Chapter Three

Green flames.

What the hell did green flames even mean? And why did he only have access to them around Timber?

He twitched his fingers open and tried to conjure the green, but only the hot yellow showed up, like a blowtorch spewing fire from his palm.

With a frown, he closed his fist and extinguished the fire.

Perhaps the animal in him was still growing in power, and needed something to focus on when he used the green flames in these early days of discovery.

Perhaps the entire world would be consumed with green flames someday, when he finally lost all control.

Lucia Novak might not be able to see that far in advance yet, but it was coming.

He could feel it.

The control had been slipping more and more over the years, and had gotten so much worse when he'd joined the Fastlanders. Damon Daye was convinced this was where he was supposed to be, but Wreck wasn't sold.

"I thought you were working today," Captain called from the edge of the clearing.

Wreck threw him a dirty look over his shoulder, put his headphones more securely over his ears, and went back to sanding the wooden board he was working on. He'd come out here to get away from the Crew's incessant questions.

Captain sidled up beside him, rested his fists on his hips, and nodded like he approved of Wreck's work. "I know you can still hear me, motherfucker."

With a growl, Wreck yanked his headphones off, depriving himself of the death metal he'd been listening to in an effort to drown out his whirling thoughts. "What do you need?"

"I don't need anything," Captain said calmly. "I was coming out here to offer you help."

"Do I look like I need your help?" Wreck demanded. "I'm sanding floorboards. It isn't rocket science."

"So testy," Captain muttered as he knelt and picked up a stack of finished boards, loaded them easily onto his shoulder and turned, nearly whacking Wreck in the head with the wood, and then sauntered back toward the trailer park.

"You almost hit me," Wreck pointed out.

"I know." Captain said that part without turning around, and Wreck tossed him a middle finger.

Annoyed, he shook his head and went back to work on the row of boards he'd milled with the small sawmill Gunner had dragged into these woods.

Why was he doing this? Because the damn floor in his single-wide had rotted. He'd gone through it and nearly broken his damn leg last night. He had extremely fast healing, but he wasn't a fan of pain. He had enough of that in his life, what with all the burning and such.

So the single-wide trailer was getting a flooring upgrade, to the real wood stuff that he would screw in to avoid creaking. He definitely wouldn't break through it by simply walking to the damn bathroom in the middle of the night.

He was nearly done with the next board by the time Captain returned. He did his best to ignore the grizzly shifter, but apparently Captain was feeling chatty today.

"Why are you only eating the yellow ones?" Captain gestured to the pile of chewy candies that sat on a piece of board that had unfortunately been too weak and split in the milling process.

"None of your business," Wreck said at the exact same time as Captain mimicked, "None of your business."

Wreck flickered a flame to life in his palm to throw a fireball at his face, but Captain held up his hands in surrender. "Was just pointing out that you are very predictable."

"He's right," Owen, the resident boar shifter, said from where he was leaning on a tree near the clearing.

Great. The idiots were multiplying. Wreck sucked the flame back into his hand, and went back to sanding the board positioned on two sawhorses.

"You're doing solid work," Owen complimented him.

"Does no one work around here?" Wreck asked.

"Day off," Owen offered.

"Same," Captain said.

Same here, because Wreck had forced himself to take a day off after he had snapped on a client yesterday. That Timber woman was consuming his mind, and he didn't like it. Made him grumpy. Well, grumpier than usual.

"Want to get lunch?" Owen asked.

"No," Wreck said before he'd even finished the sentence.

"Dude, we're trying," Owen said.

"Trying for what?" Wreck demanded, setting the sander down in utter frustration. "I'm not asking for anything. I don't want attention! I don't need to be your fucking friend. The both of you make me unstable. Right now, I'm just trying to keep control so this trailer park survives burning for another day. In five minutes tops, the two of you will be fighting and bleeding each other, true or false?"

Owen pursed his lips. Captain crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at a mushroom he was languidly kicking with the toe of his work boot.

"True or false," Wreck asked again.

"Possibly true, but not definitely true," Owen answered low.

"And when the two of you start with your bullshit, your tension and your yelling and your Changing, do you know what that does to my animal?"

"Makes him mad?" Captain guessed.

"No. Makes him furious. Unmanageable. I'm not like you. I don't go bear and ruin maybe a couple lives. I could ruin a city. You want to be struck by lightning? Ask me to go to lunch, and get in a fight in front of me there. Want to survive another day? Let me build my wood floors in peace and pretend I don't exist. Don't say hi to me. Don't ask me stupid questions. Don't try to memorize my work schedule. Just focus on your mates and building your Crew. Leave me alone."

" Our Crew," Captain corrected him.

"Chhh." Wreck huffed an empty laugh. "It's all of you, and then me. You guys made sure it was that way from day one. I'm only in this Crew because Damon asked for it. He called in a favor, and I owe him. I'm not here for any of you."

Captain stooped and picked up a red candy. Wreck lunged forward and slapped it out of his hand. Before he had a single thought, he said, "That's for Timber."

Captain froze, his eyebrows arched up. He lifted his hand and showed Wreck the burn on his skin. It was already blistered and angry-looking. "You burned me."

"I'll do it again if you don't leave me alone," he muttered, reaching for the sander again.

"Come on, man," Owen said to Captain. "Let's leave him alone."

Captain stared at Wreck for a few seconds longer and then said, "We all fight it for a while."

Wreck didn't understand what he meant. He watched Captain follow Owen back toward the trailer park. The curiosity in him wouldn't shut up. "Fight what?" he called after them.

Captain turned and paused between two huge trees, canted his head. "The part of this where you aren't alone. It's scary. I hated the feeling of…feeling. I have to depend on Owen? On Ace? On my fucking brother ?" He pulled a face and said softer, "On you? I was fine on my own. Owen was fine on his own. Ace was fine on his own. Gunner? Fine on his own. I know you're fine on your own, Wreck. You can hold on to your stubborn pride as long as you want, but I'm telling you, it's not as lonely on the other side."

Captain turned and disappeared into the trees, leaving Wreck to watch after him. He wanted to throw fire at the trees and punish him for thinking he knew more than Wreck did. He didn't know anything.

They were normal shifters, so yeah, they could pal up and make friends and maintain those friendships, but Wreck was different. He was messy, and didn't have the control they did.

Everyone he'd ever loved, he'd hurt.

So…he'd learned at a young age that distance was best for everyone.

They thought it was stubborn pride?

If only they knew what he was capable of. What his inner monster pushed for. What he had done. What he fought against just to let people survive him.

No, it wasn't stubborn pride that had him maintaining distance.

He was doing the Fastlanders a favor.

****

Wreck slammed the tailgate of his truck and strode for his trailer. He needed to finish the flooring tonight so his house would stop being a construction zone and driving him crazy. He took the stairs two at a time, and froze when he saw what was sitting on his welcome mat. A six-pack of beer sat there, still cold if the condensation was anything to go by.

He gritted his teeth and scanned the trailer park. Owen's dumb face was peering out of his and Silver's front door. When he saw he'd been spied, Owen said, "Yep!" and disappeared inside.

"We aren't friends!" Wreck roared. "Stop leaving shit on my doorstep!"

****

Wreck paused in the aisle of the hardware store and checked his phone after the vibration alerted him a text had come through. It was from Captain.

I'm bringing food home for the Crew meeting. What do you want?

Nothing. I'm not going to the dumb meeting. Send.

We can rebuild the firepit you blew up together. As a Crew.

Wreck blocked him and shoved his phone back into his pocket, barely resisting the urge to set the damn thing on fire.

****

Wreck climbed out of the driver's seat of his truck. The second his boot hit earth, he could hear it—the whizzing of something headed straight for his head. He glanced up, and threw his hand up fast enough to catch the blade painfully in the palm of his hand.

He cursed, yanked the knife out of his hand, and lifted his fiery glare to Ace, who sat in a neon-orange lawn chair beside the firepit he'd struck with lightning a couple months back.

"What the hell, man?" Wreck demanded.

"Read the inscription."

Wreck wiped the bloody blade on his work pants and read the words that had been carved into the blade.

Best Friends Forever.

"Tell me the rest of you don't have matching ones," he gritted out.

Ace stood, and sighed. "Wasn't my idea."

"Whose was it?" Wreck demanded, the heat of rage creeping up the back of his neck.

"Pretty sure Captain commissioned Beaston to make them." Ace pulled a folded pocketknife from his pocket and held it up into the air. "Always wanted a Beaston knife, I just could've done without the stupid inscription."

Wreck watched Ace get into his truck and drive away, his mouth hanging open, awe warring with fury inside of him.

He'd also wanted a Beaston knife, but they were too damn expensive. They cost an arm and a leg. How could Captain afford to have these made for all of them?

He looked down at the blade again, and closed it. He would've already thrown it at Captain's trailer, flipping the knife blade end over end until it sunk deep into his house, but this was a Beaston knife. A motherfreaking Beaston knife.

He would just have to find a way to scratch the inscription off.

****

Wreck sipped from his thermos of hot coffee and pulled open his truck door to find what looked suspiciously like a friendship bracelet, like the ones kids traded when they were in elementary school.

"Whaaat?" he yelled, his voice echoing through the trailer park as he yanked the bracelet off his driver's seat.

Someone had taken the time to put his goddamn name on it in white-letter beads, and the threads were all done in fire colors—red, orange, and yellow.

He chucked it into the woods and gave a middle finger to the empty trailer park, because he knew those motherfuckers were watching him and laughing about his reactions. God, he hated them. He was going to talk to Damon about officially transferring out of this Crew. He'd already printed out the petition to leave the Crew. He would sign it and take it to him tonight, after he finished this massive fence project right in the middle of town, where there were a hundred-thousand-million people and barking dogs. He hadn't seen Timber in days, but he kept looking for her. He was on edge and needed to Change, and these village idiots wouldn't stop messing with him. He wanted to burn the entire town to the ground.

"Timber called."

With a ready glare, Wreck turned around to face Hallie. "Why would she call you?"

"I'm guessing because she doesn't have your number." Hallie held a ripped piece of notebook paper up in the air, and from here, he could see a phone number scribbled in pen. She approached and handed it over. "She said she found my contact information on the shifter registry." She shrugged. "Mine is the only one of the Fastlanders that has a phone number attached to my profile."

"I need your little friends to leave me alone."

"Hey, Gunner and I have nothing to do with them pestering you for friendship."

"They don't give a shit about being friends," he barked. "They are just messing with me and pushing me until I snap, and I'm there, Hallie. I'm so fucking close."

"I told them that. But you know, I don't think they're messing with you, Wreck." He didn't understand the anger in her voice. She stepped closer and lowered her voice. "I know this might be a shock, but for whatever reason, they are looking past your infinite bad attitude and actually trying to build something with you."

"I don't want friends, Hallie."

"No shit. Anyone with eyes can see that, but you know what? Not everything is about you. The guys see something in you, and that's their prerogative. It's not your choice on the potential others see in you. Good God, throw them a smile or a wave every few days and they'll be happy." She huffed a breath and turned to leave.

"Wait," he uttered low, frowning down at the phone number. "What did Timber say?"

Hallie crossed her arms over her chest. "I'll tell you if you promise to be nice to the guys."

Annoying. He hated bartering for anything. It was his way. That was it. His way, or his way. But Hallie had a stubborn set to her mouth and she was looking him straight into his soul, and this little hellion wouldn't be budged. He could tell. "I'll be nice for a three-second window," he negotiated.

She waited a three-count, then shifted her weight to her other side and muttered, "Good enough. She said to tell you that her insurance has officially totaled her car, and she's already signed the paperwork and gotten a check for it. And that she would be at Two Dog Towing Company gathering anything salvageable from the car tomorrow, if you wanted to grab lunch around there. Her insurance company is doing something weird and making her pay the towing fee to take it to some junkyard outside of town that her insurance company chose, so she's going to have to stay and sign some papers. So lame. And then she talked to me for a while, not about you, which was awesome. She seems nice."

"Well, she's human," he told her. He didn't know why he'd said that like it was a bad thing. He was just still all posted up from the stupid friendship bracelet and the fact that one of the Crew asshats had touched the door handle of his truck to put it on his seat. He was extremely territorial.

"I was human too. So was Corey. So was Sloane. That's not going to turn any of us off from finding her interesting."

He hated the way she was looking straight into his eyes. She was too close, and could see too much vulnerability. "Who made the bracelets?" he asked.

"The boys all sat around the destroyed firepit last night watching videos on how to do it, and they made them together."

"Seriously?"

"Super serious. I took pictures. Do you want to see them?" she asked, pulling her phone from her back pocket.

"No!"

He tossed a glance at the firepit. The ground was split in half, and all the beige bricks they'd built it with were nothing but shards of gravel all around it.

"I'll get the materials and fix the firepit," he gritted out.

"The boys would love to do that project with you—"

"It's not a group project! I'm just fixing it so everyone can stop whining about the broken firepit." He strode for his truck, his grip tight on his thermos.

Hallie called from behind him, "You should call her. She'll make things easier."

Make things easier? Nope. He was not taking that bait. He didn't understand what she meant by that, but women were mind magicians. Hallie was putting a little grenade in his brain so he could think about it all day and come back tonight and ask what she meant, but no. He was not falling for this, nor would he stoop and care.

He crumpled up the number and tossed it on the ground, hyperaware of Hallie's glare on his back.

Good. She should watch him not care about anything. Maybe she would talk some sense into Captain, Owen, and Ace, and order them to leave him alone.

She was Second in this Crew. Hallie had the power to do that.