Dmitry
I am either losing my f*****g mind, or Gianna is actually here, at the tracks she claims to hate, in the arms of Braide f*****g Langley.
Anger coils tight in my skull, hot and blinding. I blink hard, trying to steady it, but then she startles like she heard something. Like she heard me. The next second she’s pulling out of his arms, eyes scanning the crowd frantically.
So she did hear me.
I step fully into the garage, forcing my posture loose, my expression unreadable. Calm on the outside. Anything but on the inside.
“If it isn’t the king of the tracks, Dmitry Orlov,” Braide drawls. “To what do we peasants owe this rather homely visit?”
I scoff. He’s lucky Gianna is standing right there. Otherwise he’d be face first in dirt already.
“What are you doing here, Gianna?” I demand
