RACERS

CHAPTER EIGHT: The Night The Street Turned Red

The car was still spinning when I realized the driver wasn't going to make the turn.

Tires screamed against the asphalt. Blue headlights cut through the darkness, followed by a deafening crash that sent sparks flying across the road.

For one terrible second, nobody moved.

Then the crowd erupted.

“GET BACK!” someone screamed.

People scattered as smoke poured from the wrecked silver car. A second vehicle swerved off the track, narrowly missing a group of spectators. Somewhere behind me, a girl was crying.

And through all the chaos, I saw one person running straight toward the wreck.

Axel Moretti.

“Axel!” a man shouted after him. “Don't be stupid!”

He didn't stop.

I stood frozen, my heart hammering against my ribs.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

An hour ago, the biggest problem in my life had been convincing Mia that sneaking out to watch a race was a perfectly reasonable decision. Now a driver was trapped inside a wrecked car, people were screaming, and the most arrogant man I'd ever met was running into a cloud of smoke like he had nothing to lose.

“Isabelle!”

Mia grabbed my arm.

“We need to leave. Now!”

“Someone's still inside!”

“And someone could get killed trying to help him! Come on!”

I pulled free.

“Mia, I'm not leaving someone to die.”

Before she could answer, I ran toward the wreck.

The smell of burning rubber filled my lungs. A man from Axel's crew was trying to force open the driver's door while another called for emergency help. Axel stood beside the passenger window, his face frighteningly pale beneath the flashing lights.

“Get back!” he barked when he saw me.

“I'm not standing here doing nothing!”

“Then do exactly what I say and get everyone away from the car!”

For once, there was no teasing in his voice. No smug smile. No sweetheart designed to annoy me.

Just fear.

Real, unmistakable fear.

I turned toward the spectators and shouted for them to move back. A few listened. Others stood around filming until one of Axel's men threatened to smash their phones.

Finally, the driver's door gave way.

The injured racer was pulled out, groaning, his forehead streaked with blood. Axel dropped beside him.

“Daniel! Hey, look at me.”

Daniel.

The same Daniel who had challenged Axel at the previous meet.

He tried to speak, but the words came out broken.

“Brakes…”

Axel leaned closer. “What about them?”

Daniel grabbed his jacket.

“They were fine before the start.”

Axel's expression changed.

“What do you mean?”

Daniel swallowed painfully.

“Someone touched my car.”

Silence fell between them.

Not the silence of shock.

Something colder.

Axel slowly lifted his head and looked toward the other side of the track.

A man in a black hoodie was slipping through the crowd.

“Stay with him,” Axel ordered his crew.

Then he ran.

“Axel, wait!” I shouted.

He disappeared between two parked cars.

And just like that, the night got worse.

“Tell me you saw that,” Mia whispered beside me.

I couldn't answer.

My attention was fixed on Daniel, who was now being helped toward an approaching ambulance. The race had been stopped, but nobody seemed interested in going home. Groups of drivers gathered around their cars, arguing and accusing one another.

A few minutes ago, these people had been cheering for their favorites.

Now they looked ready to tear each other apart.

“This wasn't an accident,” Mia said.

I stared at the silver car. Its front end was crushed, one headlight shattered. I knew enough about cars to understand that a driver could lose control for several reasons.

But Daniel had said his brakes were fine before the start.

If somebody had tampered with his car, this wasn't ordinary rivalry.

It was an attempt to hurt him.

Maybe worse.

A sudden crash sounded behind us.

I spun around just as two men slammed into each other beside a black SUV. One swung a fist. The other stumbled backward, then charged straight at him.

People rushed to separate them.

“YOU THINK WE DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU DID?” one man yelled.

“YOU HAVE NO PROOF!”

A punch landed. Someone fell against the SUV, knocking over a row of tools.

Mia seized my wrist.

“Isabelle, we're leaving!”

This time, I didn't argue.

We pushed through the crowd toward the parking area, but before we reached the exit, a hand closed around my arm.

I turned sharply.

Axel.

His knuckles were scraped, his breathing uneven. There was a dark stain on the sleeve of his jacket, though I couldn't tell whether it was grease or blood.

“Where are you going?” he demanded.

“Home. Preferably before someone else tries to kill somebody.”

His jaw tightened.

“You shouldn't have come here.”

I laughed in disbelief.

“Oh, that's rich. You think I planned for someone to crash?”

“I think you have no idea what you've walked into.”

“Then explain it to me!”

His eyes searched my face. For a moment, I thought he might actually tell me something.

Instead, he glanced toward Mia.

“Take her home.”

Mia blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Axel,” I warned.

He ignored me.

“There's trouble here tonight. Neither of you should be anywhere near it.”

I stepped closer, anger burning through my fear.

“You don't get to order me around just because you drive fast and everyone acts like you're some kind of king.”

His expression hardened.

“And you don't get to act like danger is a game just because you're curious.”

The words struck harder than I expected.

Perhaps because, for the first time, I understood that he wasn't trying to humiliate me.

He was genuinely afraid.

But I hated that he thought fear gave him the right to control me.

“I'm going home,” I said. “You can stop worrying about me.”

Something flickered across his face.

“I wasn't worrying about you.”

“Of course not.”

I turned away before he could see how much that answer annoyed me.

Mia followed, muttering something about men who needed serious therapy.

We were almost at her car when I heard my name.

Not from Axel.

From a stranger standing beside a battered motorcycle.

“Isabelle Carter?”

I stopped.

The man wore a dark jacket and a helmet tucked beneath one arm. I didn't recognize him, but he knew my name.

“Who are you?” I asked.

He glanced past me toward Axel, who was now arguing with two members of his crew.

Then the stranger looked back at me.

“Your father still working on cars?”

My stomach tightened.

“What?”

He gave a humorless smile.

“Interesting. He never told you, did he?”

“Didn't tell me what?”

The man leaned closer.

“Ask Axel Moretti why his father really died.”

My entire body went cold.

Before I could grab his arm or demand an explanation, he slipped between two parked vehicles and disappeared into the crowd.

“Isabelle?” Mia touched my shoulder. “What did he say?”

I couldn't answer.

Across the parking area, Axel had stopped arguing.

He was staring directly at me.

And judging by his expression, he had heard every word.

The drive home was a blur of streetlights and unanswered questions.

Mia kept asking what the stranger meant, but I had nothing to give her. My father had never mentioned Axel Moretti. As far as I knew, our families had nothing to do with each other.

So why had a stranger connected them?

And why had Axel looked as if he'd just watched a ghost walk into the room?

When I finally got home, I crept upstairs and locked my bedroom door. My hands were still shaking as I pulled out my phone.

One new message.

Unknown number.

You want to know what happened to Moretti's father? Start with the night he died.

Another message appeared before I could respond.

And Isabelle? Your father was there.

I read it once.

Twice.

Then a third time, hoping the words would rearrange themselves into something less impossible.

They didn't.

My father had been there?

At the scene of Axel's father's death?

I stared at the screen until another notification appeared.

This time, it was a photograph.

Two men stood beside a midnight-blue car outside an old garage. One was unmistakably Axel's father, judging by the framed photograph I'd glimpsed in the accessories shop.

The other man was my father.

Younger. Smiling.

Standing close enough to look like a friend.

Beneath the photograph were six words.

Ask your father what he did.

I dropped onto the edge of my bed.

For weeks, I'd been curious about Axel Moretti.

Now I was beginning to wonder whether the real secret had been hiding in my own house all along.