.
And I do just that.
• • •
Champagne corks pop, and the sticky, fizzy mess flows over my head. I can’t help but laugh. It fills my lungs and overflows. I couldn’t force the smile off my face if I tried as I step up to the podium as the winner.
I won.
This is a big check in the column in my favor for the race to win Dark Horse Racing. And now that I’ve won, I can admit to myself I’m scared. I have never wanted anything more in my life than to take over my family’s legacy, and the idea of it slipping through my fingers because I’m not good enough was keeping me awake at night. But I did it. I won. And the blood of my dad and his dad before him flow through my veins. I can do this, and I will.
Today is the best day of my life. I won a race that no woman has ever won before. I won a race that no other driver for DHR has ever won besides my dad.
“I don’t like this,” King says from somewhere behind me.
I shrug and turn my smile toward him, because today is a really great day, and I still don’t think the threat is real. “I told you. There’s nothing to worry about.”
King doesn’t look so sure. Actually, he looks pissed as hell.
I just stand here and bask in the moment. The smile that spreads across my face is huge and genuine. The crowd is cheering and chanting my name. Mine, not my dad’s. It’s an incredible feeling, and I close my eyes, tip my head up to the sun to let it all sink in, and say a silent thank you.
Unfortunately, it’s why I don’t feel the energy of the crowd change. I don’t notice something is wrong until the first bullet whizzes past my ear. My eyes snap open, and the next thing I know, I’m being tackled from behind.
“Fresa,” King growls. “I thought we talked about not making yourself a target anymore.”
“Whoopsies.”
“Not another word,” he growls.
I guess it’s time I take all of those threats seriously after all.
Everything seems to happen all at once. Screams erupt from the crowd, and everyone starts running. No one seems to be sure where the shots came from. Manny and Eric seem to come from nowhere and jump off the stage and bleed into the crowd. And then finally, I’m released from King’s weight where it pressed me into the planks of the stage. Once I’m on my feet again, he grabs my hand in his larger one, and we race off the stage. I have to run to keep up with him. He shoves me into the back room of our garage and slams the door, still moving through the small room and pushing me to the back of it.
“So there’s no threat, huh?” he snaps as he pushes me until my shoulders hit the metal shop wall.
“Well…”
“Well, what?”
“It appears I was uhh… umm… wrong about that,” I stammer.
“No shit,” he bites out, and then he leans into me. I think he’s going to kiss me, but then the door slams open, and King and I jump apart as Manny walks in.
“It’s all clear,” he says. “There’s no sign of the shooter.”
“Weapon?” King fires back.
“Gone.”
“Fuck!”
“That about sums it up,” Manny agrees. “The cops want a word.”
King looks back at me, and I do my best to fade into the wall, which is not like me at all. I was born under a spotlight thanks to who my parents are, and even who my grandfather was. I’ve never been selfish or conceited, but I’ve also never been a shrinking violet either, so I make a mental note to put some thought into how King makes me feel about myself and how not great that probably is when the bullets are done flying and the smoke has cleared.
“I’ve got this covered,” Manny says.
