Decline (Declan Reede: The Untold Story #1) Read Online Free PDF

frowned and turned away. It was a sign of the things I would be facing when I went back into the pits.
    Fuck that shit .

 
    CHAPTER FOUR: GETTING AWAY
     
    INSTEAD OF REPORTING back to the pits to deal with the punishment I knew was coming, I fucked off. I climbed into my Monaro and drove straight back to Sydney.
    The press would probably have a fucking field day at my expense, especially the snooty brunette reporter I’d spurned during the midrace interview. I didn’t want to face them, or any of the drivers I’d taken out in my wreck. There were five of them who wanted my arse for the crash—Morgan more than any other. I just didn’t see the point in hanging around the track long enough to get grilled, beaten, and investigated.
    Or worse: fired.
    My weekend was over by that point anyway. There was no way the boys would get the twisted mess that used to be my car back on the track. Which meant I wouldn’t be getting back into the car for any reason, and unfortunately, neither would Morgan. I had little doubt he was already hunting down the pliers to follow through on his threat.
    Only bad things waited for me back at the pits. If Danny was going to give me the sack, it was going to be easier to deal with later—after everyone cooled off. Hopefully in a private meeting where my dirty laundry wouldn’t be aired all over the TV. I really didn’t need my shame to be any more public than it already had been. It was almost a certainty that I would cop a fine for my outburst at the top of the track after I’d crashed. Short of a summary dismissal by Sinclair, it really couldn’t get much worse for me.
    Besides, by the time I’d finished with the paramedics, I barely gave a flying fuck what else happened to me. I was so far beyond caring about anything. All I wanted to do was get wasted and get laid. It didn’t even have to be in that order.
    I drove straight home. Throughout my drive, my phone kept ringing, but I steadily ignored it, hitting the end button on the steering wheel. There was no way I wanted to talk to anyone. It didn’t matter who it was, they’d only destroy the little that remained of my sanity. When the caller still didn’t take the hint, I turned the phone off completely.
    After I’d parked the Monaro beside my Prado, I called a taxi so that I could have a good night without worrying about any of my cars being left unattended in the city. The trek from the garage to my upstairs bedroom had never felt longer. Weariness weighted my limbs and made each step difficult. The only thing that kept me moving was the promise of a drink at the end of the effort.
    I jumped straight into the shower. Once the water was cascading around me, I thought about the accident and shuddered. I’d been in so many lately: six crashes from six starts. It wasn’t possible to grow accustomed to it though—at least, I hadn’t. Despite all of the safety precautions, there was always one instant where I wondered whether I would survive the impact. Somewhere between the brakes squealing and the metal crunching, my heart stopped beating. It only started again when I could feel my teeth aching and my brain swimming from the impact. As if reminded of the ache by the memory of the crash, my ankle niggled and my chest protested. I’d have to ice it before long, but that was something I could do later.
    My body trembled as the adrenaline that had carried me through the three-hour drive home wore off.
    I needed a drink.
    Badly.
    I couldn’t think of anything else that would get rid of the shakes or the memories. I didn’t bother washing my hair, it could go another day. I did wash my balls though, twice in fact, revelling in the fact that Morgan couldn’t get his rusty pliers near them as long as I avoided him. It was more a precaution though. I wanted to make sure they got some special attention tonight from some lucky chick. Between the need to let off steam and Paige Wood’s casual teasing, I needed to get off.
    As I