33. Chapter 33
Chapter thirty-three
Rylan
T here's very little I take for granted in this world now.
Beneath the wilting promises and torturous expectations, I've come to love finding beauty in the smallest things.
Pure, untainted beauty is the key and cornerstone of life. It balances out all the challenging pressure that continues to surmount on a daily basis.
The Ridgeview Canyon is the epitome of all things good in my world of bad. Soft, amber glows bathe the shrubs and orange dirt. Little floral structures pop out of the ground, rising from nothing into the most incredible spectacles of nature.
Sweat drips down my skin as I run along the track, relishing in the feelings of nerves exploding. Even though it hurts to run today, I easily get lost in the pain, coupled with the blaring of music coming through my headphones.
Last night was something else.
I stayed inside the room until it was my turn to fight. Tai had ducked out not long after Hunter, only to come bursting back in a short time later to tell me that Bexley lost her fight.
To say I was surprised would be an understatement. We knew that Tamara would give her a run for her money, but after everything Spencer has been through lately, I would have thought for sure that she would come out on top.
After all, that's what happened to me.
Turner didn't stand a chance once we got inside the cage. I almost felt sorry for him.
Weeks of pent-up rage and frustration came charging out through my fists, the feeling of aching, battered flesh only spurring me on.
It was over before it had even begun.
He tried to put up a fight—I acknowledge that much. But from what I remember, he was barely able to touch me.
As soon as the buzzer rang out, I blacked out. It wasn't until someone was pulling me off him that I realized the match was over. The crowd loved it, of course—well, at least our folk did. Not long after that, the Cedar pack slowly disappeared with their tails between their legs. To say they were annihilated would be an understatement. Not only did we win the fight count, but their leader lost.
Sure, we could argue that a better result would be a whitewash of wins, but Bexley's loss superseded everything else. It's embarrassing for them, even though everyone loses from time to time. I guess the problem is timing. It's a critical point for all of us, and we all wanted that victory.
I feel bad for her though. With everything going on, I'm sure she's feeling the hit. But that's just business. She'll bounce back.
Nodding to some fellow early morning runners that pass by, I jog back toward the parking lot.
As usual, she's on my mind. Normally when I run, my brain turns off, giving in to the endorphins and entering into primal mode. But lately, the thought of Bexley has been able to break through even my toughest of restraints.
It's like a virus. Images infiltrate my vision, flashing back to cool nights and naked bodies. The taste of her, the feeling of her body on top of mine.
When I stepped into the cage last night, that's all I could think of. In fact, I'm willing to bet that whenever I look at that ring now, it will always be pleasantly tainted with the ecstasy feeling and memory of us together.
I've fallen so far down the rabbit hole that I doubt I'll ever emerge again. I'm in too deep, and a part of me is concerned. But another part, that grows bigger every day, never wants to be saved.
Getting back to my truck, I pause my music, shooting off a text to Bexley. Maybe I should go to her house and check on her. It can't have been easy for her. I know if I was in her shoes, I'd be pissed.
I wanted to see her last night, but by the time I calmed down enough to be around the crowd of people, Hunter told us that Bexley had already left. I assume she went to the beach with the other Cedar Heights students.
That's where we'll be tonight.
I have half a mind to invite her—not to rub it in her face, but to enjoy the sound of lapping water, gentle breeze, and heat from the bonfire with her. There's no way she'd ever agree though. She hates being around anyone from Willowbrook at the best of times, let alone after last night.
The engine revs as I buckle my seatbelt, checking my cell for any replies. Nothing—which is disappointing. Maybe she's still asleep or busy.
Maybe she's busy with Turner.
Clenching my teeth, I'm angry at myself for the visual. The thought of the two of them licking each other's wounds has me on edge again.
Before I know it, I'm heading in the direction of Cedar's side in Ridgeview Valley, following the road I know too well now.
Bexley's house comes into view when I turn down her street, and to my relief, there's no other cars there.
Except… there's no cars or trucks at all.
That's weird.
I don't slow down as I pass, but I hit the call button on my car touch screen, listening to the ringing sound that echoes throughout the cab.
"Good timing," Tai laughs, answering.
"Why's that?"
By the speed of his voice, I'd deduce that he's had a few cups of coffee already. Reaching for my water bottle, I wait for him to fill me in.
"I was just about to call you."
"Oh. Maybe we're developing twin telepathy now. Hope Sophia doesn't mind sharing."
Tai snorts. "She'd sell me off for books any day of the week. But that's beside the point."
"Well, you go first. Lady and all."
"Ha, very funny, Ry," he pauses. "I just found some updates I thought you might be interested in."
Pulling up a red light, I relax in my seat. "Hit me."
"Spencer's lapdog just posted in their Facebook group. Apparently, the funeral is today. He's asking for people to turn up to support her."
"That's not surprising," I mumble, spotting the Starbucks up ahead and trying to decide if I want caffeine after my run. "But it explains why she was out of it last night."
Tai hums in thought. "You should have seen it, Ry. Spencer was a mess. You could tell her mind wasn't there."
"You feel bad for her," I point out, astonished. It's the first time I've really heard him have sympathy for Bexley, other than when we discovered what happened to her mother.
"Just being a caring algebra partner," he says back quickly. "That's not all though."
"Okay…"
He stops for a moment. "I may have driven past the warehouse this morning on my way to get coffee. Spencer's truck is still parked there."
I frown. "Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure," he grumbles, annoyed. "Despite being tired and a little delirious, I'm not hallucinating motor vehicles now."
Ditching the lane to Starbucks, I rejoin the traffic, heading toward the outskirts of town. "I'll go check. You said she was hurt last night."
"Not badly," he argues weakly. "But probably wouldn't be a bad thing to check."
A smile forces its way onto my face. "Are you starting to care for her, T?"
"No."
His quick response makes me laugh, but who am I to judge?
Tai stays on the call until I arrive at the warehouse a few minutes later, obviously tracking my GPS coordinates. He tells me I'm there before I even voice it out loud, and I promptly end the call much to his annoyance.
But he's correct. It's definitely Bexley's truck in the parking lot.
Pulling up beside it, I peek through the windows first to make sure she's not inside, before heading to the warehouse door.
I find it locked, which is suspicious, and when I enter the building, it's dark except for the late morning light that manages to creep in through the tiny windows on the high walls.
My nose upturns at the stench of sweat from last night. My eyes wander to the cage as I pass, spotting the bodily fluids on the white floor, before I reach the Cedar Heights rooms. All three are empty to my surprise, as are the bathrooms, but to be safe, I head toward our end.
I nearly skip the last room when I reach it since it was mine last night and to my knowledge, I was the only one who used it. But I do a double take through the doorway at the body curled up on the floor.
"Shit. Bexley?"
Still dressed in her shorts and sports bra, Bexley is hunched over on her side. At first, I think maybe she's passed out from the fight. But as I step closer, an invisible hand claws at my throat, choking me.
Silver handcuffs catch my attention, one end wrapped around the leg of the desk, pinning Bexley in place.
Her head lifts slowly, peering over at the doorway with swollen cheeks and blood-shot eyes. "What do you want? Come to gloat?"
My initial relief is short-lived at the cold, harsh tone. Dropping to my knees beside her, I cringe at the dark bruise on her cheek, along with the cut above her brow that's congealed with dry blood. It looks like a streak of blood had dripped down her face from the fight, but it stops on her cheek bone, seemingly washed away by fallen tears.
"What the fuck happened?" I demand.
Bexley tries to sit up but is immediately pulled back down by the shortage of chain. "Why don't you ask your friend?" she spits out, hurt evident in her voice.
Shaking my head, I force her to meet my eye. "I'm not playing these games again, Bexley. I'm not a mind reader. Tell me what's going on."
I wait for the cold reaction, the dismissal like what she had done previously when I confronted her the night after we first had sex. But instead, she sighs, animosity vanishing from her face to make room for exhaustion.
"Hunter."
I recoil as if I've been slapped. "Hunter did this?"
Bexley smiles sadly. "Of course, he did. He knows about us, doesn't he?"
"What?" I gawk. "I haven't told him anything."
"Well, he knows."
Her voice is barely above a whisper, confirming my worst fear. If Tai figured it out, then perhaps I was wrong to assume that Hunter wouldn't. This is my fault. In attempting to keep our… whatever it is… secret, I didn't stop and think of the consequences if he found out.
Hunter was already mad that I entered into a truce. Hell, he hates Bexley with a passion. Even before she glued his ass to a desk, he despised her. But we've been friends for so long, he'd never punish me for it. No—he'd want to make a statement, unleashing fury on her.
"I'm so sorry," I murmur sincerely.
Bexley shrugs dismissively. "Have I missed it?"
"Missed what?"
"Mom's funeral."
I swallow, wondering if I should play dumb or drown her in empathy. But Bexley is so similar to me, I know that's not what she needs.
"No, you haven't," I tell her. "It doesn't start for another hour."
Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out my Swiss Army Knife, jabbing a pointed end into the keyhole of the cuffs. With a bit of force and manipulation, I eventually manage to jam the lock, releasing the cuffs.
Flinging them aside for her, I offer Bexley a hand. To my surprise, she takes it, trembling as she slowly pushes to her feet.
Seeing her shaking body, I quickly take off my black hoodie I had slipped on when I finished my run. I drape it around her shoulders, and once her arms are in, I zip it up.
"Thanks," she says softly, unable to meet my eyes.
"Are you going to ask how I know?"
The question leaves my mouth before I can stop it. I don't know why, but I want her to interrogate me. It's not normal to know the things I do about her, and even though most people would say I'm a fucking stalker or psychopath, I want her to know that I follow the events of her life—but we won't get into the reasons why.
Bexley shakes her head. "I assume you just find out everything to hold power. After all, if I was going to ask why you know the details of her funeral, I should probably start with the obvious question of how you came to have her belongings."
True. She raises a valid point.
"I did initially obtain information to hold an advantage over you," I admit. "But then I got to know you. After that, it became a matter of caring."
"You don't care," she points out weakly. "You just need to know everything. We're exactly the same."
I cock my eyebrow at her. "We are similar. Which is why you know that's bullshit."
"It doesn't matter what I know." Bexley sighs. "We keep finding ourselves in this position. It's wrong, Rylan. People are going to get hurt."
"Then we make sure they don't," I argue back. "I'll talk to Hunter and straighten this out."
Finally, her eyes snap to mine. I'm relieved to see some anger staring back at me. At least I know she's not broken because of him.
"There's nothing to straighten out. He's your friend. You can't fix this with him. I'm the enemy. He even said it—that I'm trying to come between you."
I shove Bexley against the wall, boxing her in with my arms. She lets out a tiny whine as her sore body hits the cold wall, but I barely register it. "I make my own goddamn choices, Bexley. I don't need anyone dictating what I do or who I fuck. You're mine now. You have been all along. This ridiculous feud means nothing to me. If you want to slap a label on us, sure, call us enemies." I lean forward, brushing our noses together. "But this body is mine. And I'm not going to just give that up because my friends decide that you're off-limits."
Her eyes flash back at me—a mix of anger and defiance. "I'm not yours, Rylan. And it's not just your friends. It's your father too. Your legacy, your leadership. I'm a nuclear bomb that could destroy everything."
Shaking my head, I grip her chin with my fingers. "And I'm a fucking grenade that could detonate at any second. But you're the only person who gets me—really fucking gets me . Not the leader, not the legacy… just me."
I feel her body relax against mine, that anger dissipating with my words. She looks like she wants to say something back, but she fights it, biting her tongue.
Finally, she just sighs quietly, tilting her head back, unfazed that I'm still caging her in and holding her face. "I need to get ready. I'm heading to the bathroom, then heading home."
"Fine," I concede, stepping back. "But I'm coming with you."