That burned down my house.
That want my mother and me dead.
I want to literally crumple to the floor and burst into tears. I haven’t felt this afraid since the day our house burnt to ash, not when I woke up here with no idea where I was, not when Cayde stripped me in front of the others on my first day, not in the basement during that awful pledge hazing. Not when Jaxon caned me, and not when Dean whipped me with the belt. None of those times even added up, compared to what I feel right now.
I want to scream.
I want to cry.
I want to run.
The one I want more than anything right now is Jaxon. I want to get on the back of his bike and tell him to drive as far and fast as he can. But I also want Cayde there because who would hurt me with Cayde standing next to me, big and broad and muscled and angry? Better yet, who would hurt me with Jaxon and Cayde, and Dean there playing the lord of the manor, ordering whoever sent me this awful letter off of his property because, of course, Dean believes this is really his, just like he believes I’m really his, and everything else in this town.
I want all three of them around me at this moment, all of them offering me something different in the way of protection. It rocks me backward almost as much as the contents of the letter because I realize that somewhere along the way, they’ve shown me that as much as they torment me, they can also keep me safe.
Not a single part of me wants to go to class after that, but it’s probably safer than staying here, in this house, with only Geoffrey and Brooke. So I force myself to grab my bag and head out of the house. Still, the entire way, my head is on a swivel, looking for anyone out of the ordinary, anyone who might be following me.
My heart doesn’t stop pounding all day. I feel like I’m in a constant state of panic, a yawning pit of anxiety in my stomach, my throat tight, my pulse racing, ready to jump out of my skin. Mia isn’t in class, which makes me even more worried, but I have to hope that she’s just out sick. I’ve never missed my phone more than I do at that moment.
But none of it compares to when I walk out of my last class of the day and see a girl standing on the other side of the road.
In a split second, I realize it’s not just any girl. It’s the one I saw at the game watching me and Mia and Winter and the guys, with the long stringy dark hair. I can’t get a good look at her face, but she’s clearly watching me, shifting back and forth on her feet as she waits by the side of the road.
I freeze in place, unable to move. I’m not going to fucking cross the road with her standing there, but I don’t know what to do. Run back inside? Scream for help? She’s not actually doing anything wrong, she’s just standing there being weird, and I could just be totally paranoid.
Before I can decide what to do, there’s the sound of a motorcycle further down the road. My heart leaps into my throat, and for a split second, I think it might be Jaxon. I hope that it’s Jaxon. But in the same instant, I know it’s not. Jaxon’s bike is smaller than whatever is coming towards us. The engine of the motorcycle coming around the turn is bigger, louder.
As it comes into view, it slows down just enough for the girl to dart forward, jumping onto the back of it and wrapping her arms around the waist of the heavyset man on the Harley. I don’t get a good look at his face either, other than to see that he has a long beard, but I do get a glimpse of the patch on the back of his cut.
Devil’s Sons MC. Blackmoor.
I feel dizzy again, almost faint. They’re coming after me. It doesn’t matter that I live at the manor house now, that I’m a part of the families’ game; it doesn’t even seem to matter that Dean has claimed me. They still want their pound of flesh from me, and maybe my mother too.
I swallow hard. I can’t rely on the guys. As much as I want them to be my shield right now, I can’t forget that they’ve tormented me too. And in the end, they might not always be there to protect me, even if they were willing to.
I need to be able to protect myself.
Back in high school, I worked out a lot. I took martial arts classes, I boxed, I lifted weights. I needed to be the toughest chick on the block, and I had the muscles to back it up. That guy who took a skateboard to the face learned that the hard way.
But since graduation, I let it slip. Since coming here, I really have let my workout routine go. I’ve snuck in a few ab workouts and pushups here and there, but nothing compared to what I used to do. And now, I regret that.
This means regardless of how the guys might feel about me getting home later, I’m not going back to the manor house right now.
I’m going to the fucking gym.
I know where it is on campus, even if I’ve never actually been there. I head straight there, glad that I’d opted for yoga pants and a tank under a hoodie today with Vans instead of my usual jeans and Docs. This, at least, I can work out in.
The gym smells refreshingly familiar, like sweaty mats and metal, and I can feel a little of the tension leaving me as I walk in. I haven’t even started yet, but already it feels like taking back a little bit of the control for myself. Here, at least, I can make my own decisions.
Or at least, that’s what I think until I walk in and see all three of the guys standing right there, around the squat rack, talking amongst themselves.
Fuck.