Until You

Chapter 15

“Thank you for the ride.” K.C. unfastened the helmet and smiled down at me.

It was Monday night, and I’d just picked her up from work after she’d texted, asking for a ride.

When I got there, though, she started acting unnaturally affectionate. Rubbing her fingers through my hair, touching my arm. Familiarity we hadn’t gotten to yet.

I looked behind her, before she climbed on my motorcycle, and spied her ex with some of his friends inside the theater lobby, watching us.

And that’s when I knew what she was doing.

I smiled, pretty proud of her for using me, actually.

And interested.

Tate had been giving me the evil eye today, and if I could continue to get under her skin while helping K.C. make her boyfriend jealous—without actually having to go that far with her—then I was comfortable.

I took the helmet out of her hands and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

She let out a tiny sigh with her smile.

K.C. was a good girl, and the knots in my stomach settled.

Firing the engine on my bike, I put on my helmet and sped off, not sure where.

I never wanted to be home anymore.

Or maybe I always wanted to be home.

Tate was alone next door, and I couldn’t help where my thoughts traveled. We were both kind of on our own—her dad out of the country, and my mom leaving me by myself most of the time—and my damn dirty mind always entertained ideas of shit I couldn’t have with Tate. Every night we’d fall asleep less than fifty feet from each other, and the gnawing sensation in my head had me ready to scream.

All that wasted time.

After spending a couple of hours at the garage where I worked, hanging out with Madoc and doing some maintenance on my bike, I was finally satisfied that Tate was probably asleep. I wouldn’t have to look at her bedroom, warmed by the bright light, and wonder what she was doing in there.

Or what she was wearing.

Stopping at a red light, I checked my rearview mirror and did a double-take.

Is that…?

A Honda S2K was behind me.

A white 2005 Honda S2K.

Shit.

My heart climbed up my throat.

I knew these guys, and I clenched the handlebars, trying to steady my nerves.

Idiot Vin Diesel wannabes from Weston that didn’t know how to lose gracefully. I’d raced the owner of the car at the Loop last week and beat him. He’d made a big show about it being an unfair race, and from the looks of it, he hadn’t gotten over it.

They were the only car behind me, but they’d given me a wide berth.

The light turned to green, and as soon as I laid on the gas, the Honda did as well.

Dammit. I shook my head, my fears proved true. Not tonight.

Slipping my phone out of the front pocket of my hoodie, I dialed Madoc.

“Hey,” I said, glancing in my mirror again, “are you home yet?”

“No.”

Slowing down for the stop sign, I spoke quickly. “Turn around and head to my house. Got a tail of the Fast and Furious variety. May need some back up.”

“I’ll be there in five.” And he hung up.

Fumbling, I shoved the phone back into my pocket. As I laid off the clutch, I revved the gas and sped off around the corner. A cold rush of wind hit my face, and I strangled the handlebars to keep my body glued to the bike.

Shit.

My heart was damn-near pounding through my chest, but I didn’t take my eyes off the road, even to look behind me.

I wasn’t in a hurry to get there without Madoc backing me up, but I didn’t want to risk that they’d start some shit with me still driving my bike, either.

They were in a car. I was the vulnerable one.

Racing up my driveway, I twisted my head around in time to see the Honda speeding to a screeching halt at my front curb.

Ryland Banks, the short, buzzed-cut driver and owner of the car, got out right away.

Tate.

I darted my eyes to her house, fear gripping my insides, and I gritted my teeth with the urge to hit myself.

Why had I led them back here?

Tate was alone, and now, she was unsafe. Who knew what kind of weapons these guys carried?

Yanking off my helmet, I charged down the lawn, cutting them off before they got any closer.

Everything I wanted to keep safe was behind me, and that’s where it would stay.

I pressed into their space. “Not sure what you’re looking for, but it ain’t here,” I growled, bearing down on them.

“We want our money back,” Ryland ordered like he had a leg to stand on.

“Get over it,” I sneered. “You took the gamble, and you pay the price like everyone else.” They tried to push into my space, but I kept my feet planted.

“It wasn’t a fair race!” The other, taller and darker, one used his pointer finger in my face like a tattletale at recess.

I snorted.

There were two kinds of stupid. Stupid people that got drunk and humped trees, and stupid people that just humped trees. The first one was Madoc. These guys were the latter.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I laughed. “Your car never stood a chance. Bring the right tires next time. This isn’t street racing.”

“Fuck you!” Ryland barked. He slammed me in the chest, and I lost my breath as I stumbled backwards.

Coming back up on him, I stared him down. “Get off my property.”

Just then, I could make out the rumble of Madoc’s GTO, and I immediately relaxed my shoulders a bit when he came into view, speeding down my street.

I didn’t even think he turned off the car before he was out and running.

Thank God.

I wasn’t afraid of these guys, by any means, but I wasn’t stupid, either. Two against one, and all I had in my hand was my helmet for a weapon.

A vicious slam nearly knocked me off my feet, and an ache rocked my head.

Shit. I’d been hit.

No. Sucker punched, actually.

Cowardly motherfuckers.

They both rushed me, throwing fists in my face, and a million goddamn things were going at once.

Arms flying at me…crowding me…I’m about to fall…

My head was still ringing from the hit, and it took me too fucking long to get straight.

I launched my body forward, shoving my shoulder into one of their stomachs and taking the fight to the ground.

Madoc must’ve gotten the other one, because I didn’t have anyone else coming at me from behind.

My jaw clamped shut and air rushed in and out of my nose as I grabbed the guy—Ryland—by the neck and whipped him onto his back.

Grunts filled the air, and the grass, slippery with dew, made it hard as I tried to climb over him. It was a chilly night, but the sweat glided down my forehead like it was the middle of August.

I threw punch after punch, my knuckles burning with the impact. He brought his hands up, wrapping one of his fists inside the other and hammering down into my stomach.

I lost my breath, and he took the short reprieve to draw a switchblade out of his jeans and sliced me across the bicep.

Goddammit!

I whipped my body back, leaning away.

The hot sting of the cut quickly spread, and my arm turned cold. I realized it was the blood hitting the night air, cooling my skin.

But the rest of me was hot as fuck, my blood pumping so hard. I grappled for my helmet on the ground and slammed him over the top of the forehead with it.

Hard.

His knife fell to the ground, and he covered his bleeding hairline with shaky hands.

Damn coward.

I liked fighting, and I liked trouble, but pulling a fucking knife?

That made me want to damage more than just his window.

Standing up and gripping my arm to stop the blood flow, I carried the helmet over to his piece of shit Honda and smashed his windshield until it was so splintered that it looked like it was crusted in a winter’s worth of frost.

I walked back, tasting the blood in my mouth and hovering over the piece of shit on the ground. “You’re not welcome at the Loop anymore.” I meant for my voice to come off strong, but my breathing was still ragged.

And the damn blood from the cut was dripping off of my fingertips now. I probably needed stitches.

Madoc had already dumped the first guy, bloodied and unconscious, over by the car and was now stepping over to get the other one off my lawn.

“Jared.” I heard him say, almost a whisper.

I turned my eyes to him, but then saw he was concentrated on something else. Following his gaze toward the Brandt’s yard, I stopped breathing.

Fucking. Hell.

Tate was standing there, on the walkway leading up to her porch.

Just standing there and staring at us. A little scared, a little confused, and in her goddamn, fucking underwear!

What the hell?

Madoc was here. Two other guys—although unconscious—were here.

My blood boiled and heat immediately rushed to my pants.

I hardened my jaw and breathed hard.

She wore a tight, black band T-shirt and some of those cotton boy short underwear. Red ones. Fucking red.

She was covered, but just barely.

It didn’t matter, though. You could still make out everything, and she was perfect. My heart was jackhammering so hard and fast at her skimpy attire that I just wanted to peel everything off of her and sink my hands into her body here and now.

Was she trying to kill me?

Get in the fucking house, Tate! Jesus.

Then my eyes fell to the gun in her right hand.

A gun?

No.

I narrowed my eyes, forgetting her legs and her beautiful hair spilling around her.

She wasn’t helping us. She wouldn’t do that.

She was waiting for the cops or something.

Tate didn’t give a shit, and she was just sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.

But then I blinked.

If she’d called the cops, I doubted she’d be walking around in her panties, carrying a gun.

Why the hell would she help us?

Maybe she didn’t stalk out here in her underwear to taunt me. Maybe she was just in that much of a hurry.

But before I could even sift through my thoughts, she quirked an annoyed eyebrow and stomped back up her front porch and through the door to her house, giving me a great view of her ass.

Madoc laughed, and I shoved him in the shoulder before stalking off towards my house.

I had a hard-on and a bloody arm, and I wasn’t sure what I needed first: stitches or a cold shower.

Madoc had threatened to call the cops, so Ryland and his friend sped away—broken windshield and all—while I woke up my mother.

I hated waking her—hated stressing her—but I was still technically a minor on her health insurance, so I needed her at the hospital. Madoc went home to nurse his bloody nose, and it took ten stitches and my mother bitching at me for two hours before I was able to make it to bed, too. By the time I woke up three hours later, I was in more knots than before I slept.

Tate with a fucking gun.

What the hell was her game?

Grabbing my phone off its charger, I shook off the voice in my head that told me to slow down.

Need my help today? I texted K.C.

It only took her a second to respond. Help?

Liam, I shot back. Let’s make him jealous.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, waiting for her answer.

I heard Tate’s Bronco start up next door, and I checked the clock to see that it was still early.

The lab.

I’d seen Tate coming out of the chemistry lab in the mornings and some afternoons. She was probably competing in the Science Fair in the spring and needed research done. It would look good on her college applications.

She was probably getting ready to apply to Columbia next year. New York was always where she always wanted to go.

K.C. didn’t text back, so I dropped the phone on the bed and went to the shower.

My arm was wrapped tight, but I still needed to get clean.

After my shower, I wrapped a towel around my waist and stopped short at the bathroom mirror, glimpsing my tattoos. I couldn’t help but smile, remembering how my mother had yelled at me the night before.

Fighting! she screamed. Getting arrested! And tattoos without my permission! she’d said as if that was the worst one of all.

I’d only laughed under my breath and laid my head back in the car, trying to sleep as she drove us home from the hospital.

I loved the tats, and I was going to get more. I wanted the scars on my back—the ones my father gave me—covered.

Walking back into my room, I dried my hair and noticed that I had another text.

What’s in it for u? K.C. asked.

Well, I couldn’t tell her the truth.

Fun.

I don’t know, she texted. Tate’s already mad at me.

Tate won’t know, I lied and threw the phone on the bed to go get dressed.