Chapter Four
Nadia
Race after race, the night continued. It was a fantastic night for the LBC, Abby and Deck keeping true to their word of using me as a good luck charm. I’d go with Deck, coach our driver, and watch proudly as the wins kept coming in.
We beat Phantoms and Kingsmen alike, the rush not even dying down as I watched the drivers from the rival two gangs go head to head. The Phantoms were getting smoked tonight. I could feel the fucking tension rolling off them from their side of the turf. Feel it coming off him.
The last race was now upon us. Our driver Javi was barreling towards the finish line so fast, the Phantoms’ guy Richie didn’t stand a chance. Javi hopped outta his whip and dapped us up.
“You were right, Nadia. Taking the outside of the turns worked so much better.”
“Good to hear.” I nodded, watching as he joined his friends for a beer.
“The fun doesn’t seem to be dying down,” I observed.
“Nah, people are gonna kick it a bit longer. No one’s leaving until they’re blackout drunk or the cops show up.” Deck put his arm on my shoulders and led me into the debauchery.
“You’d think they’d learn by now that they’re too slow for us.” He grinned.
“Let’s go find JC and get that drink.”
We walk until we reach the center of the track, surrounded on all sides by people from all the gangs, everyone being sure to keep within their unofficial line.
Abby is already with JC, clutching a bottle of Smirnoff in her hand.
She’s standing defensively, glaring daggers at two Phantom girls near them.
“Uh oh,” Deck muttered, both of us not stopping til we’re by her side, making the two girls scurry off.
“The hell was that?” Deck furiously turned to JC, who was quick to put his palms up.
“Leave ’em alone. We were shooting the shit when those two skanks pulled up. They were smart enough to run though. I was this close to pulling those fake extensions outta their heads and choking them with it.” She barely leaves any space between her thumb and pointer fingers.
“What’d they say?” He asked.
“Same ole unoriginal bullshit. Taunting me like some fucked up high school bullies. It’s whatever.” She shrugs it off, but I could see they got to her.
“We should go,” I tell them, to which they both agree.
“Yeah, Isla’s probably awake by now. She’s been struggling with pregnancy insomnia.” Just as we go to leave, we’re stopped by a voice behind us.
“Leaving so soon?” It’s a voice I don’t recognize.
Deck and Abby immediately turn around, but not me. Because I know what’ll happen if I do. Know who’s gonna be there. I can practically feel his eyes burning into my skull, as if he could tear through the bone and tissue, just to get into my head.
“Get Nadia to my car. Don’t leave her side.” Deck ordered JC. He nodded, grabbing my arm and leading me outta here.
Normally, such a command would piss me off.
I’m perfectly capable of handling myself, and Deck knows that, but there’s more to it.
Shit’s about to go down, and I really shouldn’t be here for it.
Because as much fun as it’s been to be back, I’m not really back.
I left this life, abandoned my family. As much as I carry their mark on me, it isn’t that easy.
No one leaves, and whoever manages to get out most certainly doesn’t come back.
We only manage to take three steps before we’re stopped by a tall frame. Dirty blonde hair that curls around his ears and warm hazel eyes. Dressed in gray cargos and a silver chain hanging out of his black hoodie.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you go.” He said apologetically, palming the back of his neck.
“Hi, Nadia.”
“Hey, Shane.”
“How you been?”
“Fine until you and your crew pulled up.” He chuckled under his breath.
“Sorry bout that, but boss’s orders. You know how it is.” He doesn’t say it, but the message is there.
You know how he is.
“You didn’t think you’d show up again and he’d let you leave?” Shane asked incredulously.
“I’m not his concern anymore, Shane.” I sighed, crossing my arms.
“Yeah, sure.” He puts both his man hands on my shoulders, turns me around, and walks my ass back to where Deck and Abby are locked in a standoff with a couple of Phantoms. Most of whom I recognize.
There’s Skylar, Shane’s cousin. She’s got the same eyes, but she’s dyed her hair blue with two blonde streaks in the front. She’s dressed in a short black romper that reaches her neck and combat boots. I’m sure she’s got a switchblade or two stuffed in there. I taught her that.
The pink-haired girl is here too, with her blunt bangs and fishnets. She’s wearing a cropped, off-the-shoulder long sleeve, and a leather mini skirt, with a jacket and the stilettos. And, of course, Hatchet is here with a shit-eating grin on his smug face.
I make sure to make eye contact with each and every Phantom. Everyone except their leader: Riven. And I know it pisses him off, but I couldn’t care less.
“Where you guys running off to?” The voice, Hatchet, asked again. Observing our surroundings, I see that the music has been turned off and every pair of eyes in the vicinity is on us.
“None of your goddamn business, asshole.” Abby’s glare could kill Hatchie if he doesn’t proceed with caution.
“Ooo, looks like the kitty’s got her claws out.” Hatchie teased, a slight Southern twang in his voice.
“Yeah, and she’s boutta shove them up your ass if you come any closer.” She grinned manically, presenting her spread fingers to him. Rolling my eyes, so done with the games, I turn to Deck, imploring him to do something to defuse the situation.
“Why don’t you put a leash on your pet?” He jerks his chin at Hatchie, speaking to Riven now. He is, after all, the leader of the Phantoms.
“Why don’t you tell us?” He replied cryptically.
“Tell you what?”
“Whether or not Nadia Slade is really back. I can’t tell if that’s her or her clone since she’s too scared to look me in the eye.”
The. Fuck. Did. He. Just. Say.
Like a complete idiot, I fall for his trap. And boy does he trap me. My posture stiffens immediately, squaring up to face my rival, my enemy for all intents and purposes. To face my past.
As soon as I stare into those gray irises, he ensnares me. He ties me up just to throw me down.
the rabbit hole. Eleven years of history sears me, waiting to flay me open and expose all my weaknesses.
His face remains as hard as a statue, if that statue were sculpted by the artists of old eager to capture his likeness.
To immortalize a masterpiece of a man. But his eyes could never lie, always so expressive.
The pain and the anger and the betrayal in his gaze cut me, but I don’t look away. I remain apathetic. It’s the only way.
“So, it is true. The royal family of LBC is reunited once more.” Skylar spoke, her eyes holding anger too, but there’s also a warmth in them.
“But, see, there’s another issue. Because she’s been coaching LBC drivers all night for their races. She can’t do that.” The pink-haired girl argued, making me huff.
“She’s here as our guest. Speaking to some friends is all. That doesn’t break any rules.” Deck attempted to placate.
Outsiders are not allowed. As spectators? Sure, but giving the type of commentary I’ve been all night? Absolutely not. And since it hasn’t been decided yet whether or not I can be allowed back into LBC, this excuse is all we have.
“Bullshit. No way a freshie with no fucking experience could beat me on his first race. The kids’ balls probably haven’t even dropped yet.” Hatchet, ever the pain in the ass, cared to comment. Freshie is
short for fresh meat. As in, new recruits into the gang. I scoff.
“Your whip was lame as fuck, stock Type R. No mods whatsoever. Anyone here could beat you. It wouldn’t be hard, sweetheart.” I don’t even hate Type R’s. I’m just being condescending cause the fuckwit keeps getting on my nerves.
That gets a reaction from the surrounding crowd. They can feel the tension brewing and can’t fucking wait for whatever trouble is about to erupt.
“Yeah? I’d like to see you fucking try.” He steps to me.
“Is that a challenge?” I get up in his face, not caring about the inches he has on me. I could drop him in twenty seconds. Rip his guts out and choke him with them if I really wanted to. He doesn’t know what I’m capable of. The shit I’d do- have done- to survive.
“But there lies the problem.” Hatchet is shoved away so that Riven can take his place. This time, it’s him who gets in my face, bending down slightly so our noses almost touch.
He’s the fire to my ice. Between the two of us, you never knew what could happen.
Our rivalry was epic; every single gangster here knows about our past. The races, the fights, the shit we pulled on each other.
You never knew who’d win, and when one of us did, it wasn’t long before the other got their revenge.
Right now? In this battle of wills, it’s his fire who’s melting my ice. I didn’t plan to see him this soon, let alone face him like this. I was ready to avoid him at all costs, but I was a fool for ever thinking it’d be that easy. That he’d let me go without answering for what I’ve done.
“Because Nadia Slade-” He straightened, eyes still locked on mine, voice projecting for the masses.
“Got out. Abandoned the LBC, abandoned her family, and ran away from home. She doesn’t get to make challenges.”
His words hit their intended target. Eyes that once looked at me in reverence now hold malice. Betrayal. Because I did leave, and to this day no one knows why. Hackles rise, disgust spurs, from all the gangs, LBC included.
“Because that’s what I let you think.”
Turning around, I don’t let the shock on my face show as I find none other than Pop there in all his glory, leaning against Deck’s Supra.
He’s as rugged and handsome as ever, dressed in jeans, boots, flannel, and his leather jacket with LBC’s insignia on the back.
And just as he did all those years ago, he’s here to save me.
“I sent her away.” He lights a cigarette and walks towards us.
“Not that it’s your or anyone here’s goddamn business.” He really emphasizes that last part.
“I had my reasons. I know what she did. She knows what she did. All’s been sorted out.” He palms my shoulder.
“And now I’ve called her home. She bears our mark, and she wears our cut. I better not hear another one of you fuckers even question her, because Nadia Slade is LBC’s finest, born and bred. You got a problem, you’ll be dealing with me.” Not. A. Peep.
“That’s what I thought.”
Because Clive Spencer’s word is gold. Powerful, even if you aren’t LBC.
He’s 57, but no one wants to get on his bad side cause they know Pop’s a different breed.
He has no qualms about getting not just his hands, but his fucking soul messy as well.
He’s a man who loves hard, and I know he loves me like his own.
Or else he wouldn’t have practically raised me.
Nor would he have just lied his ass off for me.
“Welcome home, trouble.” He whispers for only me to hear.
“Now, I believe I heard somethin’ bout a challenge?”