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“Trust me. He knows what to do.”
Violet gave in on virtue of knowing next to nothing about the sport that had been suddenly forced upon her in the past few days. Franco had also spoken highly about Cornel and the connection they forged. He wouldn’t let anything bad happen to Franco either.
He slowly let go of her wrist, and they both approached the fence. Violet wrapped her fingers around the chain link, hearing the name of her fated mate being screamed through the blue skies, the pounding of fists and hands blending together into a pandemonium of delight.
Violet was far from delighted, but she managed to soothe her nerves with Cornel’s confidence. She watched, her breathing shallow, as Franco rounded Widow’s Peak for the last time.
Cornel was right. Terror, that son of a bitch, once again tried to rear-end Franco, but much more aggressively. However, Franco had been counting on it.
He performed a maneuver that guided Terror into slamming into him, egging him on almost, then smashed on the brakes just before the collision was nearly inevitable. That sent Terror blasting by and into the wall, not even scratching the surface of Franco’s car.
Metal sliced into the barrier as Terror spun out. He wasn’t able to straighten himself the way Franco could, and eventually, scraped too long and too hard. Smoke billowed up from the engine in thick swirls, accompanied by licks of orange flames.
But Violet’s eyes did not linger on him. She watched, mouth gaping, as Franco not only narrowly avoided another disaster but continued on to first place without a dent.
“OH MY GOD!” Violet called out.
“WE DID IT, MOTHERFUCKER!” Cornel screamed into the microphone.
The venue erupted into hysterical joy. Franco had been the favorite, and it was clear by the sounds of the crowd that his win pleased them immensely. The ground trembled like an earthquake was approaching while Franco did his victory lap.
Tears blurred her vision, and her hands clapped over her mouth. Goosebumps blanketed her body as the announcer blared through the crisp sunny day.
“AGAINST OVERWHELMING ODDS, WE HAVE OUR WINNER! FRANCO ZELLAR WITH AN IMPRESSIVE EVASIVE MANEUVER!”
The crowd voiced their approval with stomps and howls of blinding happiness. She knew instantly why the sport had meant so much to Franco; there wasn’t anything quite like the electricity of a live crowd. Adrenaline soared in her veins, making her feel more alive than ever before.
Cornel took her hand again.
“Come on!”
Somehow, Violet was able to move, springing toward the finish line with Cornel and the rest of the pit team. Her tiger was desperate to get to Franco. They all were waving their hands in the air as Franco’s car came to an abrupt stop, yelling his name, clapping, and laughing. Violet was euphoric as she watched the door of the red and yellow machine slide open and the man of her dreams emerge.
He took his helmet off swiftly and came to her in slow motion. Just as he lifted her by the waist and spun her around with mad laughter, Violet thought that there was no way this was her life. How could all of it be so wonderful and perfect?
“You did it!” she screamed over the announcer’s and the crowd’s chaotic racket.
Franco placed her on her feet and yanked her into him, making her gasp as he bent her backward ever so slightly. Photographers had leapt onto the track, desperate to catch the romantic moment that would thrive in the newspapers and news reports the next day.
Her breathing went shallow again as she gazed up at him, a warmth surging through her and nestling at her core. Those dark eyes were alive with exhilaration and contentment she had never seen. It radiated into her very soul.
“No,wedid it,” he whispered.
Franco crushed his mouth into hers in a romantic pose that resembled a dipping at the end of a slow dance. He tucked his hand under her leg as she wrapped it around his waist, feeling him smile under her mouth as she gave into him. Cameras snapped vigorously, encouraging them to continue.
Violet felt like a goddess in his arms.
They parted as the cameras continued to click on and off, standing and posing briefly before being guided to the winner’s circle. Violet felt like she was never going to stop smiling. Her face ached, and his taste lingered on her tongue.
Franco, his team, and Violet were led to the award procession where confetti would fall, and he and the second and third-place winners would spray each other with signature champagne. It all sounded fun, but Violet caught the sight of Terror’s car being removed from the track, and she shot off of her romantic cloud and into reality.
She yanked at Franco, causing him to stop walking for a moment. The crowd was still in a frenzy, as were the other members of Franco’s team.
Violet pulled his neck down to her and whispered into his ear. He was sweaty and fragrant from the long, stressful drive, and her tiger wanted to bury her face into his neck.
“Don’t let Terror go. He and Koss Supplies are in cahoots. They are the ones who tried sabotaging you. Cornel and I figured it out when you were on the track.”
She waited for his smile to melt away, perhaps even give her a look of angry surprise, but neither happened.
