Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
DRAKE
The moment Gretchen and her gaggle of friends move away, I head back to the stands where I last saw Cadence. The only thing worse than knowing she’s here with Hudson is escorting Miss Vapid as my date.
With each minute spent in her company, I loathe her more.
My retaliation is also my penance as I feign friendship with the tedious collection of gossip, diet plans, gloating, and envy masquerading as a girl.
Another complaint to lay at Cadence’s feet.
A streaker runs past, body painted with Alabaster colours. The tiny floss of a G-string rides up his arse and I wonder what happened to the old joys of full-frontal nudity. If you’re going to interrupt the pitch by streaking, commit dammit.
A chorus of laughter and cheers erupt nearby, signalling a capture. I smile at the ruckus, but it fades as I reach the bleachers and Cadence is nowhere in sight.
It’s half time. She’s probably in a line for a drink or the loos.
I head for the nearest refreshment stands, burning with impatience as I scan the queue, having to check and recheck because, like half the crowd, Cadence painted her face.
When I’m sure she’s not there, I head for the next one, then duck out of sight behind an upright banner as Harriet walks past, arm in arm with a girl I don’t recognise.
Harriet laughs, doubling over as her friend regales her with a story, pointing to the opposite side of the pitch where a cluster of their team supporters are building a human pyramid.
She looks well. A split-second glimpse isn’t enough to know but I tap my collarbone, trying to shake the pinch in my chest.
The last time I was near, her face was streaked with tears as she tried to hold back information, and I threatened to tell her parents all about her nasty drug habit.
A hollow threat. I couldn’t care less if she spent all her free time in an opioid den.
All I wanted was a name. A description. An address.
I had squeezed the bottle in my fist so tightly, the plastic cracked, the label half-obscured by sweaty smudges. Grief blinded me to the art of subtlety. When she still refused, I threatened her with my fists.
I’m a coward for ducking out of sight. No wonder Cadence railed over my lack of apology. Harriet is a low-risk, low-reward target.
With a grunt of effort, I force myself back in her path.
And she comes to an abrupt stop.
“Hey,” I drawl like the word is three syllables long, watching her eyes expand until they’re flashes of white in the dimness of off-pitch lighting. “It’s good to see you, Harriet. How have you been?”
She blinks, takes a step back, then shifts her weight to the ball of her foot like she’s waiting for the starters’ pistol.
Her friend’s gaze flickers between us half a dozen times, then she sticks out her hand. “I’m Molly. How do you two know each other?”
“He used to go to our school,” Harriet mumbles, shuffling to the side where she’ll have a clear path to freedom.
“I wanted to apologise—”
“You wanted to?” Harriet frowns in mock confusion. “Was something stopping you?”
“No.” My eyes walk to the view over her shoulder, and I force them back to meet her rigid gaze. “I’m sorry I threatened you.”
“Right.” She gives a small shake of her head. “Get the fuck away from me.” The way Molly jerks tells me she’s not used to hearing that word from her friend.
“Sure.” I reach my hand out to rest on her arm. “I just wanted—”
She wrenches her arm away from mine. “Don’t touch me. You know, I heard Ashcroft had a spate of fires late last year. No prizes guessing why.”
I roll my eyes. One rubbish bin that got a bit out of hand. Hardly a national crisis. “Yeah, well, that’s not—”
“But I guess we should all be grateful you stopped setting fire to girls. Why they didn’t lock your arse safely behind bars for the next decade is beyond me.”
“It was for you, too. I saved you from taking drugs that—”
“You know nothing about it!” Her finger jabs at my chest, gouging it, her sharp nail painted blood red. “Cadence was the only person who noticed anything was wrong. The only person who stopped to help, and she did help me.” Her lips curls, face so wracked with disdain I think she’s about to spit, but just shakes her head. “But I guess the truth is inconvenient when you’re on a pointless crusade. Have fun with that.”
And she’s gone, stalking past with a firm step, tossing her head and giving a snort when Molly makes a comment.
That went well.
I can’t stand the crowds, the noise, the excitement any longer and head for the rear of the bleachers, then further, going to my car.
A dark figure stands near my car when I enter the parking lot. They’re holding a cricket bat, and I have just enough time to think they’re at the wrong match before they bolt, sprinting across the lot and throwing themselves over the fence like the hounds of hell are chasing.
When I get nearer to my car, I understand why. There’s a giant cricket-bat-shaped dent in the driver’s side fender and I run my hand over the damage, wincing at the raw metal exposed through the battered paintjob.
Arnold’s going to love this.
The first week I had the car, I scraped the side on an exposed branch down by the jetty. Just a surface scratch that easily buffed out, but the veins on his temple throbbed when he saw it; hands screwed into fists.
I would happily direct his anger towards Hudson, but it would come bouncing back to me soon enough.
And it is my fault. I misjudged.
I didn’t think he had the balls for retaliation.
With the door open to let out the heat, I rest in the back seat, a dull pulse beating in my temple.
It was a stupid idea to come here. An attempt to chalk up a petty victory, reminding Cadence I’ve always got eyes on her when the last thing I want to see is her and Hudson.
The run-in with Harriet topped that off with bitter icing. My ears echo with the memory of Cadence’s cry— I was trying to help— and the world feels far too big and far too close.
My parking spot is near the rear gate to school, and I hear some kids mucking around on the other side, laughing and teasing. I tug my hair to ease the tension in my scalp, shoulders tensing when I hear a brief cry. A girl.
I sit up, frowning at the metal gate and the block wall. There aren’t any handy spots to see through to the other side.
Soft voices resume but now I’m listening, there’s an undercurrent of menace.
Not your problem .
But I get to my feet, slamming the rear door forcefully, the loud noise echoing in the near empty parking lot.
Silence follows, then I hear another soft cry. A mumbling plea. “Get your hands off me.”
The recognisable voice cracks through the sounds from the game. My hairs stand on end, pulse thrumming loud in my ears.
In a second, I’ve leapt at the gate, getting my arms across the top and swinging my right leg over, straddling the metal panels.
Fury blazes through me at the sight of Cadence as she stands below me, fighting off two boys nearer my height than hers.
My rage ignites in a surge of bloodlust larger than anything I’ve felt before.
These fuckers don’t just need to be stopped.
They need to pay .
The choppy sound of her breathing propels me into further action, swinging my left leg over, launching myself at the nearest attacker with a roar.
My full weight slams into him, collapsing us both to the ground. Rolling. Scrapping for an advantage. Wham and my elbow snaps into his ribs. Air huffs from his lungs.
He sags and I punch his face, smashing his nose. Cartilage creaks, blood spraying. My knuckles bruise against his eyes socket, cut open on his teeth.
I jump to my feet and his friend rushes me. A lucky swing crushes his windpipe. My heel stomps his ankle as he falls to his knees—crack—and a scream whistles through his collapsing airway, fingers scrabbling at his throat.
“Here,” I toss the keys to Cadence, then boost her over the fence. “Parking space just behind you,” I yell before a fist crunches into my ribs. Another blow smashes my ear, drawing me back to the fight.
I elbow one attacker in the stomach, fist up to break his nose, then thrust the other against the gate, forearm crushed against his throat.
Two against one means nothing when my opponents are soft handed and soft arsed, more used to fighting on a console than in real life.
When I pull back, he sucks in a gulp of air. “Let me go, man. She’s Hudson’s pick for the bingo card. We were just trying our luck.”
I instantly grasp his meaning. “You did this for money?”
He nods and my growl warns him it wasn’t the best answer.
“We didn’t put her on the board, that was Hudson. We’ll stay away, all right? Just… we surrender.”
My vision pulses red as I release him.
Last year, a group of Ashcroft boys tried to get me to join a game. I declined, just wanting everyone to leave me the fuck alone, but now I scramble to remember details.
Girls were markers on a card. The finer points escape me but there were bets and dares and money.
So much money.
Rewards for fucking each girl, being the only one to fuck her, fucking her before anyone else.
And in all cases, fucking her over.
The idea is enough for me to see red. No wonder Cadence complained about boys staring. No wonder Hudson kept chasing her when I put barriers in his way.
“Girls aren’t a fucking rewards card.” I incapacitate him with another barrage of punches, feeling the pain as my adrenaline ebbs. Angry at myself for not paying more attention or thinking of it sooner. “You’re disgusting.”
He’s on his hands and knees, snuffling wet breaths through his broken nose as I mount the gate, dropping to the other side.
Cadence stands by the car; door open to activate the light. My throat tightens as I see her face crease with worry.
“Are you okay?” She steps towards me, then drops back as my expression twists in anger. Her gaze sweeps across the car and she utters a startled gasp at the damaged fender.
“That came courtesy of your friend.”
My face darkens until she retreats a step, tugging at the base of her throat. “Here.” The keys fly towards me while she turns to walk away.
“Get in the car, Cadence. You’re not going back to the game.”
“Yes, I am.” She folds her arms defensively. “Hudson brought me here and I’m leaving with him.”
I rub the side of my face where it’s pulled tight, unsurprised when my fingers come away wet with blood.
“Oh. You’re really hurt.” She races to my side, arguments forgotten as her fingers gently examine my face. My chest heats at the attention, pulse reacting to the tenderness of her light touch. “Your eyebrow’s split.”
I dodge away, pushing her towards the passenger side.
This time she gets into the seat without fighting.
“We should go to the after-hours clinic,” she says, hunting through the glove box for something to clean and patch the wound. “You might need stitches.” She pushes aside a large roll of packaging tape and holds up a small first-aid kid, expression doubtful. “Or butterfly plasters to hold the edges together.”
I reverse out of the carpark.
“And you shouldn’t drive with blood trickling into your eye.”
I bat her hand away, a far worse distraction than the crimson haze over my vision. “Keep your eyes on the road, then. Tell me if I’m about to hit anything.”
“Or you could pull over and let me drive.”
“You’re the one who threw the keys back to me. You can drive when you get your own car.”
I toss up whether to go home, park up the hill, or try my other favourite spot near the public jetty.
The jetty, I decide, then steer the car along a single lane track that runs to the side of the public land, burying us deep inside the lush scrub that grows along the coastline.
Cadence is nervous while I’m driving, but it cranks up to panic-levels when I gently ease the car to a stop at the side of the unkempt gravel road, pulling on the handbrake.
“You must be cold,” she says as goosebumps of anticipation spread across my skin. “We should get back to the house.”
“Mm.” I shift as though I’m about to start the car, then relax into my seat. “But first we need to discuss your forfeit.”
“I’ve already done it.”
“You’ve done it once. But here you are in my car again.” Her tiny gasp is a mouth-watering taster, but I’m greedy for more. “How’s my writing doing?” I shift in my seat, leaning back against the door, almost facing her. “Let’s have a peek at your chest.”
“No.” She folds her arms. “I’ll walk home if I have to.”
“On the narrow, winding street with no footpath on either side.” I tilt my head and grin. “Pretty reckless, don’t you think?” She ducks her head, not answering, and I can’t resist goading her. “If it helps, just close your eyes and pretend I’m Hudson.”
Her shoulders hunch to her ears as she shrinks against her door.
The last time, my reactions took me hostage, leaving me vulnerable when I needed strength. She’d batted away my admission, choosing the perceived safety of our neighbour when I wasn’t the danger.
This time, I’ve come prepared.
I lean across her, taking the roll of packaging tape from the open glove box while her face drains of colour. “What are you d—”
She breaks off as I haul her into my lap, catching her arms behind her. The tape goes around and around her wrists to secure them together, expanding to the steering column and wheel until she’s trapped in place.
“Let me go or I’ll scream.”
“Go ahead.” I bend my head forward until my brow presses against hers. “There’s nobody back here to hear you.”