Chapter Two
Strike Out
Royal
Kennedy Kohl.
It was just two words, but you didn’t need a patch to understand that they had a thousand meanings when paired together.
Off limits. That was the interpretation that came to mind first.
And I was a man who liked rare things. I always had.
I didn’t want to hear Nala roar, and I would never dream of touching a girl who answered to a name like Roach. While Rigs might have been built like a piece of art… The girl was hideous on the inside.
I wanted something exclusive; I just never anticipated it being that explosive.
I was tingling from the inside out watching her. The way her face flushed and her eyes sharpened with indignation and anger…
That was a fucking masterpiece.
Goddamn it.
No one warned me about that.
Who would? Which one of these assholes would ever dream of having enough balls to touch Forty-Kal Kohl’s daughter?
None.
Which is why she was perfect.
“Hey.” I laughed, jogging after her a little.
She didn’t slow her pace, but it only took a few steps to reach her. I grabbed her right arm, completely forgetting her small-town claim as a former varsity pitcher.
It slipped my mind that she was a Southpaw, too, until she curled with the momentum and drilled me in the nose.
The pain that exploded across my face wasn’t the worst I’d ever felt, but it was more than I ever expected from a girl.
Fuck, she hit solid.
Blood instantly dripped and, in my haste to guard my face, I callously shoved her away.
I wasn’t proud of myself, but I actually shuffled backwards a step or two when she rushed after me, hissing all the while, “Uh-uh, motherfucker! I’m not one of these Sweethearts that you’re gonna manhandle.”
“Ken–” I pleaded, while clutching my nose.
She snorted like I wasn’t fit to waste time or air on and darted up the stairs, leaving me shocked and reeling for a story, when her brother came out before I hit the top step.
“P–”
“What the f–uck?” Pacman blinked, stepping back inside momentarily to flip on the porch light.
I clenched my eyes shut against the sudden brightness.
“Damn, dude? What the hell happened to you?” Paxton exclaimed, instantly setting me back to ease.
My father and brother suddenly appeared in the door behind him, and I nearly choked on the next breath.
“I… I fucking fell,” I managed, my voice contorted and nasally as I tried to brush past Pacman.
He offered no resistance.
My father’s eyes tightened and his scowl twisted a little, before my brother chirped, “Well, goddamn. Most intelligent motherfuckers try to catch themselves with an outstretched arm, not their fuckin’ nose. The hell were you thinking, dumbass?”
My father’s sharp clip of laughter deepened tremendously when my brother carried on, asking him loudly, “For real, though, how much money was it you gave them university clowns? And he ain’t even come home with common sense?”
They were brutal, but I knew if I told them what really happened, it would be worse. So, I shut my mouth and tried to run into as few people as possible on my way to the washroom.