Throttled (Dirty Air, #1)

by Lauren Asher

My dad stripped away my childhood at the expense of my humanity. Because to survive the worst of them, you eventually become them.

I’m an asshole with walls higher than the Grand fucking Canyon.

People would count these restarts as failures, but I think they built character. That and resilience for messing up.

“I went over a few ground rules with Maya, you know, to keep her out of trouble. God forbid I find her drunk and crying on a bathroom floor to a Jonas Brothers song.” I throw my cloth napkin at Santi. “That happened one time! It was my birthday and they had just announced they were getting back together. I was super emotional, okay? Feelings hit me all at once, right there while I was washing my hands.”

No one gets how tough it is to live up to everything my brother does. Not that I want to, but still, Santi leaves behind colossal shoes my whole body can’t fill.

My anger is all due to Bandini’s new contract with Santiago. Now I have to share my team with a guy I don’t even like, our rivalry burning strong since he hit me during the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix.

My loss was Santiago’s gain. He won a World Championship thanks to my collision. Doubt he loses sleep over it.

We don’t need to compare dick sizes to see who’s the best when my driving does the talking.

Fans call me F1 royalty, an American Prince because of my dad, the amazing Nicholas Slade. Who is still called one of the greatest racers in F1 history.

My heart accelerates at the thought of Noah Slade. He’s hot, in a devilishly handsome kind of way. Messy hair so dark it looks black, sharp cheekbones that can shave ice, and lips every woman can envy.

Noah’s the type of guy you don’t bring home to mom; he’s the one you screw around with before you find the guy you finally take home to mom, ensuring her you’ve moved on from your wild ways.

Hate to break it to the thirsty females out there, but I’m his number-one fan.

Noah’s lean kind of muscular is ideal for racing. Shit, the kind of muscular perfect for fucking against a door, in a shower, or on a counter. Vivid images fly through my head of Noah in compromising positions.

Nothing makes a girl swoon quite like a guy dedicated to his gym regimen, but this guy is more likely to commit to his gym than to another girl.

God plays cruel jokes on me. Just when I promised to be good, he wants me to fall right into the arms of the devil. Men like Noah are only built for wickedness.

Noah’s sapphire eyes trail down my body. He licks his bottom lip, drawing my attention toward them, noticing how the bottom is fuller than the top. They look soft and plump. Perfectly kissable.

“He’s my older brother, asshole. Can’t you see the family resemblance? Or is the cloud of superiority around you so thick that you didn’t notice?”

An image of her brown eyes boring into mine like she wants to skin me alive has singed itself into my brain. She’s a stunning woman even when mad with flared nostrils, flushed cheeks, and waving hands.

Some people scurry at trouble. Me on the other hand? I drive my car straight into problems at two hundred miles per hour. Fuck the consequences.

I take another look at her because shock still courses through me at how she disarms me.

Can’t help my sexual appetite when I fuck like I race—wild, risky, and often. Blame the adrenaline rush or feeling like a god behind the wheel.

Fine is a woman’s equivalent to a land mine because you have absolutely no idea when or where that shit will explode.

“How do you keep your ego in check?” “I don’t.” My grin expands. She rolls her eyes, and fuck if it doesn’t turn me on.

“Being grounded is dull. I don’t drive cars at two hundred miles an hour to stay boring.”

“Being grounded isn’t boring. It’s realizing that, when all of this—” she waves her arms around us—“is over, you still have people there for you in the end. Good people who are humble because no one wants to hang around an asshole.”

She shivers when my thumb runs across her palm, her soft skin smooth under my calloused digit. Hmm. Her body reacts to mine in the same way.

Maybe I’ll enjoy having Santiago around after all because it seems like her hanging with us will stimulate me. I want to see what other responses she has to me. Or under me. Or on top of me.

Maya. I like the name.

I follow his rule of not talking to the other drivers. But he can’t fault me when others talk to me because I can’t control everyone else. Loopholes make life interesting.

I can’t control my body’s response to him, especially when he looks at me like he wants to kiss me.

“Did this place change you?” I try to keep my voice neutral, not giving away any feelings. He’s the last person Santi would want me to hang around with. His eyes harden. “I was born into it. Son of a legend and all.” He flashes me an eye roll. “So technically, no, since it’s all I’ve ever known. Can’t be corrupted by something that made you.”

His cockiness has no bounds, but I like the way he teases, uncaring with a glint of mischief in his eye.

“How do you fit your head in your helmet? I’m worried it must expand the more people stroke your ego,” I say with fake concern. “I have one custom made to avoid that issue.”

“Cuídate. Behind the glitz and glam, people live with lies and unhappiness.”

It annoys me how she only tunes in to Santi’s answers, staring up from her phone every now and then to watch him. It’s like Liam and I don’t exist.

I lift my head, catching Liam shooting Maya a grin that she returns, no longer inattentive. My fists tighten under the table as I stare straight ahead.

This sport exhausts the best of us. I love it, but it wears a person down through the years.

He makes wild look sexy.

Turns out Sophie and I mesh well together. We both love listening to the Jonas Brothers, eating the same Ben and Jerry’s ice cream flavor, and shopping at Zara instead of Fendi. Fundamental pillars of friendship.

No matter how many times I tell my brain Noah isn’t worth the trouble, my body won’t agree.

I run away from Noah because bow ties are my kryptonite. Not Noah. Nope.

He has strong hands that look large enough to dominate. Ones I want to feel on me, touching and squeezing.

My physical restraint around him is commendable. I deserve my own trophy and champagne shower, especially when his intoxicating clean scent confuses me. He makes it challenging to think about anything but him.

I smile at his state of disarray, aware I’ve found Noah’s nervous tick. Who would have guessed the hotshot had one?

He catches me staring at him, making my cheeks flush. And that wicked smile he sends me when the cameras stop rolling? The one promising more? Yup. I see it. Oh man, I’m in trouble.

She fills me with a different excitement—because of her and the reactions she thinks go unnoticed.

I could lie to myself and say its sheer curiosity. Based on the way my cock hardens around her, it’s more than that, and frustration runs through me at denying myself.

It brings out a possessive side of me, happy to see her in my team’s colors, bobbing around the pit garage with her camera.

My eyes glance around the rest of the room, catching how the pit crew steals glances at her perky ass. And I don’t like it one bit. Where the fuck is Santiago when you need him?

I’d consider her angelic-looking, except her body is meant for sin—to fuck hard and long. My type of damnation.