Page 20 of Battle Scars

“Exactly what it sounds like,” he replies. “I don’t hold hands with spoiled celebrities. You want to stay alive, then do what I say. You don’t, then your dad is the one who will have to live with the consequences of your actions.”

“Ouch,” I whisper. “That wasn’t very nice.”

“I’m not a very nice guy,” he replies.

I think I agree with him there.

And I’d do well to remember that too.

Instead of responding, I turn my head toward the window and watch the highway pass by, lost in my own thoughts as we make our way to the track in East County. It’s early enough that traffic is minimal which is saying something because this is still San Diego County. There are over three million people who live here and drive on the freeways.

When we get there, he pulls through the gate with ease. Apparently, security was briefed yesterday, because he drives right around to my garage, where he parks in my spot. I try not to let that chafe, but it does.

I pull in a steadying breath and turn to unbuckle my belt, making a pointed effort not to look him in his eyes. It’s foolish and it’s weak, and I hate that he’s made me feel so, but worse than that would be if he found out how badly he actually hurt me with his callous words.

I need to get out of this vehicle as quickly as possible.

It’s stupid—I’m well aware. I don’t know him, and he doesn’t know me, so why am I letting his words, as mean as they are, cut me so deeply? I shouldn’t; that’s the answer. So with that in mind, I won’t let him.

He’s here to do a job, and that is to protect my life. My job is to win some fucking races so I can earn the life I was meant to live. That’s it. And I’m going to remember that and ignore anything else. We’re not going to be best friends who stay up late, braiding each other’s hair and sharing our deepest secrets. We’re also not going to be lovers. So now I really need to get out of this fucking car.

His hand stills mine over the latch to my belt, and I suck in a deep breath but don’t lift my gaze to meet his.

“Fresa,” Gabe calls gently. “Look at me.”

I bite my lip and look up at him. I don’t want to, but the warm gold of his hazel eyes pulls me in.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says softly.

I let him treat me with kid gloves for a moment. I’d rather he think I’m scared of some stalker than actually hurt by this man with too much testosterone.

“I know.”

“I need to know that you’re going to listen to me and do exactly what I say,” he says calmly, and the tight leash on my control begins to fray.

I want to yell and scream. How dare he tell me that I need to come to heel? Not to mention his insinuation that the precarious turn my life has taken is somehow my fault is more than a little offensive. But I’m not going to let him get a rise out of me again.

I pull in a calming breath, and then reply, “I can’t guarantee I will act and react the way you want me to, but I can promise to try my best to stay out of your way and not do anything to compromise my safety.”

He watches me for what seems like a ridiculously long time. It feels like he somehow sees everything, even the things I want to hide the most.

I can’t take any more of his watchful gaze, so I snap, “Can I go to work now?”

“Yeah,” he replies gently. “You can go to work now.”

“Thanks.” I press down on the latch to my seatbelt until it pops with an audible click, then I lean away from him—as far away as I can get—and grab the door handle to push it open. I jump down, and I’m motoring toward my garage at the track, when I’m grabbed by the back of my tank. I let out a little “Eep!”

“Not out of my sight,” Gabe growls into my ear. “If you can’t see me, I can’t see you.”

My heart beats so strongly in my throat, I’m not sure I can speak, so I just nod. He seems to accept it, because he lets me go.

I head into the bay and see Erin and Rowan waiting for me. The excitement shimmering on their faces is plain to see.

“What’s up?” I ask them.

“We’ve been asked to be in Formula One Magazine,” Erin says. She’s practically vibrating with her excitement.

“Yeah?”