Chapter 5

Anything For Her - Bryce Savage

My knuckles are still swollen and aching from punching Talon last night. He deserved it. At least that's what I've been telling myself all morning. It helps with the guilt rotting inside me. I've hit plenty of guys before, but never my brother. Considering how hard he rides my ass about training and my life choices, it's probably a fucking miracle I have managed to control my temper with him as long as I have. When it comes to him bitching about racing or training, I can handle it. The same can't be said about him pushing me about Bexley. Something about her is just different for me, and him shit-talking my feelings for her, is just unacceptable.

Everyone always thought my fixation with her was a game, and I don't blame them. I know I've created the fuckboy image of myself to people around me and the team, and I've allowed them to think of me that way for so long that I shouldn't expect anything else. But Talon is my fucking brother. He should know me better, and the fact that he is either too oblivious to see what Bex means to me or he doesn't give a shit, pisses me off more than anything.

Leaning against the counter at the canteen, I wait for the lady on the other side to prepare the coffee and bagels I ordered for the team. I spent the morning changing the oil and filter on the R1, and now it's all ready for the heat race. Since I didn't work on it yesterday, I was stuck getting up before dawn today to ensure she was all set to go and would pass the early morning inspection without issue. Not that getting sleep was really an option for me last night after what went down between Talon and I.

My head falls back against the thin glass of the canteen window, and I slide my hands into the pockets of my gray sweatpants as I scan the area around the small building with my eyes. As usual on race weekends, though it's barely eight am, the pits and track are getting busier by the minute. Guys are lined up with their bikes at inspection, waiting to get the all clear before they head out. The first round of heat racers are out on the track, the hum of their 600s filling the quiet morning air as they get their laps in.

A familiar laugh draws my attention to the long lineup for the canteen. A glimpse of thick raven hair in the sea of people. Bexley.

Without hesitation, I push myself off the wall completely disregarding the team's breakfast and coffee order as I rush toward where she's standing in line. Her eyes are on the gravel ground as she pushes the tiny rocks around nervously with the toe of her checkered Vans sneaker and chats with someone on her phone.

"You know I can't do that," she giggles as I reach her side. I grab her upper arm tightly and pull her out of the line. "Ow, what the fuck!" she shouts, drawing the attention of the people around us.

"It's all good, everyone. We just need to have a chat," I explain calmly as I drag her to the back of the canteen building and away from watching eyes.

Clearly confused and annoyed, she fights me. Tugging to try to free it from my hold. "Sayshen, what the hell are you doing? Where are you taking me?" she asks. "No, it's fine, Cece. I'll call you later, okay? Yeah, I'm sure. I can handle this fucking psycho," she adds sarcastically before ending her call.

Only when we're away from the crowds do I release my hold on her arm.

"What do you think you're doing?" she snaps as she steps toward me defensively. The gold flecks in her hazel eyes glimmer in the rays of morning sun as it rises above the treetops in the horizon. They flicker from one to the next as she searches my face for an explanation. The thick locks of her hair cascade down her back and around her shoulders, framing her gorgeous face. But even with the collared sweater she chose to wear today, I can make out new purple bruising along her neck in the morning light. Purple bruising that wasn't there when I saw her at Seaside Cafe.

I slowly lift my hand to her hair, tucking it back behind her ear before gently tilting her chin as I take in the severity of her new marks.

My jaw clicks. Every fiber of my being is enraged by what my eyes find. Marks that no woman should bear, let alone have them placed there by a man they trusted to care for them. Deep purple and crimson bruising circle around her thin neck, no doubt left there by a hand.

A hand I'd like to fucking break.

She pushes against me, shoving my hand away from her. She tries to turn away from me, but before she can. I grab her chin firmly, and force her eyes back to mine. At first glimpse, they fill with sadness, but it doesn't take long for her to put on her mask. A mask I already know she must have to wear daily to fool the world around her and keep them from finding out about the shit that is happening behind closed doors.

But it doesn't work for me.

I see right through her facade.

Bexley pulls away from my touch again, her eyes narrowing as she straightens her back. Gripping her phone tightly in her hand, she slowly steps backward to get away from me.

"Why are you with him?" I growl. "Why do you let him do this? Touch you like this," I spit with disgust. The fact that any man could do this to a woman makes me sick to my stomach. Knowing it's Christian, the Demons biggest rival, doing it to Bexley─my fucking Bexley, has me ready to commit murder. Lifting my hand, I gesture to the bruises along her delicate neck. "I'll fucking kill him, Bexley." I'd happily spend the rest of my days rotting in a max security prison if it meant Christian was six feet under. Rotting in the dry Tampa earth, while the worms feast on his woman beating flesh. Then, Bexley could start new, and live the life she fucking deserves.

I'd kill to see her get her fire back.

Rolling her eyes, she tucks her phone into her pocket before crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I don't know what you're talking about. No one touched me," she snaps with a sharp tone.

"Don't give me that bullshit, Bex. I see right through your lies. What happened to you, huh? Where's that feisty girl from high school? The one who wouldn't take crap from a guy. You deserve so much better than this, and you know it."

"Who are you to say what I do or don't deserve? You don't fucking know me, Sayshen. Wow, you had a little crush on me a million years ago when we were fucking kids, for Christ's sake. You have no right to dictate my life and tell me how to live it," she snaps.

There she is.

It's not the roaring blaze I remember, but there's a spark that I saw at the cafe.

There is hope.

I don't like that this is happening to her, but now, knowing who's doing it, it's even worse. I have to race against this guy. See him daily on and off the track and somehow not beat his fucking face in. All while knowing somewhere in the crowd is Bexley. She's not the Bexley I remember, though. No. This girl, she's but a fraction of the girl I remember. The empty look in her eyes shows me how broken she is. No amount of makeup or oversized clothing can hide the marks he leaves on her. Not from me. Because I know her well enough to know that they run deeper than her skin.

"You're wasting your breath trying to lie to me," I snicker. I take one of her loose curls in my hand. Threading the raven colored softness between my fingers as I take a step closer to her. She gasps and steps back again, pressing herself up against the brick wall of the small canteen building. Realizing she's trapped, she drops her eyes to the ground, unwilling to show her vulnerable side. Gripping her chin softly, I force her to look at me. The fact that eye contact is so hard for her is no doubt a result of her treatment.

Her abuse.

My other hand slams down on the brick wall behind her, supporting me as I box her in.

"Your eyes give you away. That and the way your body trembles when I bring it up. Bring him up. You're not angry, Bexley. You're scared. You've given up, and I don't blame you for having no fight left in you. Fuck only knows how long you've been silently battling behind the closed doors. But lucky for you, I'm here now. I see you, I see your pain, and I haven't given up on you. Hell, I never did," I confess as I softly brush my knuckles along her blushing cheek. Tears brim along her lashes, as she holds my stare. Her lip trembles, "It's okay, Bex. You're allowed to be sad. I'm angry enough for the both of us, and I promise, Christian is going to get his."

She holds my stare for a few more seconds, absorbing everything I've just told her. In high school, it was no secret how I felt about Bex, but I think, like everyone else, she believed it to be a game. That she was just another girl to me. Back then, I was okay with her thinking that, but not anymore. Not if thinking she doesn't have any other options, is what keeps her with Christian. Because she does.

She has me.

Her calm expression quickly fades, replaced with one of anger and annoyance as she shoves my hand from her face and ducks under my arm to get past me.

"Leave me alone, Sayshen. You don't know anything." Oh fuck, here we go. "You don't know me or what I'm feeling, so fuck off before─" she snaps from behind me.

"Before what?" I laugh, turning around to face her. She's flustered. "Before you tell Christian how bad I'm going to beat his face in for fucking touching you? For hurting you?"

"He didn't hurt me!" she shouts.

"Stop the bullshit! Anyone with eyes can see those fucking marks on your neck, Bex. It's not just me!" Looking around, she quickly pulls the collar up in an attempt to hide the marks.

"So what? Maybe I like it rough? Did you ever think of that? Hmm?" she spits, stepping towards me with purpose. "Did you ever think of the possibility that I like it when he's rough with me? That I fucking enjoy being made into his little slut. Maybe shit got wild in the bedroom. What if he was hitting it so good we both got caught up in the moment, and he gripped a little tighter? Then what Sayshen?"

"Bexley," I growl. My body tenses. It doesn't matter that I know her claim is bullshit. The very thought of him touching her in any way gets my blood pumping. Especially that way. The way she'd never let me touch her.

"Or what? Because you, the famous Sayshen Shaw, couldn't hit it, there's no way Christian can, right? You've always been a cocky asshole. Well, news flash, but he gets it. He gets all the wild hot horny sex he could want, and it gets damn rough and rowdy. I fucking love it. He'll bite me, choke me… the rougher he is, the wetter I get. That's how I have marks on my body. If you want, I can show you these─" She snaps as she starts to pull her sweatpants down.

I stop her, smacking her hands away from her waistband as my chest rises and falls with heavy, panted breaths. I know none of what she's telling me is true, but it doesn't make it hurt any less. That's what she wants, though. To hurt me. Scare me away because I'm calling her out on all the shit she's been hiding for god knows how long. I'm seeing her, and to her, that's dangerous.

Holding her hands to her sides, I slow my breathing and soften my tone. Her eyes meet mine again. Searching. Silently pleading for me to stop. To give up.

"Why are you doing this? Why are you protecting him? You can't fucking lie to me, Bex. I know you better than you think I do, and I can tell when you're full of shit. I can read you like a fucking book. So stop trying to hide shit, cause it's wasting both of our time."

"I'm not hiding anything," she snaps, pulling her hands from my hold as she backs away. "Stay the fuck away from me, Sayshen. You think you know me, know my relationship, but you don't."

"Fuck that. I can't just turn a blind eye, and I won't," I admit, and I mean it. There's no way I'm going back to acting like Bexley doesn't exist. Like she isn't right here, within arms reach.

"You will, or I'll have you thrown out of the races. All it takes is one complaint. One paper file claiming you touched me, harassed me, and you're out. Stay the fuck away from me," she adds as she heads back around to the front of the canteen.

"Do it then. You think I would put racing before you? Fucking go for it," I bark back at her. "I don't give a fuck about racing, Bex, not if it means sitting here and watching you let that piece of shit do this to you."

"I mean it, fuck off." With that, she turns her back to me. She holds her hand up over her head and she flips her middle finger up to me as she rounds the corner of the building and leaves my sight.

I groan with annoyance. My jaw clicking as I begin to pace the small space behind the canteen. I kick up the gravel, and my already bruised fist slams into the brick wall of the canteen building, causing me to cry out. The pain radiates through my hand and up my arm as my knuckles begin to bleed.

"What the fuck d'you do that for, bruv?" Thorne's voice shouts. Lifting my head, I cup my injured hand with the other and make my way over to where he and Cruz are rolling by with their bikes.

Thorne Rosewood is one of the more chill guys on the team. He's one of the newer guys, having moved here from Peckham, London after Andre signed him to the Speed Demons. Despite being a fulltime racer, he's one talented fucker with a pen and paper. Guy can draw just as good as he can ride a bike, and while graphic novels and comics have never really been my thing, any that have his work in them, I buy and put away. Standing six foot five, with a buzz cut, he loves to remind us all he's the tallest guy on the team and though most of the time he's a big goofball who never takes anything seriously, he's been known to try and play the role of peacekeeper within the team. Which is what I'm sure he's doing right now.

"Don't worry about it. How was it out there?" I ask, squinting my eyes as I nod my head in the direction of the track.

"It's fuckin brass monkeys out there…" Thorne replies.

I cock a brow in confusion "Brass what?"

"Brass monkeys, cold enough to freeze the balls off one…" Thorne explains.

"How would the balls even─"

Cruz flips his visor open. "Nevermind, Sayshen. Just make sure you have your warmers on or you'll be sliding all over the place. They called your line out next. Are you sure your hand is good to ride?"

"Who's on my line?" I ask.

"You and Wolfe for us. Uh, the Ackerman twins from the Heathens, Josh Slatter and Thomas Raker from Nomads─"

"Cordova, too," Cruz adds. My eyes snap to his, and Thorne shoves him. "What? It's the only fucking name he wants to hear, and we both know it." He's right. I might not be able to handle Cordova the way I want to without pissing off a lot of people and benched for the season, but I sure as fuck can teach him a lesson on the track.

Thorne shakes his head with disapproval. "Why you gotta muddy the water? You heard what Tal─"

"What did my brother say this time?" I ask, cutting him off. My knuckles throb. Truthfully, my riding today is a risk. The swelling in my hand after hitting not only Talon but the fucking wall is going to make holding the throttle dangerous and risky, but what's a little fun without some danger. And the heat race this morning is definitely going to be fun.

"Damn," Thorne laughs. "For once, you weren't takin' the piss, Cruz."

"What the fuck are you on about?" I snap, spitting to the ground as I turn my sights on the growing crowd of people making their way to the bleachers.

"Cruz was talking to the team all morning about you landing a blow on Talon last night. Reign swore up and down that he saw it, too, but I don't think any of the other guys believed them. I sure as fuck didn't."

"And?"

"Look at you, fam. Your had is mash up too, and you're obviously fuming about something.I doubt they've lied to us but this can't just be over some ting, can it?" Thorne adds as he kisses his teeth.

"Don't," I warn. Snapping my eyes back to him.

"Woo," Cruz laughs. "I told you, fucking idiot." He smacks Thorne in the arm, nearly knocking him off his bike. Thorne lifts his hands in submission as the loudspeaker cracks and the announcer gives the crowds the ten-minute warning before the next heat.

"You better get a move on if you wanna get out there, Baby Shaw," he adds.

"Yeah, knowing Cordova, he'll be one of the first guys out there. Are you sure you're good to ride?" Cruz asks, eyeing my hand.

Rubbing my injured knuckles with my other hand, I hiss at the sting of the contact "Fucking right, I am. A little blood isn't stopping me from getting out there," I reply. Accepting my response, the guys close their visors and head off toward the pits.

My hand could be broken, and I'd still be planning to head out. Nothing would stop me from getting out there, not even Bex warning me to stop meddling in her shit. If she doesn't want to face Christian, then I sure as fuck will.

On and off the track.