CHAPTER 15
THEN
NICKY – Age 19
I push my bike toward the trailer bearing the bold “Conners Rec” logo on the side, though it’s less like a trailer and more like a fully operational garage on wheels. I’m about ten yards out when Jones comes to stand atop the back ramp. Her hair’s piled high on her head in a messy bun with a red bandana serving as a headband, holding back any strands threatening to fall free. She smiles at me, the bright white of her teeth contrasting against her tan sweat-coated skin.
She saunters down the metal ramp, pulling a rag from the back pocket of her too-short denim cutoffs to wipe her grease-stained hands. She flips it over her left shoulder, calling my attention to the uncomfortable amount of exposed skin her cropped tank is allowing. It’s hot as fuck out here today, the August summer sun beating down on us. However, that doesn’t make me any less annoyed that my baby sister’s out here serving as spank bank material for these fucking perverts.
As if on cue, one of the douchebags chooses this exact moment to shoot his shot.
“Jonsie, baby! When you gonna put me outta my misery and gimme the time of day?”
She snorts, flipping him off just as I lower my kickstand into the dirt and position my body in front of hers to glare at the asshole. He ignores me, clutching his chest as he continues to address her.
“You wound me, sexy.”
“Goddammit, Jackson!” I bark. “She’s fifteen, you fucking pedophile.”
“I’m not eighteen ‘til next week, Nick.” He waggles his eyebrows at me. “I got eight more days where she’s fair game.”
My head drops back toward the sky, an eerie chuckle escaping me as I scrub a hand over my face. I approach his camp, still snickering as I close the distance between us. Jackson takes a few steps of his own to meet me, crossing his arms over his chest while still rocking that shit-eating grin.
Leaning in with a lazy smirk, I keep my voice low. “You think I give a shit about what the law says?” Jackson’s smile falters, his expression morphing to one of confusion. My hand shoots out, gripping hold of his chest protector and pulling him into me with such force, his body bounces off mine. He staggers backward, but my hold on him doesn’t allow him to get far. “I’ll slit your throat, hang your body from the finish line, and stand on the podium drinking your blood from my fucking trophy after I’ve bled you dry.”
Jackson pales, eyes widening at the picture I’m painting for him.
“Six minutes, Jackson. If I do it right, that’s all it would take to drain you. I want you to remember that, because the next breath you take in my sister’s direction,” I whisper, “will be your last. You got me?”
“Y-Yeah. I got you, Nick.”
I offer a condescending slap of my palm against his cheek. “Good boy.” Shoving him backward, I allow him to scamper away while I turn to head back toward my trailer.
“Seriously?” I glance up to be met with J’s annoyed stare. She stands before me, hip cocked, her brow curved in a perfect judgmental arch. “I had that under control.”
J’s no stranger to track life. While she doesn’t travel with me, it’s not unusual for our parents to fly out with her during my summer season. Not to mention, before I ever went pro, she spent almost every weekend at the track with me. She grew up around a lot of these guys, so she knows they’re dogs.
“I don’t doubt that for one second, Baby J. You are without a doubt the most badass chick I know. But if I’m around to witness it, you best believe big brother’s handling it.”
“Mmmhmm.” She eyes me skeptically, dropping her voice. “You can’t kill people just for hitting on me, Nick.”
“Baby J, on my list of justifications for killing another human being, that one holds top spot.” It doesn’t escape me that the casual nature with which I’m able discuss taking a life is probably a sign of a much larger underlying psychological issue. If it’s an edge that didn’t benefit me in my current business, it’d probably behoove me to seek professional help.
I may have only founded The Dukes a year and a half ago, but you can’t run a drug organization and not get your hands dirty. I’m not sure what surprised me more, the fact that I was able to gain a handle on the drug trade in the area so quickly at such a young age, or the fact that the occasional bloodshed required of me when someone steps out of line doesn’t faze me in the slightest. If anything, it calms me.
Life’s always moving so fast, coming at me from all angles. To hold another’s in my hands? It shifts the scales, allowing me to regain control.
Most of the idiots slinging drugs in the area were unorganized junkies themselves, aside from Maverick Bishop. As much shit as I give that fucker, I actually don’t mind him. We share a similar belief system when it comes to how we run shit, and if I had to split territory with someone, I’d prefer they have an IQ higher than my sister’s childhood pet hamster, so he’ll do.
He also came in handy earlier this year when we had to snuff out a little problem involving fentanyl-laced product. While I prefer to handle issues myself, that incident resulted in a lot of bodies that needed burying, so I was happy to share the load.
“Listen, Nick.” She pulls my attention back to the present. “If I’m gonna be causing problems here for you, then maybe I should just stay home.”
My beautiful, innocent baby sister completely glosses over the fact that I’ve fucking killed people, instead trying to assume responsibility for my homicidal tendencies. A good man would send her ass home, ensuring she is as far away as possible from my stupid ass. But I’m not a good man, which is only proven when I voice my objection.
“The fuck you will, brat! Who the hell’s gonna work on my bike between motos if you’re home just dickin’ around?”
J rolls her eyes, waving me off. “Yeah, because you couldn’t take this bike apart and put it back together with your eyes closed.”
I could. And in half the time she’s able to.
But between motocross and The Dukes, I barely get to see her as is. If it wasn’t for these visits, our time together would become practically nonexistent. The thought knocks me off kilter, forming an anxiety-ridden knot in the pit of my stomach.
As if she can read my mind, she says, “If I didn’t know any better, big brother, I’d think you miss me.”
“Every damn day.” I smile, extending my hand toward hers. She mimics the action, allowing the tips of our fingers to wiggle against one another as we chant, “Woogity woogity.”
It’s a ridiculous handshake. One we’ve executed almost every time we’re together since the day she first saw it in some old school cartoon. It’s a juvenile tradition…and one I desperately hope she’ll never outgrow.
Motocross seasons are hard. This week we’re actually in New York, but that’s not usually the case. January to August is pretty much nonstop traveling. Race days average once a week, but when you factor in arrival, setup, practice runs, and media, it’s more of a two-day ordeal at minimum, sometimes three. My sponsorships and endorsements make up the vast majority of my legitimate income, and therefore come with their own set of obligations. Photoshoots, interviews, commercials—it’s a fucking circus, but my agent’s pretty good at clustering them into a single week each month. On off days, my team’s traveling to the next event while I’m flying home to Queen City to check on my other business—the one I don’t broadcast to the world. Rico does a good job of keeping things in line when I’m gone, and we talk every day, but I strive not to go longer than three days without making an appearance.
Between shipments, distribution, and day to day operations, I also have to ensure no one makes a play for my somewhat newly established territory. Sure, things are civil between The Dukes and The Rebels, but I don’t need Bishop getting any ideas.
You leave a throne vacant long enough, someone eventually starts eyeing your seat.
“Come on, bro. Let’s get you ready for the next race.” She turns, making her way over to my bike. “How’s it feel?”
“Clutch is slippin’,” I say, coming to stand alongside her. “Started acting up on the last two laps.”
“All right. Pull it onto the trailer. I’ll check the cable.”
“I ever tell you what a great sidekick you are?” I nudge her playfully with my shoulder.
“Bitch, she is main character energy and don’t you ever get it twisted!” The familiar voice has us spinning on our heels, and before I can even fully register her presence, J is launching herself toward her best friend.
They collide, gripping hold of one another’s forearms while excitedly jumping in place, their screeching slicing through the air.
“Look how tan you are!” Jones grabs Daph’s face, pulling their foreheads together. “I missed you.”
Daph tosses her arms overtop J’s shoulders. “I missed you, too, boo.”
I don’t think Jonsie and Daph have spent more than twenty-four hours apart since the day J first invited her to our house. So, the month Daphne just did in Miami with her mom was nothing short of torture for my sister. Considering Daph’s hatred for her mother, it probably wasn’t a cake walk for her either.
I think we were all a little caught off guard when Daphne said her mother was forcing her into a month-long mother-daughter vacation. The most initiative Belinda Burke has ever taken in being a mother is hiring a personal chef to ensure Daphne didn’t die of starvation before she was old enough to cook for herself. I’d be shocked to shit if they’ve had a conversation in the last six years that lasted beyond four verbal exchanges, so I don’t know what the fuck they did spending thirty whole days sharing a space. Not gonna lie, before she left, I did some digging to make sure Belinda didn’t have any newly implemented life insurance policies on Daph or any financial troubles we weren’t aware of.
Yeah, that’s how little I trust that bitch.
“I’m gonna go get Mom!” J announces. “She’s been waiting all day for you to get here!” She bounces off, sprinting in the direction of the concession tents where our parents are grabbing lunch, leaving me and Daph behind.
I eye her, slightly surprised when she forgoes insulting me in favor of tracing lines in the dirt with her foot.
Huh.
The silence stretches on for several more seconds, leaving me to be the one to initiate our interaction for the first time possibly ever.
“So,” I begin, “I see you survived a month with Mommie Dearest.”
“Right?” She laughs, and the sound defuses some of the unease I didn’t even realize I’d been harboring in my chest. “Although, I’m sure the way she’d tell it is she survived me. Trust me, she’s had her fill. Couldn’t drop me off fast enough. If that new spa she’s been itching to try wasn’t out this way, she’d have made me Uber.”
She stops toeing the dirt long enough to look up at me, her emerald eyes locking on mine. “Thank you for leaving the VIP Pass at the gate for me, Nicky. I really missed Jonsie. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I had to wait another two days to see her.”
It takes me a second to realize I’m not breathing, almost as though the shine of unshed tears in her eyes caused my lungs to seize. Slowly drawing in a breath, I bring my arms to rest overtop my chest.
“Don’t mention it, princess.” Her nose scrunches up at the nickname she hates. “Pretty sure J was going through withdrawal, and we both know I can’t bear the sight of my sister unhappy. Even if her happiness comes at the expense of my sanity. So,” I initiate a few steps in her direction, “here you are.”
She sticks her tongue out at me while simultaneously flipping me off.
“There she is.” My face breaks out into a wide smile. “Welcome home, Daph.”
She chuckles, moving to pull her longer-than-I-remember tresses into a high ponytail. It’s only then I take in her full appearance. Daph’s tanned, toned legs are on display in a pair of shorts that are somehow even shorter than my sister’s, but her entire upper body is concealed by a black zip up hoodie. Considering I’ve got a hairline trigger when it comes to assholes ogling the two girls I’ve watched grow up, I’d normally welcome any help I can get in drawing as little attention to them as possible. However, it’s pushing a hundred degrees out here, and judging by the way she’s panting, she isn’t gonna make it much longer in that thing.
“Daph, why the hell are you in a sweatshirt?”
She finishes tying off her hair before pushing her sleeves up to her elbows. “It was cold in the car.” She shrugs.
“Okay… but it’s hotter than Hell out here. And while you may be a demon, even you are no match for the inevitable effects of heat exhaustion. Take it off.”
“No.” She takes a step back, almost a bit too quickly for my liking. It sets me on edge, and my eyes narrow in suspicion.
“It’s just… I don’t have anything on underneath it.”
“J keeps a duffle in the trailer. And on the unlikely chance she doesn’t have anything, I have spare team shirts. Come on.”
“Honestly, Nicky, I’m fine,” she insists.
“Why you being weird?”
“Why are you being an overbearing asshat?!”
“I’m always an overbearing asshat.” I hold her gaze, slowly advancing toward her. “But you’re very rarely weird. Overdramatic? Sure. High maintenance? Hundred percent. Pain in my ass? Abso-fuckin-lutely. But never weird.” I break our stare to glance down at the offending fabric. Daphne gives a subtle jump, just now realizing how close I’ve managed to come to her. My eyes slowly climb their way back to her face, and I’m a little rattled by how much effort I have to exert to ensure my breathing stays even.
“Take off the hoodie, Daph.”
Daphne turns to make a break for it, but I’m faster. Wrapping an arm around her waist, I lift her clear off the ground, crushing her back to my chest as I walk us up the ramp of the trailer.
“Nicky!” She thrashes, panic slicing through her voice. It bleeds into my veins, polluting any sense of logic as the worst possible scenarios run through my head of what I’m going to find when I tear this thing off her.
If there’s a single bruise on her body, somebody’s dying.
I’m distracted when she catches my temple with her elbow, causing my grip to momentarily loosen. She tumbles forward, but I’m able to grab her before her face collides with the metal edge of the ramp.
“Jesus Christ, Daphne. Calm the fuck—” I pause, my body completely locking in place as my mind begins to short circuit.
It’s not what I thought.
It’s worse.
Daph quiets as well, no longer bothering to fight. There’s no point. Not now. She goes practically catatonic, allowing me to maneuver her with ease as I position her into a standing position. I continue to hold her to me, her back plastered to my front, feeling the steady rise and fall of her chest. My right hand remains exactly where it landed when I caught her—cupping her left boob.
I give it a squeeze just to make sure I’m not imagining things and, no, I’m definitely not.
I have known Daphne Burke since she was six years old. She’s practically lived at my house since she was nine. She has ridden on my bike, chest smushed against my back, more times than I could possibly count. She has spent countless summers parading around my parents’ pool in a bikini—an image that, I’m not proud to say, has been seared into my fucking brain after I caught a glimpse of her before she left for Miami.
Daph’s always been beautiful, but this last year had next-level plans for her. I’m not sure when exactly she went from sweetheart to smokeshow, but I was not prepared. I stood at the kitchen window staring at her just long enough to be considered borderline creepy before I was able to tear myself away.
Yeah, like I said, not my proudest moment. However, after that day I could draw every newly acquired curve of this girl’s body from memory, and one thing’s for sure—I spin her, gripping hold of each side of her hoodie and tugging so hard the zipper breaks apart—those were not there four weeks ago.
I stare at the swell of her tits spilling from her white tank. The ones that were the perfect handful before she left and are now a large C at minimum. I remain unmoving, focused on the rhythmic pattern of her breathing as my ever-building rage threatens to overtake me.
It all clicks into place.
Why her mom planned such a long trip.
Miami… the plastic surgery capital of the world.
“Did you know?” My eyes slide up to find hers welling with tears. “When she planned this trip, did you know this was what it was for?”
Her eyes slip closed, but not before a few tears escape down her cheeks. Without looking at me, she slowly shakes her head from side to side.
A switch gets thrown in my brain, coloring my vision red. As if possessed, I march over to my bike, shoving my helmet on and kicking the engine to life.
“Nicky, don’t!” she calls after me, but I’m already whipping through the crowd, blowing past my parents and J on my way to the parking lot. I’m on the main road in seconds, speeding in the direction of the spa I know the cunt is headed.
She didn’t have that much of a head start, maybe fifteen minutes, and it isn’t long before I see her black Benz up ahead in the right lane. Weaving around the few cars between us, I pull alongside her just as she approaches an off ramp. I swerve into her lane, forcing her to take the exit then pull ahead and slam on my brake. She follows suit, laying on the horn as her bumper stops just short of my rear tire.
I hop off my bike, not even bothering with the kickstand. It falls to the asphalt, forgotten as I storm toward her driver’s side door. Belinda’s eyes widen with shock at the sight of me as she scrambles to ensure the locks are engaged.
Locks. That’s fucking cute.
Stopping beside her window, I plant both hands on the car before slamming my helmet-covered head repeatedly into the glass. It shatters on the third hit.
Belinda screams as I reach inside, unlocking her door and pulling her from the car. The road we’re on sits lower than the highway, concealing us from the flow of traffic above, with no signs of life in either direction.
I slam her up against the side of her G-Wagon, ripping the helmet from my head as I stare down at her with contempt.
“What. The fuck. Is wrong with you?” I seethe.
“You’re crazy! Help!” she wails, only to have her screams cut off when I grip hold of her neck and slam her into the car once more. Belinda winces, whimpering as tears begin to spill from her eyes.
“What kind of mother forces her sixteen-year-old daughter to get breast implants?”
“She wanted them! They were an early birthday present.”
“DON’T FUCKING LIE TO ME!” I slam her again, causing her to cry out in pain. “She’s your little girl. You’re supposed to protect her. Take care of her.”
“I AM TAKING CARE OF HER!” she screams, her body shaking in my grasp. “The caliber of man she will be expected to marry will expect certain things in a wife.” I release her, dumbfounded as I stare at her in utter disbelief. Belinda gasps, rubbing at her neck as she sags against the side of her car. “Let’s face it, Daniel. Daphne’s going to be a tough sell when it’s time to marry her off. She’s not top of her class. She has the mouth of a sailor. If she had managed to keep her legs closed, her virginity alone would have made her a priceless commodity, but no, she couldn’t even give me that to work with.”
Every muscle in my body tightens to the point of pain at the thought of some worthless prep-school fucker knowing what Daphne feels like inside. I’m completely unnerved by the realization that I better never find out his name…because I’ll kill him.
Get a fucking grip, Nicky.
“So, this was your solution? Take her to some butcher and allow him to carve her up?!”
“Don’t be dramatic, Daniel. She saw one of the best plastic surgeons in the country who went through her belly button with saline. She won’t even have a scar.”
“That’s how you justify it?”
She straightens, dusting at her blouse as though trying to regain some of her composure, yet she fails to hide the tremor of her hands. “I don’t have to justify anything to you.”
“How about I report your ass to CPS for subjecting a minor to an illegal surgery?”
“Really, Daniel? People with our kind of money don’t get their children taken away. They aren’t going to waste time and resources on us when there are mothers out there putting cigarettes out on their babies’ backs. Daphne is fed. She attends one of the best high schools in the country. A pair of her shoes cost more than some people’s rent. Christopher would have that complaint buried before a caseworker’s even notified.”
She’s right. I fucking hate everything she just said, but she’s spot on. Money like ours? It’s a different set of rules. Fuck, it’s an entirely different game. They wouldn’t even get a slap on the wrist.
“You’re not a mother, Daniel. You would never understand.”
“I wouldn’t understand what? That you’re a fucking psychopath who’s ready to auction off your daughter like a prized cow?”
“Daphne is never going to be poised, proper, or pure. The least I can do is give her a fighting chance and ensure she’s pretty.”
I lunge forward, my body colliding with hers as I pin her to the car once more. Belinda gasps, the sheer force of my weight knocking the wind out of her. This time, both hands encircle her neck and I begin to squeeze.
“Your daughter is the most beautiful creature to have ever graced this shithole planet. She is funny, quick-witted, loyal, and kind.” Belinda claws at my fingers, fighting to loosen my hold as the redness in her face begins to shift to purple. “When she walks into a room, the number of necks that come dangerously close to breaking as they snap to follow her would make a fucking supermodel envious. She is perfection personified, and if you ever—” I squeeze harder. “—EVER, fuck with the masterpiece that is her body again, I will carve a pound of flesh from your own to make amends. You don’t fingerpaint on top of a Rembrandt. Understand?”
I loosen my hold just enough to ensure she doesn’t pass out. Belinda greedily sucks in a large gulp of air, her eyes filled with terror as she nods furiously within my grasp.
“You love her,” she gasps, wide-eyed with a shaky breath.
I chuckle at the notion. “I’m not capable of love, Belinda. However, I’ve researched a hundred forty-seven ways to kill a person, and I’m capable of making a hundred twenty-two of them look like an accident. The other twenty-five? They’d never find your fucking body.”
Any remaining color leeches from her face.
“I trust this little encounter will stay between us?”
“Y-yes.”
I smile, releasing her throat as I back away toward my bike. Lifting it up, I climb on and kick it to life before revving the throttle a few times. Navigating my way back toward her, I bend to scoop my discarded helmet and goggles.
“Always a pleasure seeing you, Belinda. I’ll tell Ma you said hi.”
And with that, I leave the cunt on the side of the road, wondering where the fuck’s a serial-killing hitchhiker when you need one.
***
I pull back onto the grounds, making my way toward our camp when my sister jumps out in front of me.
“Nicky!” She grabs my handlebars when I skid to a stop. “Please tell me you didn’t do something stupid.”
Hopping off the bike and leaving her to support its weight, I stalk toward the trailer, scanning the area for Daph’s red ponytail.
“Nicky!” J shouts at my back. “Nick—”
I whip around to find her following me, pushing my bike.
“Did you see?” I ask, jaw clenched. “Did you see what that bitch did to her?”
J drops the kickstand, her eyes filling with tears as she forces a nod. “She never told me, Nick. I had no idea until I saw her after you took off.”
“Where. Is. She?” I seethe.
Jonsie stuffs her hands into the back pockets of her shorts before gesturing with her head toward our trailer. I march off, bypassing the ramp when I don’t see her inside, and rounding the corner to find her wrapped in my mom’s embrace.
“Why are they always trying to change me?” Daph sobs as my mom rubs her back. “Why can’t I ever just be good enough?” Her words make me falter, my chest splintering as my mom’s red rimmed eyes meet mine over Daph’s shoulder.
As if sensing me, Daph shifts to follow my mom’s gaze until those hypnotizing emerald gemstones she has for irises collide with my own. They’re filled with so much sadness, but also, something else… shame.
My feet move of their own accord, my right arm sweeping around her waist to pull her against me as my left hand slips up her spine and grips hold at the nape of her neck. Pressing my forehead to hers, we stand nose to nose as I demand her full attention.
“You’re perfect, Daph. Embed that shit in your brain now. And on days you’re struggling to remember, call me. I’ll make sure you never fucking forget.”
Her breath catches in her throat, the sound drawing my attention to her pillowy parted lips. My fingers slide up into the base of her hairline where I grip hold of a fistful of her roots. My eyes squeeze shut as I fight to chase thoughts I have no business having from my mind.
Walk away, Nick. Walk. The fuck. Away.
And that’s exactly what I do. By some miracle, I release her, storming off with no particular destination in mind.
Two hours later, I’m on the podium taking the win.
Seven hours after that, Rico and I are in Miami for a late-night shark feeding frenzy.
And as I sit across the breakfast table from J and Daph’s smiling faces the following morning, I can’t help but stare at the emerald-eyed princess who is now officially the only girl I’ve ever killed for.
The girl I know I’d undoubtedly kill for again.
In hindsight, the writing was on the wall even then.
When it comes to Daphne Burke, I’ve never been anything other than fucked.