Chapter Seventeen

HICKS

A fter Ellis lectured me for a full hour for upsetting his precious little girlfriend, he left in a snit. He must have informed the others of my infraction, because their judgmental silence is deafening, which only worsens my mood, and I barely stop myself from rolling my eyes at the drama queens.

Jameson remains on watch at the hospital. I'm not surprised, since he often loses track of time when he's focused on one of his crusades. Gunner claimed his chocolate cake and disappeared into his room while I was in the shower, and who the fuck knows where Jaceson vanished to.

I'm trying to play it smart and protect us.

She's just a girl, a nobody, and they are losing their heads over her.

Sure, she's gorgeous, not to mention she exudes an air of mystery that I can't quite get out of my head. It's also hard to forget her body has enough curves to make my hands clench with the need to trace every inch, but women are a dime a dozen.

Once she's gone, they'll forget her, I tell myself as I shovel a big bite of food they prepared into my mouth, stubbornly finishing the whole meal. I refuse to admit that it tastes hollow without the rest of my family. I grab a beer, wander out to the patio, and find myself watching the house next door with a brooding intensity.

Just being near her has the ground shifting under my feet, like the center of my world is shifting focus, and I don't like it. The guys have always been my main concern, their safety my priority.

Without the guys to temper me, I'm nothing more than a surly bastard.

As I take a gulp of beer, I watch the neighbor's house like a pervert waiting for a glimpse of her. I don't feel one iota of remorse, knowing I'm not going to be able to sleep until I work out a plan to get her out of my system and out of our lives.

The only way the guys will forget about her is if she leaves first.

Hate is a powerful tool.

If I can get her to hate us, she'll go away.

Problem solved.

If I feel a pang in my chest, a tiny tickle of remorse for the hell I'm going to put her through, then I ruthlessly crush it.

It's for her own good.

She'll eventually come to see that over time.

We're not good people. Someone like her, who expects white picket fences and a nine-to-five job, deserves better than us.

We bring chaos, destruction, and heartache wherever we go.

We would destroy her, and that's one thing I don't think I could live with. Knowing that she's free and living in the world will have to be enough.

I don't even realize I'm clenching my fists until the can in my hand crumples and beer spills between my fingers. Cursing, I toss the can away and shake the liquid from my hand. I turn toward the house, plotting different scenarios on how to get rid of her, when a piercing scream splits the air.

I'm not even aware of moving until I vault over the fence separating our yards. I sprint across the grass at full speed, cursing that I didn't make sure the house was secure before she went to bed.

I land on her porch with a thud, a snarl curling my lips as I dash toward the door, ready to tackle whoever thought they could fucking touch her.

I don't even question my protective instincts toward her.

Mrs. Killaghan asked me to watch over her, and I refuse to accept that it's anything more.

Just when I pick up speed, ready to throw myself at the door, it's thrown wide open. I skid to a halt, nearly plowing into the shadowy figure in the doorway, and come face-to-face with a tearful Rue. She hastily pulled on the jeans she wore this morning, the ones that cling to her every curve. Her camisole is half tucked into her pants, the spaghetti straps barely doing anything to contain her beautiful breasts.

Some people pick clothes to show off an average figure, turning a three into an eight. The opposite is true for Rue. While I might have thought her gorgeous when we first met, seeing her half naked now makes me realize that gorgeous is just too tame of a word to describe her beauty.

Rational thoughts go out the window. I don't even hesitate to pull her against my chest, dragging her away from danger. Silky smooth skin meets my fingertips, nearly distracting me…until my fingers brush over tiny lines that crisscross over her back like braille.

Scars.

A muscle ticks along my jaw as I struggle to focus on the present danger and not demand she tell me who the fuck touched her so I can end them. I push her away slightly, not allowing myself to get distracted. "Are you okay? Is there someone in the house?"

The thought that someone would hurt her has rage flooding my veins, and I barely hold back the impulse to rush into the house, cursing myself for not grabbing my gun before hurrying over here. My chest heaves with the need for action, adrenaline flooding me, and I pull her closer again, absently noting how she fits so perfectly against me.

She's small, just a slip of a girl in my arms, and I can't get over the impression that no matter how tight I hold on to her, she'll slip away.

Rue shakes her head, then shoves against my chest. I reluctantly release her, gritting my teeth against the need to toss her over my shoulder and take her somewhere safe. Not liking the turn of events, I grab her shoulders, suddenly worried she might run.

"What's wrong?" I scan her teary face, and the fleeting suspicion that she's faking this to gain attention vanishes.

"Where's Gunner?" She clutches my arms, and I barely stop myself from recoiling from her question. I clench my jaw, my molars grinding, and my grip on her shoulders tightens until I know she's going to be marked with bruises tomorrow.

"Why do you want Gunner?" I ask, my suspicions returning full force. Gunner has a weakness for damsels in distress. If she thinks she's going to work her way into our lives by using him, then she has another thing coming.

My thought shatters with her next words.

"He's in trouble." Her expression hardens, and she reaches up, swiping at the tear tracks on her face. "If we hurry, we might be able to save him."

I consider that she might be lying, but I can't risk it.

"Come on." I don't wait for her answer, just grab her wrist and drag her down the steps at a dead run. To my surprise, Rue doesn't hesitate to follow, easily keeping pace. We head straight for my garage. In less than a minute, we're in my car and speeding down the road with a squeal of tires.

Traffic is sparse after midnight, and I don't hesitate to step on the gas, easily weaving in and out of the few cars on the road. The engine roars as if sensing my need for speed, and I tighten my grip on the wheel. A glance shows Rue twisting her fingers so much that they are stark white.

"Did he call you?" I ask, my voice harsh in the silence as my anxiety gets the best of me.

She stiffens, resolutely looking out the front window, before muttering so low that I barely catch her words. "Something like that." When she turns to look at me, her teal eyes are bright in the darkness, almost seeming to shimmer. "Can't you go faster?"

Since we're already going over a hundred miles an hour, my eyebrows inch up in surprise. Most girls squeal and grab onto me when I do something reckless.

Not Rue.

If anything, she's scowling at me for not going fast enough.

Her sense of urgency is contagious, and I can't stop myself from pressing the pedal of my BMW M5 harder, until it's flat on the floor. The metal beast leaps forward, eager to do as I command, and I watch the speedometer go into the red as it nears two hundred miles an hour. I tighten my hands around the steering wheel and concentrate on keeping us on the road.

Jaceson insisted that we each learn to drive defensively and taught us how to control a car, and I silently thank him for his forethought. Trees whip past as we head toward the abandoned quarry. A few years ago, an illegal fight ring took over the area. Since it keeps crime down, law enforcement more or less looks the other way.

Gunner usually attends a match every few weeks, but I've noticed the bruises on him more and more and the stiff way he moves, and I mentally curse myself for not stepping in sooner. For people like us, the crack of knuckles against flesh is addicting, the need for blood and vengeance built into our DNA.

Fighting and fucking keep our beasts in check.

Lights from the quarry blaze in the darkness, illuminating the fight ring in the center of the pit. More than three dozen cars are haphazardly parked around the edges of the ring, offering even more light.

Dull cheers and the roar of the crowd can be heard for miles. I brake hard around the upcoming curve, the ass end of the car kicking out, and we drift around the edge of the road. Rue grabs the door and clutches the seat belt across her chest. Though her face is white, she doesn't say a word of protest as we speed closer.

People jump out of the way as I barrel across the makeshift parking lot, cursing and making crude gestures, but I pay them no attention. I'd run them over in a heartbeat if it meant getting to Gunner in time.

As we near the pit, I reluctantly slow and glance at Rue. "Do you know where he's waiting?"

Instead of answering, she tilts her head and closes her eyes, almost like she's listening to something I can't hear. Frustration gnaws at my insides when she doesn't answer immediately. Just as I release my grip on the steering wheel, ready to shake answers out of her, she points in the opposite direction of the ring.

I narrow my eyes, studying her face for a second, then curse under my breath and do as ordered. If she's wrong, if she gets him hurt playing games, I will make her pay. As we head away from the commotion of the fight, the lights dim, and darkness swarms the area.

I follow her directions, the car bumping along the overgrown road as we creep around to the back of the old sawmill that burned down nearly eighty years ago. Just when I'm beginning to doubt her claim that Gunner is even in trouble, I spot his truck.

Movement beyond the vehicle catches my attention, and I see a group of men doing their best to beat on someone. I don't even have to look closer to recognize the man they have cornered.

Only one person has a frame that large—Gunner.

Though the man is a machine in a fight, a person can only do so much against so many. I count at least seven men. Gunner is holding them off, but not without taking damage.

I slam on the brakes then throw open the car door. "Stay here."

I hesitate for a moment, then toss my phone on the seat. "Call the others. Tell them to hurry. The numbers are in my phone if you need them."

I don't wait to see if Rue obeys, I just leap out of the car and wade into the mass of swinging arms and fists. I don't care that I attack them from behind. If they wanted to fight fair, then they would have challenged him in the ring.

I curse myself for not calling the guys sooner, curse myself for doubting Rue.

When I finally work my way to Gunner's side, I grimace at the bloody mess they made of his face. His right eye is nearly swollen shut, and a cut over his left eyebrow makes visibility almost impossible. He has a slight limp when he moves, and he's favoring his right ribs. If he wasn't such a tough bastard, I doubt he would still be standing. His clothes are torn and bloody, but I doubt that it's all his.

A few more blows are all it would take to bring him down, but I somehow doubt that would be the end of it.

No, they wanted to put him out of commission.

Permanently.

Gunner, the stubborn asshole, is going to get himself killed, because that's what it will take to make him stop.

Renewed fury surges through me that they would attack him when he was alone, and I'm barely aware of anything but the need to annihilate my opponents. It's only when the sweep of headlights flashes over us that I become aware of the bodies piling up around us and the various aches and pains of my body.

I peer over, thinking the guys have come to back us up.

Instead, I recognize my own car barreling straight for us.

Fuck!

Without hesitation, I throw myself at Gunner, hitting him low and sweeping his feet out from under him. We go flying, and I swear the fender of my own fucking car brushes against the bottom of my feet as it surges past.

Thumps sound behind us, and a few vicious curses blister the air, then people scatter and disappear into the inky darkness. I roll onto my back, exhausted and in no condition to give chase. I look over at my car and see a very shaky Rue open the door and climb out, her pink hair like a beacon in the night—an avenging angel coming to our rescue.

I grunt, wanting to both scold her for not listening and kiss her pouty red lips. Instead, I sit with a groan, then glance at Gunner. The man is a mess of cuts and bruises, not an inch of him unscathed, and I grimace in sympathy. He's panting hard, his eyes closed, not moving, like the simple feat is beyond him.

"You okay?" Climbing to my feet, I keep my eyes on him, wondering how the hell he's still conscious.

One blue eye opens, and I curse under my breath at his slightly unfocused gaze. He needs medical attention. Leaning down, I offer him my hand and haul him upright. My ribs protest the movement, then my whole body aches when he stumbles into me and I take the brunt of his weight as we head toward my car.

Rue gapes at us for a moment—no doubt we look like characters from a horror movie—then she shakes her head and runs around to the opposite side of the vehicle and opens the door. I drop Gunner's heavy ass in the seat.

He's completely unconscious at this point, and I grunt with effort as I tuck his legs into the vehicle. When I lean over to secure his seat belt, he seems to wake up from his stupor, and he glares at me, which is ineffective with only one eye, before grabbing the belt himself.

It takes him two tries before the belt clicks into place. Heaving a sigh, like it took all his power to do such a simple task, he wilts against the seat. I'm not sure if he's resting or passed out again. Either way, we need to get out of here before reinforcements arrive.

I grab Rue's arm, haul her around to the driver's side of the car, then gently tuck her into the back seat. She's shaking so badly that I'm wondering if she's going into some sort of shock. I frown in concern, glad she kept her wits about her during the fight and waited until after the battle before falling apart.

Shutting her door, I slip into the driver's seat, then wince when I get a look at myself in the rearview mirror. Blood is smeared across my face, my green eyes nearly feral with bloodlust. A dark bruise is already darkening my jaw, while blood spills down my chin from a split lip.

If we wanted to scare Rue away, then we're doing a damn good fucking job of it.

Unfortunately, it's much too late for that now.

The instant she joined the fight, she put a target on herself. Even if she wants nothing to do with us, the choice is out of her hands.

As much as I want to spare her the nightmare of our world, the instant she ran over our enemies to save us, she became one of us, whether she likes it or not, and fuck if I have any intention of letting her go.