Redline. pt 1 | N.R
You swore you’d never race again after the crash that nearly killed you. For years, you stayed in the shadows, avoiding the world you once ruled. Then Natasha Romanoff came looking for a driver, and she chose you. You fought her. You refused. But Natasha doesn’t take no for an answer. But coming back means facing everything you ran from: the fame, the pressure, the past. And with the world watching, one question remains: Are you still the driver you once were, or will the past catch up before you can prove it?
Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha x Younger!RacingDriver!Reader
Warnings: Age gap (N= 32, r=23), Crash Trauma, Car racing
Word count: 7k
A/N: Helloo, I really love this dynamic and hope you will too, so I can continue the story..🙆🏻♀️
At the moment Natasha saw the contract, she knew exactly how this would end.
She had years of experience in this business, long enough to see through every trick, every tactic, every maneuver. She had seen drivers come and go, talent wasted, careers ruined by greed. She had watched men with potential destroy themselves before they even had the chance to prove themselves. And Jake? He was about to become one of them.
She sat in the dimly lit conference room, the only light coming from her tablet screen as she scrolled through the details of his betrayal. The agency’s report had been sent to her earlier that day, and now, as she skimmed through the contract details, she pressed her lips into a thin line.
Jake wasn’t leaving the team for a better one. He wasn’t making a strategic decision to secure his position. No, he was leaving for money. A weaker team had offered him a higher salary, and that alone was enough to make him walk away. To leave Romanoff Racing. To leave the team that had made him relevant in the first place.
Natasha leaned back in her chair, rolled her shoulders, and let out a slow breath. If he had left for a real opportunity, for something better, she would have understood. She wouldn’t have liked it, but she would have respected it. But this? This was pathetic.
A quiet rustling on the other side of the room pulled her from her thoughts. Yelena sat lazily in one of the chairs, skimming the same documents Natasha had just read. She popped a piece of gum into her mouth and chewed absentmindedly as she turned the page. “So.” Yelena murmured without looking up, “Walker is an idiot.”
Natasha didn’t respond. Yelena chuckled softly, shaking her head as she tossed the folder onto the table. “Seriously, what was he thinking? That you wouldn’t find out?” She tilted her head slightly, studying her sister. “Or did he really think he could outsmart you?”
Natasha tapped her fingers on the table once before picking up the folder and snapping it shut with a sharp click. Slowly, she stood up, tucking the documents under her arm and adjusting her jacket. Yelena watched her, amusement flickering in her eyes. “You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”
Natasha didn’t even look at her as she walked toward the door. “Yes.”
The garage was too quiet when Jake Walker walked in. It wasn’t the usual silence after a race, the kind that settled in after a long day on the track. It wasn’t the hum of cooling engines or the distant murmurs of the pit crew. No. This silence meant something was wrong. He slowed his steps, scanning the empty space. Normally, there would be a few mechanics analyzing data, prepping the cars. But tonight?
Only she was there. Natasha stood at the workbench, arms crossed over her chest, waiting. She wasn’t in a suit, not in formal attire. She was still in her racing gear, the sleeves of her fireproof suit tied around her waist, the black tank top hugging her toned frame. This wasn’t business. This was personal. A cold feeling settled in Jake’s stomach, but he forced himself to stay relaxed as he stepped closer. “Hey.” he greeted, his voice calm, controlled. “What’s going on?”
She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she opened the folder in her hand with practiced ease and then, with a precise flick of her wrist, tossed it onto the table in front of him. Jake frowned and looked down. The moment he saw the contents, his stomach clenched. His contract negotiations. His meetings. His plans. Plans Natasha wasn’t supposed to know about. His mouth went dry. “Listen, I can explai-”
“You thought you could outsmart me.” Her voice was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that was more dangerous than shouting. Jake clenched his jaw. “It’s not what you think-”
Natasha finally looked at him. Really looked at him. And for the first time in his career, Jake felt fear. “You could have left for a better team.” she said calmly, tilting her head slightly, her voice devoid of emotion. “I would have understood.”
A pause. A suffocating pause. “But you didn’t.” Jake swallowed, straightening his posture. “It was just negotiations!” he began. “This is standard practice-”
Natasha stepped closer. Not aggressively. Controlled. Calculated. “Do you think I don’t know how this business works?” Her voice was almost mocking. “I’ve been in this world longer than you’ve been relevant. I know the game. And this?” She gestured toward the folder. “This isn’t a smart move. It’s not strategy.”
Another step. “This is greed.” Jake’s hands twitched at his sides, frustration bubbling up. “It’s money!” he snapped. “And in case you forgot, that’s what keeps this whole place running..”
Natasha actually smiled. A small, cold, deadly smile. “No.” she said simply. “I keep this running.”
Jake’s breath hitched for a moment, but he held his ground. “This is a big mistake..” he growled. “You fire me, and I lose everything. My sponsors, my place in the season- you know damn well no one will sign me now! You’re destroying me!”
Natasha tilted her head, as if considering it. Then she shrugged. “Yes.” Jake’s fists clenched, his frustration shifting into pure, bitter anger. “Do you really think you can just replace me?”
Natasha’s smile widened. “I don’t need to replace you.” she said softly, razor-sharp. “I need someone better.” Jake inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening so hard his teeth ached. His hands twitched, as if he wanted to hit something, do something.
But he didn’t. Because even he wasn’t that stupid. Instead, he stepped back. His chest rose and fell heavily, his career crumbling before his eyes. And Natasha? She didn’t care. Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, straightened his posture, and forced his face into a neutral expression. “You’ll regret this.” he muttered.
Natasha smiled. “No, Walker.” she said quietly. “I won’t.” Jake’s jaw clenched. Then he turned and stormed out. The door slammed behind him. Yelena let out a low whistle. “Well..” she murmured, still chewing her gum, “that was dramatic.”
Natasha exhaled slowly, shaking off the last traces of irritation before turning back to the workbench. Yelena stretched and tilted her head. “You do realize you just fired your only driver, right? The championship is in three months, and we now have exactly zero people for that seat.” She popped her gum. “Even for you, that’s a bold move.”
Natasha didn’t respond right away. Instead, she reached for her gloves and pulled them on with a quiet certainty. “I don’t need just anyone.” she finally said. “I need someone who’s willing to risk everything.”
Yelena chuckled softly. “Right. And where exactly do you plan on finding someone that crazy?” Natasha’s lips barely twitched. “Where no one else is looking.”
——
You were crouched beside the open hood of a sleek, jet-black race car, your fingers gliding gently along the edge of the exposed engine. The scent of oil and gasoline clung to your skin, mixing with the fabric of your grease-stained overalls.
“You’re stubborn today..” you murmured, tightening a bolt with a practiced twist of your wrist. A quiet laugh sounded behind you. “She’s talking to them again?”
“Like they’re her children.” another mechanic chuckled. You didn’t look up. “First of all..” You called back, your voice playful but firm, “He prefers to be addressed with respect. And second unlike you idiots, he actually listens to me.”
More laughter. Because that was the thing about you. Everyone here liked you. You weren’t just any mechanic. You weren’t just someone who knew these cars inside and out, someone who could tell what was wrong just by the sound of an engine.
You were one of them.. A racer, a mechanic, an engineer, everyone in the garage respected you. You pulled the final bolt tight, exhaled, and slid out from under the car. “Hey..” a voice called. You turned. One of the engineers, a burly man with a permanent oil stain on his shirt, waved you over.
“She’s ready for a test run.” he said, nodding toward the car you’d been working on. “You up for it?” You hesitated. You always hesitated. One lap. Just to check the steering, the brakes, the feel of the engine. It wasn’t about speed. It wasn’t about pushing limits. It never felt like just a test. “Yeah.” you said firmly. “I’ll do it.”
The grandstands were full. A restless sea of bodies leaning forward, voices rising in a chaotic mix of cheers and curses as the race unfolded before them. But Natasha didn’t see the race like they did. She studied it. Arms crossed, weight balanced perfectly, she stood at the edge of the pit lane, eyes locked onto the track as the cars tore through the corners like bullets.
The floodlights cast sharp shadows over her face, making her expression even colder. Beside her, Yelena leaned casually against the railing, popping a piece of gum into her mouth, watching the race with far less intensity. “This is a waste of time..” Yelena muttered, chewing. “Same game, different track. You’re not going to find what you’re looking for here.”
Natasha didn’t respond. Because for the past few weeks, Yelena had been right. Driver after driver. Race after race. And nothing. No fire. No hunger. No one who understood the difference between fast and fearless. She inhaled slowly, concealing her frustration. She didn’t need an arrogant, hot-headed rookie. She didn’t need someone who thought they were great.
And then..she saw something. A blue car. It moved differently. Not with the reckless aggression of the others, not with the desperate hunger to overtake. No..it was precise. Every corner was a conversation, a fine-tuned balance between speed and control. The driver wasn’t fighting the car. They were one with it.
But something was wrong. Natasha’s eyes narrowed. The movements were too careful, too calculated. Held back, as if the driver was testing the limits, but refusing to cross them. She had seen this before. This wasn’t a driver racing for the win. This was someone racing against ghosts. Yelena noticed the shift in Natasha’s posture and followed her gaze. “Huh..” she murmured. “That’s..different.”
Natasha didn’t look away from the track. “Who is that?” Yelena waved over an official, a man who looked both honored and terrified to be standing so close to the Romanoff sisters. “The blue car!” Yelena said, nodding toward the track. “Who’s behind the wheel?”
The official hesitated. “That’s..Y/n Y/l/n.” Natasha’s jaw tightened slightly. She knew that name. Yelena let out a low whistle, her usual amusement fading into something more serious. “Damn..” she muttered. She turned to Natasha. “You remember her, don’t you?”
Natasha didn’t answer. Of course, she remembered. For years, you had been untouchable. A legend before you had even reached your prime. You raced like you had nothing to lose, like fear was a concept you had never learned. Till you crashed. Not just any crash. A nightmare. An accident so brutal, so catastrophic, that no one thought you would survive.
For weeks, the footage had played on every sports channel. The final lap of the championship race. You were in the lead, seconds from victory, until it happened. A clipped rear wing. A high-speed spin at 320 km/h. The impact was monstrous. Metal crumpled like paper, the car flipping multiple times, sent flying across the track, disintegrating in a cascade of sparks and fire. When the wreck finally came to a stop, it was nothing more than a charred, mangled cage of steel.
And inside? You. Broken, bleeding and unconscious. Two minutes. No pulse. Natasha pieced the details together in her head, the puzzle clicking into place. She knew what an accident like that did to a driver. It rooted itself deep inside them. It changed instincts. It turned the greatest passion into the greatest fear.
Yet despite everything, despite the hesitation in your movements, there was still something in your driving. A familiarity. A certainty in your instincts that no one ever truly lost. Yelena watched the race with new intensity. “This isn’t just a clean lap..” she murmured. “This is art.”
Natasha gave the smallest nod, never taking her eyes off the track. This wasn’t just a test run. This was someone who wasn’t just testing a car. This was someone who understood it. A corner. One that any test driver would take cautiously, just to gather data. But you? You took it like you were still a racer.
Perfectly timed. Perfectly felt. For the briefest second, for a heartbeat you forgot yourself. Natasha saw it in real-time. The moment you drove on instinct alone. The moment you let go. Natasha recognized the exact moment it happened. The way the car suddenly slowed down, the way the caution returned to your movements.
You stopped yourself. Natasha exhaled slowly. “She’s not just testing.” she murmured. “She’s driving like the car still belongs to her.” The man standing beside her sighed heavily. “Yeah,..” he said quietly. “She still does.”
Yelena frowned, watching as you pulled into the pit lane. “That’s not a driver who doesn’t want to race.” Natasha already knew that. She just didn’t say it out loud. Because she had already figured it out. That hesitation, the moment you held yourself back, told her everything she needed to know.
You weren’t here to test cars. You were here because you couldn’t stay away. And yet, the moment you stepped out of the car, the moment your feet hit the asphalt, you buried it again. The helmet stayed on. Your posture remained closed off, controlled. You handed over the keys, exchanged barely a word, and walked straight back into the garage.
Natasha moved. But before she could take another step, she felt a firm hand on her arm. Slowly, she turned her head and met the calm, knowing gaze of the man beside her. His grip wasn’t hard, but it was definitive. The kind that said: Don’t do it. He knew exactly what she was about to do. And he knew it wouldn’t work.
“She’s not looking for a comeback, Romanoff.” he said. His voice was quiet, but heavy. Natasha didn’t pull away, but she didn’t back down either. “She’s already back.” she countered softly. “She’s on the track.”
The man exhaled slowly through his nose. “Not the way you think.” Yelena folded her arms, glancing toward the garage. “Then why is she here?” The man was silent for a long time. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he sighed, rubbing a tired hand over his face. “Because this is the only place that still makes sense to her.”
Natasha remained still. That was an answer she understood all too well. “She disappeared after the crash..” the man continued. “Not just from racing. From everything. No press. No statements. No farewell speech. She just…vanished. And you know what? I think she really wanted to. I think she wanted to convince herself she was done.”
Yelena let out a quiet scoff. “I remember the crash.” she muttered. “Everyone does.” Yeah. Everyone did. Before the accident, your name had been spoken with reverence. A rising legend. A driver who had seemed untouchable. Then, in a single moment. The fall.
Not just any loss. A wreck so violent people had looked away from their screens. A crash that had silenced entire stadiums. “She was dead.” Yelena murmured. “Two minutes, right?”
The old man nodded slowly. “Two minutes. No pulse. The medics pulled her from the wreck thinking they were recovering a body, not saving a life.” Natasha turned to Yelena. “I want to meet her.”
Yelena grinned. “Are you sure? She doesn’t look like she wants to be found.” Natasha’s gaze hardened. “She’s already been to hell,” she murmured. “She can handle me.” And with that, the decision was made.
She moved through it all with quiet precision, out of place but completely in control. She wasn’t dressed for the chaos of the garage, no oil-stained coveralls, no smudges of grease, no heavy gloves. She didn’t belong here, and yet, every step she took demanded the kind of presence that made people move out of her way without a word.
She spotted you immediately, half under a car, legs stretched out, one hand buried deep in the engine bay. The way you worked wasn’t just methodical, it was intimate. The way your fingers moved, the way you tested a part, listened to the engine hum, made minute adjustments you weren’t just fixing a machine. You understood it.
Natasha stopped a few feet away, tilting her head slightly as she watched. “You drive like someone who doesn’t belong here.” You froze. It was small, barely noticeable, the slight hesitation of your wrist before you finished tightening whatever part you had been working on. But Natasha caught it.
Because she was always watching. A slow, measured breath left your lips before you rolled out from under the car, sitting up with your arms resting against your knees. There was grease smeared across your cheek, a few loose strands of hair sticking to your temple from the heat, but none of that mattered.
Because the second your eyes met Natasha’s, you knew. Your posture shifted. Not in shock, not in surprise. In recognition. And then, just as quickly, in rejection. “No.”
Natasha arched a brow, unfazed. “I didn’t ask anything yet.” You grabbed a rag, wiping your hands with slow, deliberate movements before standing up. “You didn’t have to.” Natasha smirked slightly, though there was no humor in it. “You know who I am.”
You exhaled, shaking your head as you grabbed a bottle of water from the nearby workbench. “Everyone in this business knows who you are.” You twisted the cap off, took a sip, and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand before turning your gaze back to Natasha. “And I already know why you’re here.”
Natasha studied you, taking in the subtle tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers flexed slightly before stilling. You weren’t just expecting this conversation, you had already decided against it.
“You need a driver.” you continued before Natasha could even open her mouth. “And you think I should be it.” Natasha didn’t confirm or deny it. She didn’t have to. You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Not happening.”
Natasha tilted her head slightly. “You didn’t even hear my offer.”
“Don’t need to.” You tossed the rag onto the workbench, your movements final. “I don’t race.”
Natasha stepped forward. “You don’t compete.” You turned away, picking up another tool and adjusting something in the car. “Same thing.”
The silence that stretched between you wasn’t tense, it was a battle. Natasha wasn’t used to people walking away from her. She wasn’t used to people ignoring her. But you? You didn’t hesitate to turn your back.
Natasha narrowed her eyes slightly. “I watched you on the track.” You kept working. “Good for you.”
“You’re not just testing the cars.” Natasha’s voice was quieter now, but sharper, cutting through the noise of the garage like a blade. “You’re still racing.”
Your hands stilled for a fraction of a second. Then, just as quickly, you kept moving. Natasha pressed forward. “I saw the way you took that turn. The way you adjusted, the way you let the car move with you instead of fighting it.” She stepped closer, her voice lowering just enough to make you listen. “A test driver wouldn’t drive like that.”
You exhaled, slamming the hood of the car shut harder than necessary. “Whatever you think you saw.” you muttered, voice tight, “it doesn’t matter.”
Natasha didn’t move. She stood her ground, unwavering. “You belong on the track.” You laughed. It wasn’t amused. It wasn’t light. It was sharp, bitter, the kind of laugh that had too much weight behind it.
You finally turned, your expression unreadable, but your voice was cold when you spoke. “I belonged there. Past tense.”
Natasha held your gaze. “That’s not what I saw.” You wiped your hands again, slower this time, more deliberate. “Then you weren’t looking hard enough.”
Silence. Natasha exhaled through her nose, rolling her shoulders back slightly. “You can tell yourself that all you want, but I know a racer when I see one. And you?” She smirked faintly. “You’re still racing. You just don’t want to admit it.”
Your jaw ticked. For a moment, Natasha thought she had you. Thought she had struck the nerve she needed to. But then, you simply shook your head and grabbed a wrench. “Go find someone else, Romanoff.” You turned back to the car, your shoulders set, your posture final.
This conversation was over. Natasha studied you for a long moment, weighing her options. She could push. She could demand, argue, try to break through the wall you had built.
But she knew better. She knew when to walk away. At least, for now. She exhaled slowly, stepping back. “You know where to find me.”
You didn’t respond. Natasha didn’t expect you to. She turned, walking out of the garage, her steps slow, controlled. She wasn’t done. She wasn’t giving up. Because no matter how much you tried to deny it, Natasha had already seen the truth. You were still a racer. And Natasha Romanoff always got what she wanted.
As she stepped outside, the night air cooler than the thick heat of the garage, Yelena fell into step beside her, hands shoved into the pockets of her leather jacket. She had been watching from a distance, leaning against the wall near the entrance, casually observing the entire exchange.
After a few seconds of silence, she let out a low whistle, smirking. “That might be the first time I’ve seen someone tell you to go to hell and actually get away with it.” Natasha didn’t slow her stride. “She didn’t tell me to go to hell.”
Yelena popped her gum. “No, but she might as well have.” She studied her sister’s expression, intrigued. “So, what’s the plan now? You actually gonna let that be the end of it?”
Natasha didn’t hesitate. “No.” Yelena chuckled. “Didn’t think so.”
Days went by and you were again on the track. The first laps were smooth. You drove with focus, feeling the car’s balance, analyzing every movement, every response. No risks. No unnecessary speed. It wasn’t a race. Just a test run.
And then you saw it. In the rearview mirror. Another car, at the end of the straight, right in the middle of the track. You blinked. That couldn’t be. No other car was supposed to be here. But it was.
Then your radio crackled. “You’re driving like a damn rookie.” Your heart stopped. That voice. You gritted your teeth. “What the hell are you doing here?” She didn’t answer immediately. Her silence was almost worse than her words. “Drive.”
You shook your head, pressing the radio button harder than necessary. “I’m working. Get off the track.”
“Make me.”
Your fingers tightened around the wheel. The red car moved. Slowly, controlled. It slid into your line, blocking your path, positioning itself exactly where you needed to go. “Romanoff..” you growled.
“You think you can ignore me?” Her voice was sharp. “That I’ll just stand by and disappear?”
“I’m not here for a damn game.”
“Oh, but you are. You just don’t know it yet.”
Her car kept moving, staying exactly in your line. No gap. No escape.
“I don’t have time for this shit.”
Natasha laughed, a dark, mocking sound. “Oh, you have time. You’ve wasted years hiding. Not today.”
Your pulse was racing now. A fine tremor ran through your hands, your chest rising and falling faster than it should.
“Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”
“Make. Me.”
Her voice was calm. Almost amused.
“This isn’t a damn negotiation!”
“No. It’s a race.” And then she took off. Suddenly, the red car wasn’t just an obstacle. It was a shadow, shooting past you, positioning itself ahead, dominating every damn turn.
She gave you no choice. You felt your grip on the wheel tighten, your jaw clenching. “You think you can just challenge me?”
“I know you want it.”
Your heart pounded. “Shut up.”
“Drive.”
She pushed you. Drove more aggressively, more recklessly, cutting you off, giving you no damn room to breathe.
“You’ve gotten weak.”
The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “Shut. Up.”
“You used to be someone I respected.”
“I will shove you off this track if you don’t-”
“Then do it.” She knew damn well you wouldn’t. Your hands were shaking. Your breath was shallow.
“You’re not yourself anymore, are you?” Those words dug under your skin, a pain deeper than any physical wound. You hated her in that moment. Hated her for her arrogance. Hated her for knowing you. Hated her because she was right.
“Do you know what disappoints me most about you?” she continued, as if this was some damn therapy session. “It’s not the crash. It’s not that you fell. It’s that you don’t even try to get back up.”
And that was the moment. The moment something inside you snapped. A break. A damn fire you had suffocated for so long that you had almost forgotten it was ever there. Your foot slammed onto the gas. “Fuck you.”
The engine roared. The car responded instantly, as if it had been waiting for this moment. Suddenly, there was no hesitation. No fear. No voices from the past. Just speed. And a damn red shadow ahead of you, one you would finally chase. The engine roared under your control as you pushed the gas pedal down. Your car shot forward, vibrating with an intensity that traveled through your bones, but Natasha was there.
Like a damn predator. The red car moved with terrifying precision, cutting you off again and again, blocking your best lines, forcing you into her trap. She gave you no room to breathe, no moment of control. This wasn’t a challenge. It was a show of dominance. Every turn, every straight-line maneuver was a damn game. But not just any game. It was her game. And she made sure you lost.
The next corner approached with brutal speed. A sharp right turn, one that would demand everything. Your fingers clenched around the steering wheel, your body was ready, but your mind wasn’t. You were supposed to brake. A fraction of a second earlier than usual to maintain control. But then Natasha moved over. Hard. Aggressive. Too soon. Way too soon.
Your breath caught. What the hell is she doing? Her line was a disaster, too tight, too risky. She forced you to the outer edge, pushing you into a damn dead end. “Brake.” Her voice cut through the radio. Ice-cold. “Brake or crash.”
Your heart pounded. Your instincts screamed, she had you exactly where she wanted. But your body… your damn body wouldn’t listen. Your leg twitched, your foot wanted to press the brake. Just like back then. Just like on the day you last really raced. A flash shot through your mind, the impact, the screeching metal, the blood. The silence afterward. Your hands trembled. Natasha knew. She knew exactly what she was doing.
“Do it.” her voice came through again. “Do it or stop calling yourself a driver.” Your rage exploded. “Romanoff!!!” You yanked the steering wheel, forcing the car into an impossibly tight line, feeling the tires fight for every inch of traction. Your body tensed, everything in you screamed that you wouldn’t make it.
But you did. Your car flew through the corner, just a hair’s breadth from Natasha’s, so close you could swear her gaze burned through the helmet straight into your soul. But she didn’t brake. She stayed with you. She dragged you with her. “Yeah..” you heard her growl as your cars raced side by side down the straight. “That’s it.”
Your whole body burned. Your muscles locked under the tension. This wasn’t a damn race anymore. This was war. And you hated her. Hated that she had brought you here. Hated that you needed it. Hated that you had missed it. The final turn approached. Fast, treacherous. The kind of turn where drivers either proved themselves, or failed. Natasha went in first. Her line was perfect. Almost too perfect.
You could have let her go. Could have let her take the lead. But you didn’t. No. Not today. Not anymore. The anger boiled over, your head screamed against all the voices that had held you back for years. You want me to take risks? Then fine, here you go. You ripped the car into the turn harder than ever before, deeper than anyone would have dared, taking an impossible line, one that couldn’t work.
It didn’t have to work. It just had to prove you weren’t afraid anymore. The tires screamed under the pressure, your car shook, the chassis vibrated as if it would fall apart, but you held the line. And for the first time in this whole damn race, you heard nothing from Natasha. No command. No taunt. Just silence. The finish line came into sight, you and Natasha racing towards it, but you didn’t care.
You had surprised her. For the first time, you had turned the tables. Adrenaline rushed through your blood, your body electric as your cars crossed the line. For a moment, the world was nothing but white noise. Then silence. You tore the helmet off your head before the car even stopped. Your hands were shaking..but not from fear. From anger. Anger at Natasha. Anger that she had dared. That she had pushed you this far.
That she…That she had done it. You jumped out of the car, your pulse pounding as you stormed past her. “See? I-”
“Fuck you, Romanoff.” you spat, your voice trembling with barely suppressed rage. You didn’t look back. Not at her. Not at the car. Not at the damn monster she had awakened in you.
——
You lay on your bed, arms folded behind your head, staring at the ceiling. Since you had come home, you hadn’t spoken to anyone. Not because there was nothing to say. But because you couldn’t. Your head was full. Full of her laughter. Full of the screeching tires, of the way your heart had pounded when you almost lost control. Full of that damn fire Natasha had reignited in you.
You hated her. Hated her because she knew exactly what she was doing. Hated her because she had brought you back to a place you swore you’d never return to. Hated her because it had felt..damn it..alive.
You gritted your teeth and rubbed your face, exhausted. Your whole body was still tense, as if you were about to get back into the car. The tension just wouldn’t fade. For years, you had held back. For years, you had done everything to bury that part of yourself. And then she came along.
Romanoff. And within minutes, she had torn it all down. A knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts. “Y/n, dinner’s ready!” Your mother’s voice. Warm, kind, the kind that usually calmed you. But not today. You didn’t want to go downstairs. Didn’t want to pretend everything was normal, as if yesterday hadn’t happened. But if you didn’t, there would be questions. And questions were the last thing you needed.
So you forced yourself out of bed, pulled on a sweatshirt, and shuffled down the stairs. The kitchen was warm, the smell of food lingering in the air. Your mother was still at the stove, your father already sitting at the table, scrolling through his phone, while your little brother sat next to him, tapping his fork against his plate.
You sat down silently, grabbed a bowl of food, and started eating without looking at anyone. Maybe they wouldn’t notice. Maybe tonight would just be a normal evening. “Y/n were driving again yesterday!” The fork in your hand froze. A cold shiver ran down your spine. Slowly, painfully slowly, you lifted your gaze.
Your little brother grinned at you, completely unaware of what he had just done. “Yeah, she was on the track! I saw it! Her car was really fast!”Silence. A different kind of silence. The kind that comes before a storm. Slowly, your father put his phone down. Your mother turned away from the stove, still holding the spoon in her hand, her eyes wide with shock.
“What?” Her voice was quiet. Too quiet.
“It was just a test run..” you tried to keep your voice calm. “Nothing serious.”
“A test run?” Your father leaned back, his brow furrowed deeply. “Since when are you driving again?”
“I’m not.”
“Oh yes, you are!” your brother chimed in cheerfully. “And you’re really good! I even saw videos!”
“Jacob, shut up!!” You snapped. Your mother looked at you like she didn’t recognize you. “We talked about this.”
“I know!”
“No, apparently, you don’t!” Her voice was sharper now. “I thought you wanted to leave it behind. I thought you were done with all of this.” Your jaw tightened. “I am.”
“You were driving.”
“It was nothing.”
“It was something..” your father cut in now, his tone cool, controlled, but you could hear the underlying frustration.
“After everything that happened? After the accident?” Your mother’s voice was rising now. “And now you’re telling us it was nothing?”
Your hands curled into fists under the table. “I didn’t want to, okay?” you finally said, your voice lower. “She…she pushed me into it.”
“She?” Your father frowned. “Who?”
You swallowed hard. You could have lied. Could have made something up. But what would have been the point? “Natasha Romanoff.” The name dropped into the room like a weight. Your father took in a sharp breath. Your mother froze for a moment, as if she wasn’t sure she had heard correctly. “Natasha Romanoff?” Her tone wavered somewhere between disbelief and concern.
“Yes.” Your father slowly shook his head, like he couldn’t believe it. “That woman is…Y/n, she’s dangerous.”
“She’s a damn legend..!” your brother chimed in excitedly, as if you had just spoken about a hero. “Jacob, you stay out of this!” your father snapped, shooting him a quick glance before his focus returned to you. “And she’s the one who got you back in a car?”
You felt the anger rising inside you, but it wasn’t the explosive, loud kind. It was deeper. Simmering. Because they made it sound like you had no choice. But you did. And you made it. “I did it myself..” you murmured.
“Against her?” Your mother stared at you in disbelief. You nodded. Her face paled. Your father let out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, that’s fantastic. First, she races you, then she pushes you to keep going? What the hell does this woman want from you?”
“I don’t know.” The lie came too easily. But you did know. Natasha had told you. She wanted to bring you back. And the worst part of it all, the part that made your stomach turn, was that some part of you wanted it too.
Your mother rubbed a hand over her face, exhaustion clear in her posture. “I don’t understand…after everything that happened, why would you even let her get to you?” Because she cornered me. Because she pushed me. Because she saw what I couldn’t admit. But you didn’t say it. “It was a mistake.”
Your own voice sounded hollow. Your father studied you for a long moment, as if he were searching for something between the lines. But then your mother slowly shook her head. “If you drive again…” Her voice was firm. “If you really go back…then that’s it.” The words cut through you like a blade.
“What?”
“Then you’re on your own. You’re completely on your own.”
You looked at her in shock. “That’s not fair-”
“It is.” She said, her gaze steady, sharp. “Because we’re not doing this again. We almost lost you once. Almost buried you. I will not sit back and watch you put yourself in danger again.”
It felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs. You knew they were worried. You knew, to them, this was never just a sport, it was the thing that almost took their child from them. But this? This was an ultimatum.
“This isn’t fair!” you muttered, your hands clenched into fists beneath the table. “Life isn’t fair.” your father said simply. And that was the end of the discussion. Silence settled over the table, thick and suffocating. Your food tasted like nothing. Slowly, you stood up, pushing your chair back. “I’m tired.”
“Y/n-”
“Good night.” You left them at the table, feeling their stares on your back as you climbed the stairs. As soon as your door closed behind you, you collapsed onto the bed, rubbing your hands over your face. Damn it. You had never been this angry before. Not just at them. At yourself. Because a part of you knew your mother was right. But another part…Another part knew it was too late.
Days passed, but you couldn’t shut it off. Every time you were on the track, she was in your head. When you walked through your front door, you thought you’d finally get a quiet afternoon. No cars. No Natasha. Just you. “Do you really think she’s happy?”
You froze in the doorway. Your fingers tightened around your keys. Slowly, almost unwillingly, you stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind you. The voices were coming from the living room. You could hear your mother, upset, almost pleading. Your father? Silent. And then..Natasha. She was here. Oh, hell.
You forced your legs to move, following the sounds into the living room. And when you turned the corner, you saw the scene before you. Your mother sat on the couch, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line. Your father stood by the window, hands in his pockets, his shoulders tense.
And in the middle of the room, completely relaxed, as if she belonged there, sat Natasha. She had one leg crossed over the other, hands resting loosely on the armrests. Her posture was calm, controlled..but her eyes? Her eyes were ice. She knew she wasn’t welcome here. But she sat there like it didn’t matter. Your mother shot her a withering glare. “My daughter is happy! She chose to leave this madness behind.”
Natasha blinked slowly. Then she looked at your father. “And you? Do you believe that?” Your stomach twisted. Your father said nothing. He had been silent the entire time. Your mother had been the one who stayed at your bedside after the crash. The one who held your hand when the doctors said you might never walk again. The one who swore you’d never sit in a cockpit again.
But your father? He had accepted it. Never questioned your decision. Supported you, but never really talked about it. Now, he looked at you. Not at Natasha. You. And in his eyes, you saw something you didn’t expect. He was searching for an answer. Your throat felt dry.
“Dad..” you murmured. “Tell her to leave.” But he didn’t. Natasha studied him carefully. Her voice was quiet, almost gentle. “You know, don’t you? You see it.”
His brow furrowed. “See what?”
“That she’s lying to herself.”
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. “Look at her.” Natasha continued, still watching him. “You say she’s moved on. That she’s chosen to stop racing. But do you really believe that? Or is that just the story you tell yourself so you don’t have to worry anymore?”
“Stop this..” your mother snapped. “She made her decision. You act like you know her better than her own family!”
Natasha slowly turned her head. Her gaze was hard, but not angry. Just cold. Precise. “I don’t know her better.” she said. “But I know what I saw yesterday. And that was not someone who quit.”
Your hands curled into fists. “It was a mistake.”
“Then why are you still thinking about it?”
Silence. You could hear your mother take a deep breath, her fingers clenched around the glass on the coffee table. “I don’t understand you..” she whispered. “Why are you doing this? Why won’t you just leave her alone?”
“Because she can’t.” Natasha said simply. Your breath caught. “People like her don’t just stop.” Natasha continued, her voice now quiet, intense. “They can try. They can tell themselves it’s over, that they can live a different life. But deep down, they know better.”
Her gaze shifted back to you. “You know better.” Your heart pounded. Your nails dug into your palms. “No.”
Natasha tilted her head slightly. “Yes.” She reached into the inside of her bag, pulled out a folder, and placed it slowly on the coffee table. “This.” she said calmly, “is a contract.” You stared at it as if it were a weapon. “A seat. A team. A new chance.” Natasha continued. “You don’t have to take it. I won’t force you.”
Your mother sucked in a sharp breath. “You don’t seriously expect-”
“No.” Natasha interrupted her. “I don’t expect anything, Mrs. Y/l/n.” Her eyes were back on you. “But I know what’s going to happen. You’ll ignore it. You’ll pretend you don’t want it. But every night, this damn thing will be in your head. You’ll think about it. About the race. About the feeling. And one day, you won’t be able to deny it anymore.”
Your pulse roared in your ears. Your mother shook her head vehemently. “Please leave now..” Your father still said nothing. He was looking at you. And you knew that he knew. That he had always known. You didn’t want it. You really didn’t. But you couldn’t stop thinking about it.
And Natasha knew it. “Take the contract.” Natasha said quietly. “Or tear it up. But if you do, do it because you’re sure. Not because you’re afraid.” You swallowed hard. Your hands trembled slightly as you reached for the folder. But you didn’t open it. You turned away. And without another word, you left the room. The contract felt heavy in your hand. Behind you, complete silence.
Then, you heard Natasha stand up. “I won’t try to convince you again.” she said calmly. “But I promise you one thing. If you tear it up, it won’t go away. This feeling. It will never leave you alone.”
You exhaled shakily. Heard the front door open. Heard it close again. And then Natasha was gone. You stood in the darkness of the hallway, the paper still in your fingers. You wanted to get rid of it. You wanted to ignore it. But your hands wouldn’t move. Because you knew Natasha was right.
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Part 2
I don’t ever write thought out reviews. I’m not that person. But this post, this deserves it.
Redline is a novel.
I was hooked from sentence one. I believe the author caught Natasha’s attitude beautifully, and the readers trauma was encapsulated wonderfully.
I truly could picture myself in the spot of the reader, which is hard to do with other stories/works of fiction.
It wasn’t smut focused. Sure it was there, but the story was focused on the emotions. The heartache the slow burn, the revival of deep rooted emotions.
I don’t have enough words to praise this author on what i have been blessed to read today.
⬇️ - this was me when i finished the story.
