Page 57 of On The Edge

“She’s not Spanish.”

“And?”

“And by the way she dresses, she clearly doesn’t have any sense of who she’s dating—and please know I use the term loosely. Or, how it’ll reflect on the family. She does not have the pedigree fitting of a Navarro.”

Fuck. You.

“The pedigree?” I shake my head ever so slowly as my jaw clenches and hands fist. My body is exhausted, but my temper is ablaze.

Who’s not good enough for whom?

“The last thing you need to do is stick your cock in her and get her pregnant.”

My anger turns to rage. Normally his words roll off my back but, Jesus fucking Christ. “If you had any clue about the women I’ve stuck my cock into, you’d die.”

His jaw works as he glares at me. No doubt crudeness is okay for him, but not for me.

“Hijo, you’re walking a perilously thin line when it comes to what is and isn’t acceptable in this family.”

I snort. “What is the threat? That I’m going to be kicked out? It’s not like you can take my last name away or the blood running through me.”

“No, but I can cut you out of every goddamn thing that is Navarro.” His eyes are as ruthless as his tone. Both have my heart clenching in my chest. Aching.

“You can keep your money, Papá. Clearly, I’ve made my own.” I hold my hands out to the side to say look at where we are.

“Money doesn’t make the man, Cruz. Blood does. The last name does. The heritage does.”

“You say that like it’s a threat when I’m the one you’re counting on to prove to el patriarca that you’re worthy of that last name you swing like a sword. Must suck being a grown man and needing your son to do the job you couldn’t to make him proud of you. It sounds like your shortcomings, not mine.”

He nods, his lips pursed and his eyes blazing with fury. “I don’t need my son to make my father proud of me.” Yes, you do. “But I need my son to not embarrass me or him or this goddamn name you were blessed with. That is something I won’t tolerate.”

“Or else what?”

His smile is devious as it turns up the corners of his lips. “I have more clout in this industry than you know, Cruz. You think you got this ride on your own accord? You don’t think I pulled strings to get you here? To keep you here?” he asks.

He’s full of shit. First, I earned my ride myself. Then why do memories tickle the recesses of my mind that make me doubt myself? Second, he won’t bite the hand that’s feeding him the much-needed approval he craves from my grandfather. But his spite is so strong maybe he would.

“You don’t pull my strings. No one does.”

“As usual—and as expected—you are disrespectful and shortsighted. She’s not good enough for a Navarro, plain and simple. Take care of the problem or I will.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Maddix

“P4 is great, right? Why did he look like he just took last place?”

Amandine slides a look my way, almost as if to say I clearly don’t know my boyfriend well enough and isn’t sure if she wants to break the bad news to me. “P4 is incredible. It’s in the points. A lot of teams would kill to place fourth, but Gravitas is a top-tier team. We’re supposed to place on the podium.” She pauses momentarily. “Cruz is harder on himself than any critic out there could ever be. Every race. Every lap. The man has more talent and instinct in his little pinkie than most of the drivers out there, but he never seems to see it as good enough. And even when he finishes in first place, there is something he thinks he could have done better.”

I’m hearing her words, but am having a hard time squaring that description with the man I’ve come to know in the short time I’ve been here.

He comes off as a man who takes everything with a grain of salt. His fame. His life. And I incorrectly thought this—his racing.

But how can he be upset? The race was . . . exhilarating. Exciting. Nerve-wracking. Each lap was a thrill ride full of oohs and aahs and crossed fingers and tensed muscles as I willed him from my seat in the media box to go faster and, at the same time, not crash.

I’m exhausted from the adrenaline of watching so I can’t imagine how he must feel.

“He’s a perfectionist in every sense of the word when it comes to racing. I mean . . . he is a Navarro.”