"The Melbourne Grand Prix....
The Shanghai Grand Prix...
The Suzuka Grand Prix...
Is the three time world champion Vladimir Yusupov losing his way in the race circuit?"
"Or was the car not your expectation, Vladimir?"
"Maybe you're getting old in these games Mr Yusupov? Will it be a surprising retirement? Or perhaps a wedding with your woman?"
Motherfuckers wish to die, I presume. I clench my jaw as they laugh on a non-existential joke which isn't funny in the first place.
I glared at the reporters. These hellhounds don't have other works but a group of gossiping bitches especially the men- worse, much more worse than women.
Anger streams into my blood, a dopamine- hitting my nerves bursting and tending chaotic mess.
Breath... just Breathe... They are just tiny insects and pests. Breathe... Fuck!
I think I need a hole. Plural holes better than the bled shed that would lead tonight. It will definitely, if I get...
Breathe... I am not him... I can't become him... that god damn life I left is no more. I am Vladimir Yusupov, formula one driver in Votichna C4 Racing. Get together, crazy bastard.
No more blood. That life is gone. That fucking life is gone... I chanted over and over again to calm the monster I was once. Well, the fun fact is that I am still a monster but only on the race track nowhere else.
"You are a- Ivan Yusupov. Act accordingly." Smack!
Smack landed on my knuckles.
"Serving your family is your duty."
Smack!...
"These hands are used only for killing!"
Smack!... Smack!... Smack!...
My eyes twitched. Blurring the people in front of me, robbing the air out of my lungs. Internal war brewed intense by the second. My hands are itching to crush these pest skulls and bathe in those pooling blood as I take pleasure in their screams and scent of dread rooting in their body. Desperately as they try every goddamn way to escape my wrath while I slowly hunt them down. One. By. One.
No...
I take a deep inhale as fresh rolls of sweat and stale beer's scent fill my lungs instead of the dripping hemoglobin or fear. Disappointment ceased in, and urgency. No, it was a need, a need that isn't anymore bearable but to sum it up- a fine fucking line thread. Weak and fragile for me to snap it anytime.
I want to draw blood, feel their harsh pants, and those frantic heart beats will be music to my ears.
Shut up!... Calm down... I am no more him. I growled, making the sea of reporters part the way.
Continuous three race circuits I have failed to either make it to the pole or lost it entirely. No drug hit adrenaline or what-so-ever, just pure rage and pent up frustration. Three times world champion into the drain when I could get myself a relief. This was my supposed replacement and this should have fucking worked until I lose the ability to breathe or better off die.
The result- Shit gone to south. Wrecked. Impaled with bloodlust. Immediately. Effectively.
I walked past them into the garage where a piece of crap displayed like royalty. Total garbage. It needed to be burned along with those underrated plastics. Or better, I will crash this shit in the next race beyond repairing means. Such that they could provide me with a better version of a car that I could drive and live in the field of potential momentum with the throttle.
"You did good, Mr Yusupov"
Someone wants to die. Great. No need to find a lamb tonight. My so-called team principal and the appointed CEO of the Votichna C4 Racing- Frederick Riverwood. Other than this dickhead who else has the guts to talk with me.
I narrowed my eyes at his posh British words,
"Good?" I scoffed "My. Ass. Frederick. I don't pay you millions of dollars to just produce a show trash for me to drive, and you think getting P4 is good?" I growled in annoyance. "I need a change of car, asshole. I need a leopard, not a peacock for a paradise."
He should be happy that there wasn't a bullet hole between his eyebrows and his dipshit-like body not flowing by the river Thames as we speak because I could, and I would.
"Mr Yusupov, I understand your frustration" Well dumbass- you don't. "There is no surprise that our car is lacking when the aerodynamics lead design just switched his team."
"Then find a replacement. I don't like babysitting your adult body as you seek my advice in each and every department. I put you as a CEO to get the work done. If you couldn't produce the result, get your ass fired. I don't have time for your puny whining."
"Well sir..." The hesitation as he pauses makes my blood boil. Motherfucker, truly wants to die. "I did get a replacement. As far as I have seen she's better than the temporary aerodynamics design lead we have right now." She? A woman? I chuckled menacingly.
"Is the company sinking Fedrick?" I hold onto his collar of the team's shirt pulling him closer to my face. "You are hiring a woman? And I should let that little bitch to design my car?" I bark at him. The whole garage tune downed into absolute silence as I smelled the fear rolling out in waves from them all.
"Baby... calm down..." A trembling, manicured hand of my contracted slut, Scarlett holds onto my arm. Scarlett Romanoff thinks herself too important in my presence as her Daddy in one of the board of directors in my brother's company, how wrong she is. I shot a nasty glare putting her into place that she is just my fuck hole. Nothing more. Nothing less. Tonight her hole can never satisfy me. When did that actually ever satisfy me? Well... never. Fucking never.
"Where is this so-called 'she-genius' you speak of Fedrick?" Rumbling of my harsh voice re-echoed in the garage as the room temperature dropped down to the notch.
"Sir..."
"SPEAK." Cold perspiration adorned his forehead. He opened and closed his mouth like gasping golden fish. "I SAID SPEAK!"
"Tonight at the hotel we stay." Fedrick croaked. I let go of his collar.
"I will be the judge of her genuineness. If I am displeased, be ready to seal your fate in my hands." My words cut the tension and a calmness of silence, release of breaths surfaced into the garage. They didn't know that yet another storm had brewed which was going to hit them brutally. I don't leave any leftovers. Including this.
I walked into my personal cabin, letting them deal with whatever shit show they are ready to present it to me. As a matter of fact, they are too eager in provoking my beast and I'll give them what they are asking for.
Patience. Benevolence. Waiting. Never was my game. Let's see how much of a grim reaper I could become at the end of this night.
Simply. Lovely.