Chapter 4 #2
Ashlyn flipped me off in the quad while Sutton was scratching my back between classes. Eyes locked, daring me.
And then on Wednesday afternoon, she lobbed a full bottle of chocolate milk at the back of Elowyn’s head as Elowyn was leaning in to kiss my cheek. The splatter ran down her brown hair like she’d been shot.
The hellkitten laughed.
I added another twenty push-ups to the count for escaping to the restroom to jerk one off, remembering the sound.
By Friday night, I’m coiled tight for the race.
Blaire rides shotgun. Hailey crams into the back, still clinging to the fantasy that she’s one of my crew. She’s not. But fivesomes can be fun, and if she’d show an ounce of interest in the other girls, maybe she’d earn a seat closer to me.
Instead, she stays locked on me like I’m the only meal on the table.
Too sweet for the bitterness that rots in my chest.
The WRX growls into The Underpass, swallowed by a ring of Maned Marauders MC leather and chrome. My vintage Porsche is too pretty to show off for the swine. So she’s sitting in Theta’s garage. In my exclusive presidential bay.
I thumb the Glock under my jacket, check the magazine, and rack the slide. This is enemy territory, and I’ve learned to keep my welcome loaded.
Then Moretti flashes me a sly grin—one of those warning looks that says something stupid is about to happen.
And it does.
Ashlyn slides her hand up his neck, tilts his head, and plants her mouth on him like she’s sealing a claim.
Oh, baby girl…
She’s asking for it.
Hailey slips her hand into mine as Blaire gets comfortable at my side. I stroll up to Moretti and his crew with the two women under my arms.
Moretti’s toothpick is annoying enough, the way his coated tongue rolls it around and around. But then, he spits, and it lands on my Adidas. That’s when I know everything I’m about to do to him is something he deserves.
“New WRX, or the same one you had before?” he asks, and it makes me rage thinking about our last race.
“New,” I say casually, not telling him how much work I’ve had done to it. “Same BMW?”
His eyes squint for only a moment. It is the same. I know. Probably the most expensive thing he owns. And I’m about to take it from him.
“So vying for slips then?” he asks as he tugs Ashlyn in front of him. She wraps her hand around the back of his neck, her tits practically bouncing out of her low-cut top as she does.
“Yes. Only that. There’s nothing more that I want from you.” Except I’m not looking at him when I speak.
Ashlyn purses her lips as she narrows her eyes, a smug grin coating her face. I swear to Bonakanos that if she so much as parts her mouth to say a word? I’ll rip her throat out.
With the venom shooting from my eyes, she must realize how close she is to danger—and wisely keeps her mouth shut while Moretti and I agree to a designated finish line.
“Can I ride with you?” Hailey asks, her eyes big and needy.
“No.”
I’m already slipping back behind the wheel, hand reaching for the dashboard.
Music detonates through the car until the bass rattles the WRX frame.
Blaire’s silhouette, framed by the headlights, poses with the flags held high in the air.
Nothing but adrenaline surges in my veins.
The route’s muscle memory. I don’t need practice.
Every turn is burned into me from nights spent carving them at full throttle.
The second Blaire’s arms drop, I launch forward, the engine roaring like it’s been caged for too long. Moretti’s headlights vanish in my rearview within seconds. By the first stretch, it’s not a race—it’s a slaughter.
I let the track play out, hand draped on the wheel, relaxed but never easing off the gas. The city streaks past in neon blurs until movement ahead sharpens my focus. We’re closing in on a busy intersection near the highway ramp.
A woman steps off the curb, shoving a stroller in front of her, like she’s walking into a death wish. I feather the brake, calculating the lull. I could let her cross, then gun it and still take the finish without breaking a sweat.
But Moretti… He’s not slowing. Not even thinking about it. At this speed, he’s going to paint the asphalt red.
Part of me whispers, let him. One less problem. Hell, he’d be locked away before morning. But there’s the other part. The one that sees what she’s pushing…and knows what’s inside.
I have a second and no more.
When Moretti surges forward into the kill zone, I slam the wheel hard to the right, the WRX screaming as I cut into his lane. My bumper clips his fender, shoving him wide before he reaches the crosswalk.
But the maneuver costs me. Traction gone, tires shrieking, the world blurs in a dizzying spin. The brick wall rises like it’s leaping toward me.
Impact.
Blackness.
“Welcome to the Crest of Thornhaven Estate, where young men and women learn to become leaders of their communities!”
“What if I don’t want to be a leader?” Some small girl, a lot younger than me, doesn’t raise her hand when asking. Just lobs the question into the air like a rock into still water.
I like that.
The camp counselor’s smile flattens eerily. “Well, your parents paid a lot of money for you to be here, so act like it.”
“Can I pay a lot of money to not act like it?”
A few of the girls around her gasp, but I can’t stop staring. She has a defiant tilt to her chin, with freckles scattered across her nose. Probably stolen from the sun. Looks like that red-headed Swedish cartoon kid, Pippi Longstocking, but blonde and meaner.
She keeps going, volleying back every comment until the counselors finally escort her out of the intro meeting. Definitely her first year here.
She’ll learn.
“That tastes like plastic. Would avoid,” I tell her when she’s in front of me in the mess hall line. Not sure why I spoke up. She hovers her hand over the mashed potatoes, then carefully sets the spoon back down and glances up at me before sliding her green tray to the French fries.
“Thanks.”
I grab more fries before she can reach them.
“Jerk! I was going to get those!”
Popping one in my mouth, I smirk. “You’ll learn.” When she doesn’t move fast enough toward the cakes, I take the last of those, too.
She seems to get the idea and beats me to the ice cream dishes and hoards the last.
“Aren’t you a little young to be at Crest?” I ask.
Fire lights up across her freckled face. “I’m thirteen. How old are you?”
“Fifteen… So basically, you’re just a baby.”
Her chest rises rapidly as her brain malfunctions with fury. But while she’s thinking of a comeback, I’ve already stolen the desserts off her tray without her seeing.
“I am not a baby!”
“Sure you’re not, baby girl.” I tap her nose with my rubber safety spoon and proceed to my table, stuffing my dessert haul into my mouth.
“Another summer gone.”
“And it’s always the same…”
“I’ve always been different.”
“I’ve always been mean.”
“Me, too.”
“Asshole-In-Charge… That’s exactly who you are. Own it.”
“Own being mean.”
“Okay…I will.”
Brown sugar and pinecones.
Soft cotton on my chest and tangled gold in my fingers.
“Aiden…” Her breath makes my lashes flutter. It’s so steamy it’s hard to breathe. Close. I’ve never been this close to someone. And something in me knows, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to get back to this moment.
“Yeah? You okay?”
“Yes.”
“I got you, baby girl.”
And then, light.
“Sir? It’s okay! He’s breathing.”
Tears seep down my cheeks, and I don’t know if it’s because I survived…or because I remembered.