Chapter 9

Every weekI’m shocked I’m still on the show. Half the time when we have our supposed “face-offs” it’s never clear who’s the winner.

Hammer Fists is eventually sent packing, so I guess I won that fight.

“You’ve gotta distinguish yourself from Naptime,” Venom says to me after a particularly harsh training session.

“Uh, I’m not a douche who runs around yelling out a catchphrase. Isn’t that enough?”

He chuckles. “No. That shit gets him noticed. It’s entertaining.” He roughs his hand over my hair. “Maybe we should shave your head or dye it purple or something.”

“The fuck you’re touching my hair,” I growl, shaking him off.

“All right. Everyone get cleaned up,” Jordan shouts. “You guys did good. We’re going on a field trip today.”

“Aw, shucks.” Woolly chucks his arm in the air and pulls a doofy face. “My mom forgot to pack a lunch for me.”

“Har, har.” Jordan rolls his eyes. “Come on. You guys have been working hard. We put together a fun surprise for you.”

I roll my eyes toward Venom. “This is sounding worse by the minute.”

He chuckles and shoves me toward the hallway. “Stop dragging your feet. I want to see if the outside world still exists.”

“Good point.”

“Is it girls?” Deadass shouts. “I’m gettin’ tired of seeing the same raggedy bitches every day.”

Thankfully, I haven’t talked to Kiki since I had it out with Paul the Potato. Either they told her to leave me alone or she finally took the hint. She and the other girls usually spend the day sunbathing by the pool. Since the pool’s basically a big tub of piss at this point, it’s not hard to avoid that entire area.

I only have one girl on my mind.

Molly.

I want to win this thing and get home to her.

That’s what drives me.

Winning means I can take care of us. I can handle any petty bullshit they put me through here, as long as I can take care of my girl in the end.

“Stonewall!” one of the crew members barks. “Let’s go.”

The camera guys follow us to our rooms as everyone whoops, slaps lighting fixtures, and for some reason, punches the walls.

Shaking my head, I step into my room and quickly change.

I end up being one of the first ones outside. A row of four or five sport bikes line the small circular driveway along with the two vans we took on our last outing.

Afraid to get my hopes up, I ask Jordan, “What’s this?”

Venom and Woolly join me, their enthusiasm obvious from their quick steps and wide-eyed appreciation for the machines.

“Oh, fuck yeah.” Woolly claps his hands and rubs them together. “Please tell me we get to ride? You didn’t just bring them here to tease us, did you?”

“Well, you three have your Class M, so yes. Pick one out. Thunder should be able to ride too. The rest will be behind you in the vans.”

“You trust us not to take off?” I circle one of the Kawasaki Ninjas. “The ZX-14R’s engine is a beast. It’s supposed to do zero to sixty in under three seconds. You won’t be able to catch us.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Jordan warns. “We have road clearance from here to the place we’re going. Let’s not test local PD’s patience.”

“Road clearance?” Woolly asks. “So this is a stunt for the show?”

“No, we thought we’d spend all this money to rent the bikes and turn you loose on the town for no reason,” Jordan retorts, his annoyance obvious as he rolls his eyes and storms inside the house.

“Heh,” Venom chuckles. “About time they do something besides antagonize us.”

“Guys.” I point to the bikes. “Dibs on blue. Keys are right there.” I tilt my head toward the road. “Just sayin’.”

“You planning to smash through the gate?” Woolly nods to the closed wrought iron barring our exit.

“Honestly, right about now, I might.” I gesture toward the house. “You realize it’s going to take another hour to get everyone down here, get the camera crews ready, wait for them to line up their shots. This is torture.”

“Quit whining and go run some laps or something,” Venom says, nodding at the path circling the house.

“No way.” I throw my leg over the bike I’ve claimed. “You just want to steal my ride.”

“Green’s more my style.” Venom rests his hand on another Ninja.

“I thought you were a Harley guy?” Woolly squints at me.

“Anything with wheels. And I’m not kidding, I’m dying to get out of here for even a few minutes.”

Our conversation’s interrupted by two of the camera guys coming out of the house to film “candid” shots of us studying the bikes. Hard to “act natural” with a camera up my ass.

As I predicted, it’s another hour and a half before we’re on the road.

Straddling the sleek Ninja is a whole new world. Instead of the familiar rumble of my Harley, the Ninja has a pleasant throaty growl that only suggests the power waiting under my fingertips. The bike’s nimble, different from the weighty foundation of my usual ride.

I kick mine into gear first, eager to dart forward. But we have to wait for a pickup truck to take the lead so one of the camera guys can film us while he hangs over the tailgate. Annoyed, I flip the visor on my helmet down.

Relief, excitement, and a surge of adrenaline spiral through me as we clear the gate. The Ninja effortlessly responds to my touch. I’m eager to open it up, zip around the truck and speed the fuck out of here. Maybe home.

Venom rolls up on my right. I’ve ridden in formation plenty of times. With guys I know and trust. Being boxed in—the truck with an idiot and a camera hanging out the back—in front of me, Venom on my side, two more bikes behind us, and the vans all keep me from pushing the bike too hard.

Even riding while boxed feels good. I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed being out on the open road. Training and winning have been my sole focus.

Are we headed toward some twisty roads? I’d love to hit some wicked curves. Bet the Ninja would handle them effortlessly.

The truck speeds ahead, putting distance between us. With two fingers, Venom signals for me to take the lead.

Wind rushes past me, whipping my T-shirt against my sides. I open up the throttle, catching up to the truck in seconds.

This is such a tease.

After a few miles, the truck signals to turn left and slows. I hit the brakes harder than I meant to. The tires grip hard and screech against the pavement but I keep it under control, gliding through the turn.

A small, white building with sliding windows in front and a long counter running underneath stands in the center of the parking lot.

I roll the bike to a stop next to the truck and shut off the engine. I wait for the camera guy to focus on someone else before taking off my helmet.

Venom’s sneakers crunch over the gravel and he stops next to me. “Did they take us to get ice cream like we’re a bunch of five-year-olds?”

“Looks like it.” I glance at the building. “Maybe if we ask nicely, Jordan will buy us a cheeseburger too.”

He snickers into his hand.

“The fuck is this?” Woolly walks up to us and gestures toward the ice cream shop. “Our first outing in weeks and we’re gettin’ ice cream cones?”

I turn my head and scan the parking lot. Except for the crew and other fighters, it’s empty. Inside the shop, the lights are on, and I can make out two figures. “Maybe they decided we need part-time jobs?” I joke.

“I hope this isn’t some bullshit test to see if we can pull ice cream and mix milkshakes.” Venom scowls. “I already worked that summer job when I was sixteen.”

I glance at the van where Naptime’s scratching his armpits like a monkey. “If it is a test, not everyone’s gonna pass,” I say.

“No joke.” Woolly holds his hand up high.

I roll my eyes but slap his hand.

“Nice!” one of the camera guys shouts.

“What are we doing here?” I shout.

“Outing.” Jordan waves us toward the building. “Order whatever you want. Tables are out back.”

“Hope he brought producer daddy’s credit card.” Venom rubs his hands together. “I’m gonna make him regret that ‘order whatever you want.’”

“Amen. Let’s eat.”

At the window, I hesitate. We’re in the middle of training. We all have matches coming up on Sunday. Is this the test? Seeing how disciplined we are? How committed are we are to winning?

I bump Venom’s arm with my elbow. “You think this is the test?”

“Seeing how much garbage we’ll put in our bodies?” He sighs. “Then when we don’t perform well on Sunday, they’ll blame it on our inability to control ourselves?”

Not exactly how I would’ve put it. “Yeah.”

“Probably.” He squeezes his eyes shut for a few seconds. “I’m so tired of the head games.”

“I’m still getting a cheeseburger.” I step up to the window and place my order. Two cheeseburgers and a strawberry milkshake. I’ll work it off later. Venom and Woolly order similar meals.

Thunder must’ve come to the conclusion that we were being tested too. He places a modest order. The rest of the guys order every single deep-fried item on the menu. While I’m waiting at the pickup window, my gaze lands on Jordan, watching Deadass and Naptime with a slight smirk stretched across his lips as they double-fist ice cream cones.

Definitely a test.

“Order up!” The girl behind the counter shoves a bright orange tray at me.

“Thanks.” I grab it and head around the side of the building.

I’m alone for a few minutes and take a second to absorb the humid, summer day. The air’s heavy with the scent of fried food and road fumes, reminding me of summer afternoons and evenings spent at Zips. I’d give anything to be there right now. Helping Pax at the grill, racing Molly’s car—well, we won’t be able to do that until I fix it. No one told me how much damage she did. A baseball bat in Molly’s hands…probably a lot of cosmetic stuff. The glass will be a pain to replace but I’ll get it done. Small price to pay for everything I’ve put Molly through this summer.

Fuck, I want to go home.

“Why the long face, Stonewall?” Thunder slaps my back and drops his heavy frame onto the bench next to me. He tears into a burger, making loud, obnoxious chewing noises that increase my annoyance.

Venom and Woolly sit on the bench across from us. Venom scowls at Thunder, then swings his gaze my way. “You’re lookin’ kinda murdery over there, Stonewall. Burgers no good?”

I huff a laugh. This fucker. If he gets kicked off the show any time soon, I’m doomed. “They’re not bad.”

I bite into one and stare past the building at the road. How far does it go? Since I was busy adjusting to the unfamiliar bike and following the truck, I didn’t get a good look at our surroundings.

I’m finishing my milkshake when two angry male voices ripple through the air. I turn, seeking the source of the disagreement. Naptime and Bull trading insults. They’re getting louder by the second, putting on a good show.

The camera guys move in closer, circling the two meatheads.

“What’re they bitching about now?” Venom says to me.

“Probably arguing over who has the skinnier dick,” Thunder mumbles.

“Or who greases up their hair better,” Woolly adds. “Have you sparred with Naptime, yet? He’s greased up like a Thanksgiving turkey.”

“Figures,” I mutter. Here I was worried about his obnoxious personality in the ring. “Can you even understand what either of them are saying?”

“Nah, bro.” Woolly shakes his head. “Bull’s been skull-punched one too many times. He’s just speakin’ gibberish.” He belts out a few curses in a pitch-perfect impression of Bull’s distinctive squeak.

“Eh, I don’t think he can help that.” I shrug.

Woolly reaches over and rubs his hand over the top of my head. “Such a softie.”

I smack his hand away. “Won’t feel soft when I knock you out.”

Venom nods at the two fighters, then at me. “Go on, get in there,” he jokes. At least I hope he’s joking. I’m not embarrassing myself by getting in the middle of their petty complaints.

Bull jumps and catches Naptime in a sloppy chokehold. The whole scene—two bigmouths tussling in the grass behind an ice cream stand, with video cameras pointing at them—is so ridiculous, I burst out laughing.

Unfortunately, that draws the attention of one of the camera guys. “What’s so funny, Stonewall?”

Aw, fuck. I don’t want any part of this. “Just enjoying the show.”

“You gotta start mixing it up, bro,” Venom says under his breath. “Stand out.”

I flick a fuck-off glare at him. “I’ll choose a better moment.”

Bull ends up submitting Naptime with the chokehold, leaving the taller fighter panting hard in the grass.

“That was unexpected.” I nod.

“No one knocks out The Bull!” Bull roars, raising his fists above his head.

Naptime glares at him but he’s still struggling to breathe. Jordan crouches next to him, concern etched on his face. I can’t hear their conversation, and honestly, don’t care.

“All right. Let’s wrap it up,” Jordan orders.

I toss my trash.

Walking to the parking lot, a sense of suffocating frustration grabs me. I tip my head back to stare at the deep blue sky. It’s such a perfect day.

An intolerable level of rage bubbles up inside me at the thought of returning to the mansion. To be trapped with these guys for who knows how many more days before they let us out again feels like being buried alive.

I pull the keys out of my pocket. The Ninja shines in the afternoon sunlight. Enticing me to take it on the road for a quick straight-line frenzy. I glance behind me. The camera crew guys are at the corner of the building packing away their equipment. Jordan and the other fighters haven’t reached the parking lot yet.

Now or never.

I slip the helmet on and straddle the bike.

“Stonewall?” one of the crew members calls out. “Where ya goin’?”

Venom said I need to mix it up, right?