Chapter 6 - Clarissa
I'm about to pull away when I hear the screech of tires. My heart jumps into my throat as a black SUV rounds the corner way too fast.
"Clarissa!" Steel's voice booms across the parking lot.
I dive off my bike, hitting the pavement hard. The SUV slams into my motorcycle with a sickening crunch of metal on metal. My beautiful bike skids across the asphalt, sparks flying before coming to rest against a light pole. My dad's bike. The one thing I had left of him.
Car doors slam. Through the ringing in my ears, I hear footsteps approaching. The Morrison brothers step out, looking pristine in their expensive suits despite the summer heat.
Behind them, two guys built like brick walls emerge. They're wearing matching black t-shirts that strain against their muscles, looking exactly like the hired thugs they probably are.
"Miss Jenkins," the taller Morrison says, straightening his tie. "So sorry about your motorcycle. These brakes, you know how unreliable they can be."
I push myself up, ignoring the sting in my palms. Blood trickles from a scrape on my elbow. "You son of a-"
"Now, now," he cuts me off. "Language. We're all civilized people here." His eyes shift to Steel. "Well, most of us."
Steel laughs. Not a humorous laugh – it's dark, dangerous, the kind that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. The kind that promises violence.
"Civilized?" He steps forward, and I notice how the hired muscle tenses. "That what you call trying to run down a woman?"
The shorter Morrison – Max, I think his name is – sneers.
"Accidents happen. Especially to people who don't mind their own business."
"Is that a threat?" Steel's voice drops lower, and I see his hands flex at his sides.
"Consider it friendly advice," Joe, the taller one, says. "For both of you. Miss Jenkins, your father was a respected member of this community. I hate to see his daughter mixed up with undesirable elements."
My hands ball into fists. The mention of my father makes my blood boil.
"My father would have knocked your teeth down your throat."
"Such spirit," he sighs, like he's dealing with a petulant child. "But this is your last warning. Stay away from the house, Mr. Steel. And Miss Jenkins? Stay away from Mr. Steel. He's not the kind of company a young lady should keep."
Steel takes another step forward. The hired muscle moves to intercept, but something about the way Steel carries himself makes them hesitate. I've seen him upset this morning, but this is different. This is cold, calculated rage.
"Here's my warning," Steel says quietly. Too quietly. "Touch her or her bike again, and civilized goes out the window. Clear?"
"You really don't want to make enemies of us," Joe Morrison warns. "We own a third of this town."
Steel's smile is all teeth.
"Already did. Question is, how many teeth do you want to lose before you figure out you made a mistake? Because it seems like last night wasn't enough for you."
Around us, people are gathering at the diner's windows, phones out, recording everything. Jenny stands in the doorway, clutching her pink apron.
"You think anyone cares what some washed-up biker threatens?" Max Morrison steps forward, adjusting his gold cufflinks. "Look around. This is our town now."
"Your town?" I can't help but laugh, though my hands are shaking. "You've been here what, five years? Bullying old ladies, destroying property?"
One of the muscle guys moves toward me, but Steel's there in an instant, putting himself between us.
"Let's show this trash what happens when he doesn't listen," Joe Morrison says, and everything explodes into motion.
The first thug swings at Steel. He ducks, the punch whistling over his head, and counters with a right hook that sounds like a baseball bat hitting meat. The guy staggers but doesn't go down. His nose explodes in a spray of red, spattering his black t-shirt.
The second one catches Steel in the ribs while he's dealing with the first. I hear the grunt of pain, but Steel doesn't slow down. He fights like someone used to being outnumbered – efficient, brutal, no wasted movement. Every punch has purpose, every step calculated.
"Stop this!" Max Morrison shouts, but he's backing away toward the SUV. "Someone call the police! This man is dangerous!"
"Already did," Jenny calls from the diner door, her pink uniform stark against the gathering crowd. "They're on their way."
One of the thugs gets Steel in a headlock. The other one moves in, fist raised, but Steel drives his boot into the guy's knee. There's a sickening crack that makes my stomach turn, and the man goes down howling, clutching his leg.
Steel uses the momentum to flip the one holding him. The thug lands hard on the pavement with a thud that I feel in my bones, and Steel follows up with a kick that ensures he stays down. Blood stains the asphalt, bright red under the summer sun.
"You're witnesses!" Joe Morrison points at the crowd, his perfectly manicured finger trembling. "This man attacked our employees! He's dangerous! A menace!"
But no one moves to help them. I see heads shaking, people muttering. Years of pent-up anger finally finding voice.
"Like you attacked Mrs. Peterson's dog when she wouldn't sell?" someone calls out. I recognize Mr. Thompson from the hardware store.
"Or broke Mr. Shield's windows?" That's Sarah from the beauty salon.
"Or threatened the Wilsons until they had to move?" Mrs. Davis, my old math teacher.
Steel walks toward the Morrison brothers, blood trickling from a split lip. His knuckles are raw, but his steps are steady. They back up against their SUV like cornered rats.
"Get this straight," he says, his voice carrying across the suddenly quiet parking lot. "Touch her or her bike again, come near my mother's house again, and next time, I won't be so gentle. And trust me, boys, this was me being gentle."
"You're making a mistake," Joe tries, but his voice shakes. All that practiced smoothness gone in the face of real violence. "We have connections-"
"No," Steel cuts him off. "You made the mistake. Now get out of here before I decide these boys need company in the emergency room."
They scramble into their SUV, leaving their hired muscle groaning on the pavement. Max can barely get his key in the ignition; his hands are shaking badly. As they peel out of the parking lot, I hear sirens in the distance.
"You okay?" Steel asks, turning to me.
His eyes scan me for injuries, and something warm unfurls in my chest despite the chaos. I nod, though my legs are still trembling.
"My bike..." I look at the wreckage and feel tears threatening.
He looks at the twisted metal, "We'll fix it. I promise." He touches my arm gently, the same hands that just laid out two men somehow soft on my skin. "Did it mean something to you?"
"Yeah," I manage to say. "Last thing my father and I worked on before..."
The sirens are getting closer. Steel wipes blood from his lip, looking around at the crowd that's gathered. Some are still filming on their phones, others just watching with a mix of fear and admiration.
"Anyone want to tell the cops what really happened here?" he asks.
Every hand goes up. Even Jenny's, her pink-nailed fingers trembling but determined.
"Those Morrison boys had it coming," Mr. Thompson says firmly. "Been waiting for someone to stand up to them."
"They tried to run down Clarissa," Mrs. Davis adds. "We all saw it. Self-defense, plain and simple."
I look at Steel, really look at him. There's blood on his knuckles, a bruise forming on his jaw, but his eyes are clear. This is the man my town branded dangerous all those years ago. The man who just fought two guys to protect me, who's promising to fix my dad's bike.
Maybe Hope Peak needs a little dangerous right now.