Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
TARYN
Beck Maddox stepped into the ring like he owned the space.
He was tall—at least six-four—and had a long, muscular build that was tough and intimidating, with muscles tightly packed under skin that seemed almost ready to burst with aggression.
His black hair, pulled back with a rubber band, fell to his shoulders, revealing the sharp contours of his face.
His arms and chest were covered with tattoos, some of them layered over what appeared to be old scars, though I couldn’t tell for certain from this distance.
Under the harsh warehouse lights, his green eyes looked almost unnatural—bright, focused, and empty of anything that made him human.
Much as they looked that night, several weeks ago, when I stumbled upon him doling out his own form of justice.
He rolled his shoulders once, loose and ready, knuckles already bruised from previous fights, some of which may or may not have taken place in this ring.
Sweat tracked down the ridges of his arms, highlighting muscles shaped into weapons, and my eyes followed the droplet on its journey, involuntarily.
“Damn,” I murmured, my mouth dry at the sight.
Beck was every bad boy fantasy that I’d ever had all rolled up into one.
The men nearest the ropes shifted instinctively, clearing space the way animals did when something higher on the food chain entered the vicinity.
Beck didn’t acknowledge them.
His attention stayed on the man who had entered the ring before him.
His opponent was older. Late forties, maybe. Thick through the shoulders, belly soft with age, face marked by a life filled with drink and women. The kind of man who’d been strong once and refused to believe he wasn’t anymore.
The bell—if you could call it that—rang.
The older man rushed him.
Big mistake.
I moved closer unconsciously. Drawn to the strength this man exhibited. I’d seen him around school but never like this.
Beck didn’t back up. He slipped sideways, let the punch pass close enough that I heard it cut the air, then drove his elbows into the man’s ribs with a sound like a bat cracking wet wood.
The man grunted. Staggered.
Beck followed with his knees—hard, precise, merciless. Each strike was placed where it would hurt most, slow reaction time, and make breathing a problem. He wasn’t showing any signs of rage. Just pure cunning.
I respected that.
The way Beck’s fists landed—controlled, deliberate—dragged something loose in my chest.
I’d buried the memory deep.
It had been hard to watch, but I’d pushed through, knowing the leverage might come in handy one day. Seems that there was still a touch of a normal eighteen-year-old girl left inside me.
Ben would be so thrilled.
SIX-MONTHS AGO
The road had been empty that night.
Ben had sent me out late, a punishment run, miles farther than usual. My lungs burned, sweat blinding me, when headlights cut across the service road ahead, turning into a rundown trailer park.
A little girl was in the yard of one of the trailers, Lord only knows why at this time of night, and the truck stopped. A man with greasy hair and a cigarette dangling from his mouth tried to coax her over.
I’d slowed instinctively and dropped low. If that little girl took one step in his direction, I’d have to step in. My father wouldn’t approve of my getting involved, but there was no way I could stand by and do nothing.
Then I saw movement from behind the truck.
And Beck Maddox stepped out of the shadows like he’d been there all along…watching.
Maybe he had been.
Maybe the whole thing was a set-up.
The little girl saw Beck and turned, quietly heading into her house.
Beck approached the man and, without warning, jerked him out of the truck. The sound of flesh meeting flesh was loud to my ears.
I crouched there, frozen, watching until my thighs burned.
The punches grew stronger and stronger until I knew what the outcome would be.
I took a deep breath, willing my pulse to slow back to normal.
The crowd roared as the older man went down once, then scrambled back up, pride forcing him upright when sense would’ve kept him on the mat.
Beck watched him rise, no expression on his face.
When the man swung again, wild and desperate, Beck caught his wrist and twisted. Bone popped. The sound turned my stomach.
Beck drove him back into the ropes, forearm crushing his throat, then released just long enough to land a punch that snapped the man’s head sideways. Blood sprayed—dark, arterial.
The man went down again.
This time, Beck followed him.
Fists came down like hammers. Controlled. Relentless. No wasted motion. The crowd’s noise shifted—from excitement to something sharper, uglier. Even they could tell when a beating crossed into something else.
“Murder that fucker, Beck,” someone shouted.
He didn’t even look up.
Beck kept hitting until the older man stopped trying to cover his face. Until his hands fell away. Until the body beneath him stopped reacting, lying there like a slab of meat on a butcher’s block.
Then—and only then—Beck stood.
Silence spread outward in a ripple.
The ref—I used the title loosely—hesitated before stepping in, checking for breath, pulse, and movement. He looked up at Beck and shook his head once.
Not dead.
But close enough that tomorrow was questionable.
Beck wiped his hands with a towel hanging over the ropes, then stepped out of the ring as if almost killing a man were normal. And for him, it might have been.
That was when I moved.
I knew which bike was his. I’d been observing him closely ever since that night.
I waited in the shadows until I saw him approach. Unfortunately, he wasn’t alone.
Two women drifted toward him as he reached his bike.
They were older than him—confident, wearing heavy makeup, with slow, knowing smiles.
One of them moved closer, trailing her fingers up his chest and brushing her lips against his jaw.
The other giggled softly, leaning in so her breasts brushed against his arm.
It was obvious that both knew him intimately.
I felt a stab of jealousy that I had no right to feel.
“We thought you might like to celebrate your victory,” she purred.
Beck’s mouth curved into a lazy grin, but before he could accept their offer, I stepped forward.
“He’s busy.”
Both women turned, surprised by my presence.
Strangely enough, Beck didn’t seem to be.
They assessed me quickly—my age and my clothes, not the least bit provocative, and dismissed me as no competition.
One arched a brow, “And who are you, little girl?”
“Not your problem,” I said calmly, ignoring the ‘little girl’ remark. “But definitely his.”
I didn’t look at Beck, never breaking eye contact with the patch chasers… or was it sweetbutts? I truly didn’t give a shit either way.
Silence stretched just long enough to become uncomfortable.
For them, not me. I lived for this kind of thing.
Then Beck exhaled a quiet laugh. “Go. I’ll see you back at the clubhouse.”
They hesitated long enough to understand he was serious, then turned and walked away, heels clicking as they headed back to the warehouse, all the while glancing back at me with dirty looks.
When I finally shifted my attention to Beck, he was already watching me.
“What did I do to deserve a visit from the evil queen of Ashford High?” His voice was mocking as he looked my body up and down with heat in his eyes.
I didn’t rise to the bait.
He leaned back against his bike, arms crossed, posture loose and unthreatening—in the way predators use to lure in their prey. When I didn’t answer immediately, he repeated the question.
“Why are you here, Taryn?” he smirked.
I took one step closer to him. Not quite within his reach — I didn’t fool myself into thinking he didn’t have the speed to grab me if he wanted to.
“I need you to do something for me.” I adjusted my go-bag.
Now he looked curious and slightly intrigued. “What could you possibly want from me?”
“There’s a biology exam,” I continued. “A copy of it turned up where it shouldn’t have.”
Beck blinked.
Then his smirk grew into a full-fledged smile. And I felt my breath stutter the slightest bit. Damn, he was pretty.
“You didn’t come all this way to spread gossip,” he laughed. “Get to the part that involves me.”
“I took it,” I said for the first time out loud. “And I need you to say that you did.”
He threw his head back and laughed.
After a few minutes, he wiped his eyes. “And why would I do that?”
On the spot, I changed what I had intended to say, hoping to leave the big guns for later.
“You fight here. Illegally. You hurt people. I’m sure you don’t want that looked at too closely.”
“Sweetheart,” he said gently, “attention doesn’t bother me.” Beck shrugged. “People come here asking to get hurt, and I doubt anyone cares about a bunch of bikers pounding each other into the ground.”
I watched him closely, but it was obvious he meant what he said.
Fine.
I suppose it was going to be the big guns, after all.
“There was a night, just a few weeks ago,” I said, slower now, watching my words. “A trailer park outside of town. A beat-up truck. A little girl. Any of that ring a bell?”
His expression didn’t change.
But something had sharpened. I could feel it.
“That’s vague.” He stood, moving just the slightest bit closer. “You’re gonna have to do better than that.”
I shuffled back, hoping he didn’t notice. “I heard you were waiting for him.”
I heard no such thing. I saw it.
Beck studied me for a long time.
Then he smiled. “Rumors travel fast. You really think I’m gonna lose sleep over something you heard?”
“I didn’t just hear it.” Now it was my turn to smile. “I saw it. Every little bit, until the end.”
Silence stretched.
Beck took a few steps closer. Strangely enough, I didn’t feel threatened, but I let my hand drift into my pocket and grip my pepper spray, nonetheless.
“And yet,” he murmured, “you walked in here alone, knowing that I have no qualms about ending someone if I think it’s necessary.”
I didn’t answer, but I was unable to prevent myself from taking the slightest step back.
He laughed again, low and appreciative at my action. “Jesus, you’re fun!”
“That’s not an answer,” I said, starting to get annoyed, despite myself, with his amusement. This wasn’t going the way I’d anticipated.
He observed me for a few moments, eyes bright now—not predatory. Interested. What the hell was wrong with this guy?
“I’ll take the hit,” he said finally. “Not because you’ve scared me.”
“Then why?”
“Because you walked into my world as if you belonged. And because you didn’t show any fear, even after what you—” he grinned. “—allegedly saw.”
I kept my expression neutral even as my heart raced with excitement. Everything was falling into place.
“Careful, Fox,” he winked. “You keep playing games like this, and I just might decide to keep you.”
My mouth fell open slightly. This man was obviously a few fries short of a Happy Meal. If it weren’t so essential to keep Ben from finding out about the test, I’d cut my losses and forget this whole thing.
“I’ll make my confession in the morning.” He straddled his bike, “See you around, little fox.” He stared me up and down and licked his lips. “You can count on it.”
Only at school and never alone again. I didn’t trust that smile.
I slipped into the trees, waiting to leave until he drove out of sight, worried that he would try to follow me and do to me what he did to the man in the ring tonight.
I could defend myself, but not against someone like him. No matter how much Ben taught me, I knew my limits.
After I made my way back into the house and lay in bed, I thought back over our conversation.
I may have royally messed up. This man was going to be trouble.
I’d observed him in class after that night, and nothing about his actions gave anything away.
He’d acted like it was just a normal Tuesday.
That’s why I’d waited so long to approach him.
But the die was cast, so it was much too late to change anything now.
Hopefully, he’d keep his word, or I’d handle him the same way I did everyone else.
Swift and with no mercy.
Only time would tell.
I put my doubts aside and began drifting off to sleep, picturing the look on Lucas Rowen’s face when the principal confronted him.
He’d think twice before messing with me again.
I hoped Adrian found out. That would be the cherry on top of the shit sundae I’d served up.