Chapter 6 #2
Good for them for working things out, I guess. I shake my head and smile. They are both nice people, so it makes sense that they’d be magnets to each other. The kind of guys that I’m always drawn to aren’t as friendly as him.
My feet are sluggish as I move back up toward the bonfire—that drink hit me harder than I thought it would.
When did I become such a lightweight? I stagger a few more steps before looking up.
My gaze catches on someone standing perfectly in the center between two trees and blocking my way back to the party.
His jacket is familiar, with the cargo pockets and a hoodie slung over his head. No. I could never forget that arrogant lopsided stance, like he doesn’t care about anything. The jacket is the exact same one I saw him wearing last night too.
Thank fucking God Roman’s looking the other way.
I take the opportunity to quickly turn back around and maneuver my way through the forest back toward Grahm and Hailey. They’ve moved somewhere else, but I spot his hoodie and hat hanging on a branch near where I last saw them.
There’s not much of an option since I don’t feel like dying out here tonight. So I quickly head over and snag Grahm’s hoodie. It’s enormous and drops down to my knees. So much for dancing and having fun, I fume as I pull his baseball cap over my head.
It smells like Grahm, and I get another stomach twist at the turn of events. He could’ve at least told me not to wait up instead of leaving me there to look like an idiot. I glare into the dark trees and huff. I don’t feel bad for taking his things. He owes me this at least.
I turn to try to find another path up to the party but am met with a broad chest and the lovely scent of teakwood and motor oil.
Fuck, it’s Roman.
“Oh, sorry,” I say sheepishly, making sure to keep my head down and try to get by him. He grunts and steps aside. He didn’t recognize me! I get a few steps up before I hear him following me.
“Hey, have you seen a couple of dumbasses around here? Bensen and Gale, if you are familiar with them.” His voice is cold, but he’s not being a complete jerk. His calm, maybe mildly annoyed, tone is one I could listen to for hours.
I shake my head. Not sure if he would remember my voice if I spoke more than a few words.
I swallow my concern. “I saw John up at the bonfire not long ago. The rest can’t be far since they seem to only do things tied together or not at all,” I retort.
I can’t help but include the snide comment.
My steps are even, and I try to remain calm so I don’t give myself away.
He’s quiet for a few moments, then huffs. “I’m so fucking tired of keeping track of them. They have no idea how much I protect them from.” He sounds pretty stressed out.
I tilt my head in his direction, making sure to keep the hood down so he doesn’t see my face. His hands are shoved into his coat pockets, and he’s lingering a little too close for comfort. Who does he assume I am right now? A friend? Who in their right mind would be his friend? Shit, this is bad.
“Mm-hmm,” I mumble, hoping he’ll fuck off and I can try to catch a ride to town at least. I knew I shouldn’t have come to this stupid party; it was marked to end badly from the start.
Roman takes a few wider steps as we reach the top of the slope and reenter the party. He walks at my side and grabs the sleeve of the hoodie with his thumb and forefinger. It’s such a soft gesture from him that it gives me pause, and I hold my breath.
We both stop walking at the same time. I lift my head enough so that I see his nose and lips, careful not to go any higher and risk him catching my eyes. It’s still relatively dark, but the bonfire gives enough light that I see his face clearly.
He has so many scars—so many, that it sinks into my chest and wrenches my imagination about what could’ve possibly led to them. Some look like tattoos, but there’s no doubt in my mind that they are all scars. Some are jagged and others are carefully designed. Crafted by him, I suspect.
He looks out toward the dancing bodies, and I steal a glance at his face again.
The scar across his forehead I saw last night is the worst, like barbwire was drug across it at one point in his life.
One cuts through his top lip and connects to the bottom.
Then there’s his neck, and it almost looks like a mural of fire is wrapped around it.
I tip my head back down to the safe level and stare at his hand, still carefully holding my sleeve as if I’m an anchor. I softly clear my throat. “Um. Do you want a drink?” I ask, hoping I can slip away with the excuse.
He grunts. “Let’s get you one. The race starts soon, so I’ll have mine after.”
Motherfucker. I keep burying myself in a deeper hole. If he finds out I’m not this girl he thinks I am, I’m fucked.
He doesn’t let go as we make our way toward a different part of the party. I glance back several times, hoping I’ll see Grahm and he’ll save me. But there’s no sign of him, and I’m left to whatever fate I’ve been dealt tonight.
I can’t help but notice how weary Roman’s eyes are as he grabs a drink from the cooler and tosses it at me. I make sure to duck my head more before he looks up. “You know…you look pretty tired. Do you get enough sleep?”
He stills before lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply. “Says the girl looking like she just crawled out from under an oil spill.”
My brows quirk and I glance down at the hoodie. It’s covered in dark red and black stains. These were not on Grahm when he chased after Hailey. What the hell happened?
The blood from my face drains and my breathing grows heavy. She said he was dangerous… Did he hurt her?
“Chill out. It just looks like oil,” Roman says nonchalantly. Is that him confirming it’s blood? I have to act casual or he might suspect something, I remind myself.
Roman is quiet as I sip on the sangria he grabbed for me. It was the one I wanted in the first place, so I don’t complain as I drink it and follow him down a dirt road toward the back side of the mountain.
The entire party seems to be heading this way.
I keep my eyes peeled for his little cult somewhere in the crowd and hope that once they are all reunited like little puppies I can make a break for it.
I really don’t like pretending to be someone.
In my defense, I wasn’t trying to. He just happened to assume.
“Looks like they are just going to be watching from the stands. All right, you’re with me then,” he grumbles, offering his hand for my empty can.
I set it on his palm and he tosses it into a garbage can before he approaches a blacked-out Mercedes.
It looks like it’s had aftermarket work done to make it look more… aggressive is the word I’d use.
It looks familiar, but I’m too panicked to think much on it.
My stomach churns when Roman turns the car on and looks straight at me as if I’m supposed to get in.
“Are you feeling okay?” he asks with a frown starting to pull at the corner of his lips. I turned my head a little late—I think he saw my face.
The jig is up. I shake my head instinctively and turn around to bolt. He’s far enough away that I have a chance of losing him in the crowd.
“Wait,” Roman shouts. His voice is quickly drowned out by the music from above and from the chattering people who are pouring into the racetrack and stands.
My heart races, and I don’t dare look back. There’s no fucking way I’m getting into a car, let alone be in a race, with that psychopath.
“Hey, you stole my hoodie!” Grahm’s voice rings through the air, and I’ve never wanted to die more than I do in this moment.
My head snaps up, and I meet Grahm’s eyes.
He’s with a man I haven’t met yet. The man looks right at me just as surprise shoots across Grahm’s features before he stupidly shouts, “Briar?”
To say my legs turn into stone would be an understatement. I cast a mortified look over my shoulder and find Roman standing just a few feet behind me. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes trace over my face, and I watch as the muscles in his jaw feather with fury.
Roman looks past me and stares at Grahm as he says with a deathly cold tone, “Sutherland. Why am I not surprised you’re clinging to the new girl in town?”
Grahm’s mouth is parted, and his lips twitch like he wants to say something but can’t find the words.
Roman sets his arm over my shoulders, sending a shudder up my spine.
My brows pinch together as I’m helplessly pulled away by Roman.
Grahm just watches; he doesn’t intervene like I thought he would.
What did Roman mean by that? It sounds like they know each other a lot more than Grahm led me to believe. I have to bite my lower lip to keep my mouth shut. The last thing I want is to make this situation worse.
He drags me all the way back to his car, where someone my height and wearing the same hoodie is standing and waiting. I don’t get to see their face before I’m shoved into the passenger seat and the door is slammed in my face, but I’m betting that’s who he mistook me for.
I wrap my arms around myself, trembling, as I wait for him to get in on the other side. He says a few words to the person he thought I was, and they head toward the stands, where people are waiting for the race to begin.
Roman throws his door open and plops down, cursing under his breath as he starts the engine back up.
I try to open the door but it doesn’t budge, and I can’t find the lock. How the fuck do auto shop guys in the middle of nowhere get their hands on a car like this?
I try to make myself as small as I can, digging my nails into my leg to punish myself for being so stupid and allowing this to happen.
The silence of waiting for him to say something is worse than his blow-up last night. I’m leaned up as far as I can get against the door and watching him carefully.
He ruffles his hair with a frustrated breath, then shoots me a dirty look.
“You’re in serious trouble, you little brat.
Did I not scare you enough last night?” His eyes shift lower to my waist, and I hold back a scream as he leans over and grabs the seat belt.
His scent drenches over me and a small, scared whimper escapes my lips as he clips the belt into place.
Roman’s face is a mere few inches from mine when he looks up at me, grinning despicably. “You think I’d bother touching someone as worthless as you?”
Okay, ouch.
He drops the e-brake and shifts his car into Drive, pulling us forward up to the line where the other cars are currently revving their engines. “You better hold on to something if you don’t want to smack your head. Although I wouldn’t be upset if you did, conniving brat.”
My hand quickly snakes around the door handle. “Who did you think I was? It’s not like I wanted to be dragged into a car with Satan’s right ass cheek.”
Roman rolls his eyes and flexes his jaw. “Believe it or not, we usually have a trusted co-rider in the car during our races. Mine happens to be a meek young woman who doesn’t whore around with my squad.”
“Dude, you have some severe mommy issues, don’t you?” I snap at him and instantly regret it when he glowers at me.
He takes one look at my stiffened state and sighs before shoving his helmet on. I don’t get one of those? I want to shake him and force him to let me out of the car, but the flag girl is already walking out onto the runway and getting ready to wave it.
“If you try distracting me in anyway, I won’t hesitate to hurt you. My mission doesn’t include dancing around a dumb bitch,” Roman warns.
As if I thought I loathed him last night.
I fucking hate his guts.
I hold on to the designated handles for dear life as the flag girl waves the red cloth around and brings it toward the ground in one fell swoop. Wait, he said mission… What the fuck is that supposed to mean—
Roman throws the stick into first gear and floors the gas pedal.
The song “Thunderclouds” by LSD comes blaring out of his speakers, it’s a remix that I don’t recognize, so my eyes flick down to the dash screen and it reads “Lost Frequencies Remix.” The cabin of the vehicle is soundproof and the speakers are top-of-the-line, so I can barely hear anything other than the music pulsing through my veins and the furious roar of the engine.
The bass is so intense it vibrates my thighs and forces a mewl from my lips.
Thank God he can’t hear any of the embarrassing sounds I’m making. Not with how fucking loud it is in here and definitely not through that helmet he’s wearing. The G-force from the initial takeoff has my stomach in knots, and I can barely force my eyes up to the windshield to see the road.
I instantly wish I hadn’t. We’re going at least 100 mph on a dirt road, and a huge turn is coming up. Only one other car is head-to-head with Roman, and he’s not letting up on the gas at all.
I duck my head and scream as Roman rotates the wheel quickly all the way and the car starts drifting. Even above the music and my bloody-murder screaming, I can hear Roman fucking laughing at me. Honestly, I couldn’t care less if he’s laughing. I’m trying not to vomit up the two drinks I just had.
He straightens the wheel, and the car snaps back into full throttle. I look up, thinking the worst is over. That’s when the car head-to-head with us slams into the driver’s side. My head jerks and smacks against the passenger window.
The last thing I hear is that godforsaken asshole laughing before everything goes black.