
The problem started in the most undignified place possible.
A drivers’ briefing.
Carlos Sainz was innocently minding his business, sipping from a paper cup of terrible motorhome coffee, when he felt four separate pairs of eyes burning holes into the side of his face.
He didn’t have to look.
He knew.
Max was leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, jaw clenched like he was ready to go wheel-to-wheel with God.




















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