by Lindsey Iler
For the next hour, we sit, sometimes in silence. Despite those minutes of quiet between us, it’s not painful or forced. We can simply be. Breaker reaches across the middle console to grab my hand. I allow him to, because, for the first time today, I don’t feel alone. Every phone call and text message are ignored. They can wait until I’m done having time stand still.
When we return to campus, that feeling will leave. Reality will rear its ugly head, and it’s not something I’m ready to face.
“You ready to head to campus?” Breaker asks. “We may be able to make it for third period.”
“I think I might bail for the rest of the day.”
“If you hide away, that’ll give them permission to talk. You did nothing wrong. Make sure they know it.” Breaker winks at me as he drives away from the river’s peaceful serenade.
As we get closer to campus, I see no sign of photographers hoping to snatch a photo of Gary Chambers’ daughter. Maybe this won’t be so difficult after all.
Breaker parks in the student lot. I face him as I open the door. “Thank you, for whatever this is.”
“Don’t mention it.” He waves me off, trying to hide the bit of sadness in his eyes by fussing with his hair in the rearview mirror.
I’m about to slam the door when I realize I’d been on a mission to talk to Breaker before I’d found out about my father. Talk doesn’t even begin to describe the plans I’d had for him.
“You need to call off the gauntlet,” I command.
“How’d you find out about it?” He leans across the console, eyeing me with concern. It’s clear he’d thought he’d be able to get away with it until the last minute, giving me no choice but to go along with it.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s not happening, Breaker. You need to call it off.” I point my finger directly at him.
“Do I look like someone who can be bossed around?” His thumb runs the length of his bottom lip, drawing my eyes straight to the plump mound I know too well.
“What do you gain from this, huh?” I hike my bag over my shoulder, ignoring the way he makes me feel. “What exactly does this do for you?”
“Are you worried for me or about me, Delaney, because I’m getting a bit of a mixed bag from you right now?”
“Does it matter?” I huff.
“You want to know what I gain from this stupid gauntlet? I get the satisfaction of pissing you off, while bringing your little boyfriend down a peg or two.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Then be my girlfriend.”
“I can’t, and you know that.”
“No, what I know is that you’re entertaining this doofus because you feel some sort of pull towards him. He happened to be there when you felt lost and weak, but don’t pretend like I didn’t try. You made your choice when you ran away. I was here the whole damn time, Delaney.”
“Yes, you were here, with a whole Rolodex of memories that I’d soon rather forget.”
“Hate to break it to you, baby, but those memories aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. I can see the look in your eyes every time I close mine. I feel your tears soaking through my shirt while I sleep. Your screams, they’re a permanent soundtrack when it’s dark, so don’t act like you’re the only one who went through something. I was there. I saw it. I lived it, so don’t you dare disregard those who fought for you.”
“Breaker.” Heavy guilt settles into my heart. He’s right. I’m not being fair.
“Get off my truck, Delaney.” He flicks his hand in the air at me, dismissing me as if I’m no one. “Now.”
I step away from the truck. Breaker’s eyes catch mine before he rolls up the passenger side window. Sadness radiates from every speckle of green until they disappear behind the tint.
This gauntlet is inevitable. I know that now from simply looking at Breaker’s face. He’s been challenged, and there’s no way he’ll stand down. Tripp and Breaker each feel like they have something to prove. They’ll need to prove it to themselves because it doesn’t matter what the results are.
I’ll be the lost girl with every battle they fight, at war with my own thoughts as they destroy each other.
Chapter Five
Breaker
“So, what’s the plan?” Dixon asks from the back seat. He leans forward, breathing down my neck, and cutting his eyes between Marek and me.
What’s the plan is a valid question. I’m not certain how I’ll handle the things that will be thrown at me throughout this gauntlet. I’ve done my research, and if we play by the “rules,” then this could last for a few months. It’s not decided until someone taps out, and I don’t plan on tapping out anytime soon.
I drive down the dirt road and park at the marker Tripp chose. The old building to our left, pre-World War One if I had to guess, is barely standing. I slice my eyes over to Marek. He’s scanning the area to make sure we aren’t caught off guard as we leave the safety of the car.
“And no offense, but how did we get dragged into this?” Dixon adds, holding his arms out straight. “Come on, boys. We came here to play. Where are you?”
“For someone who doesn’t want to be pulled into this mess, you sure are having fun goading them.” Marek circles the truck and leans against the hood, laughing as Dixon makes a show of being here.
“Gauntlet rules state any participant gets to choose two men to join them.”
“And since we’re your friends, we’re the winners. Nice.” Dixon kicks at my boot, but I don’t see the humor in his joke. “Dude, relax. I’m fucking with you. You know I got your back.”
“Well, that’s good, because he’s going to need it.” Like a fucking stealth member of Seal Team Six, Tripp and two cronies appear out of nowhere.
“Fuck, asshole!” Dixon shoves his chest as he approaches. “At least announce your arrival. You trying to give me a heart attack?”
“This is who you chose, out of everyone?” Tripp points at Dixon.
From the outside, I’ll admit he looks like he’s not capable of much. Although his body is built like a Mack truck, he appears unable to create carnage.
“What, is it my glasses?” Dixon takes them from his face and inspects them before returning them to his nose. “Don’t let them fool you. I could fuck your mom, then reroute your family’s wealth to my account in a matter of seconds, Tripp DuPont.”
“He’s not lying,” Marek adds, enjoying this exchange far too much.
“Anyway.” Tripp rolls his eyes in the way a bitch does. “You know Richards, and this is Patrick Washington.”
“Like George?” Dixon mutters under his breath.
“Yes, like George. A direct descendent.”
“No shit?” Dixon exclaims, making a show of thinking that fun fact is interesting. “That’s really fucking cool.”
“I know. It’s crazy how far in history we were able to link our families.” Patrick eats Dixon’s words with enthusiasm.
“Oh, for fucking sure.” At this point, Dixon’s face is fully animated.
“Dude, he’s fucking with you,” Tripp points out, annoyed one of his boys has been had by one of mine.
“No one gives a fuck about your family, Pat.” Dixon turns away, pacing around with pent-up energy. “Can we move this along? I have far better shit to do with my time than stand in front of three rich kids on a power trip.”
“Says three rich kids,” Richards adds.
“Yeah, the difference is we don’t think our money opens doors to whatever we want. We haven’t built our entire personalities around having money.”
“No, you built yours on bloodshed and mayhem.” Richards goes rigid, readying for a fight. “Especially you, Hawthorne.”
“And to think you were dumb enough to come out to the middle of nowhere to fuck with three people who don’t have any limits.” I shove off the truck and circle Tripp several times, proving my point. “You worried? Because you should be. You’ve just entered the arena with monsters.”
“We might fight di
fferent, but we aren’t that different. We’re all monsters in our own right.”
“Prove it.”
Tripp takes off through the field, straight for the dilapidated building, with Patrick and Richards on his heels. We follow, unsure of the situation we are willingly walking into.
The grass crunches under my boots. Snow dusts the ground, and the air is freezing. As we approach, light flickers inside the old building, and it isn’t until we’re closer that I notice the fire inside.
“What is this place?” I ask, crossing the threshold.
“It belongs to Glass Heart, but Hollow Hill has basically taken ownership of the place for the past fifty years. A gauntlet gone wrong is the legend.” The three of them huddle around the fire, while Marek, Dixon, and I walk around the space, checking it out.
There are words written over the walls, names and dates, some dating at the start of the academies.
“Have we always had a rivalry?” The question is rhetorical. The answer is on the walls. A stack of books draws my attention, and I flip open one of the covers. Pictures and entries in a journal are proof. “Damn, the hatred is deep-rooted.”
“Most of the gauntlets have been over women,” Tripp explains.
“That shocks no one.” Marek’s grin glows beyond the fire. “Wars have been waged over love. This comes as no surprise.”
“So, how does this work?” I ask, ready to get to the point.
“Well, each of us can call for an event in the gauntlet.”
“Where is the gauntlet?” Dixon asks.
“It used to be an actual armored glove, but as years passed, it’s evolved. The gauntlet is now simply a state of mind. Wherever you call it, it’s where it will be,” Tripp explains.
“And there’s no limit?”
“No limits. Anything goes.”
“Legally, how does this work?” Marek asks.
“You’re in charge of your own bullshit. I have a team ready to handle mine.”
“We’ll need to call William.” I glance at Dixon, and he nods.
“As soon as we’re out of here, I’ll call him.”
“How involved is Delaney?” I ask the question that really matters. “Will she be present for any of this?”
“Aww! How cute! You’re worried about my girl.” Tripp flits about the room, landing on a spot and propping his foot up against the cracked plaster. “After the vile things I’ve done to her body, I don’t know why you’d want her anymore.”
“It’s funny, because I pegged you for a vanilla-type guy. Missionary on Mondays, kind of thing. Doggy style on Saturday, if the girl’s real lucky.”
“Fuck you.” He shoves off the wall and comes toe-to-toe with me, alerting the rest of the boys to be ready, in case shit goes south quick.
“Don’t ever think you can use Delaney against me. You may have her in your bed now, but I can promise you, it won’t be long until she’s with me.”
“I guess we’ll see.” Tripp heads straight for the door, taunting me over his shoulder. “I have first pick. I’ll give you twenty-four-hour notice.”
Richards flinches at Marek, trying to prove something he’ll never succeed. Marek snatches him before he can walk away and punches him square across the jaw. Richards fumbles to the floor, and Patrick hustles to collect him. Blood trickles from his mouth.
“Don’t fuck with me, Richards. I’ll bury you,” Marek warns, growling at him when he lurches forward.
“Let’s go!” Tripp shouts. Irritation spikes his voice.
Headlights beam through the cracked windows, and the engines of sports cars echo in the night as they drive away. Once we know they’re long gone, we take a seat around the fire.
“So, I’ll ask again.” Dixon twirls his chair around, sitting and resting his arms on the high back. “What’s the plan?”
“We need to figure out a way to catch him off guard,” Marek commands.
“If we play personal and dirty, he’ll return it with the same force,” I explain.
“And that’s a problem, why? You want to win, right?” Dixon’s question catches me off-guard.
That’s what I want, sure, but it has nothing to do with winning. With this gauntlet, it doesn’t feel like there will ever be a true winner. At some point, we’re going to drive each other over the edge, and whoever is strong enough to hold on until the other drops to their demise is what’s important.
The idea of Tripp using my past against me has my blood heating and violently pumping through my veins. I’ve left pieces of myself so far in my past, that if he manages to dig up the truth, he may be able to break me.
“You’re afraid he’ll bring up your past?” Marek whispers.
“You have lots of skeletons in your closet, Break?” Dixon inquires. His eyes dart between Marek and me. “I thought this group didn’t keep secrets.”
“She’s something I simply don’t talk about.”
“Who is she?” Dixon asks.
“Brooke Davenport,” I whisper a name I haven’t heard or said in years. “My mom.”
“Oh.” Dixon has the decency to look away, noticing how uncomfortable I am at the mention of something I clearly try to keep hidden.
I jump up, fully prepared to run my ass out of here to avoid this conversation. “Enough with the emotions bullshit. We’ve got work to do.”
Except it doesn’t end there. Sleep refuses to come. Instead, I lie in bed, thinking about the one night that changed me. I was eight and that night altered everything about the man I am today.
******
“We aren’t on our turf anymore, Breaker,” Dixon singsongs, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
From the passenger seat, I stare out the window, scoping out the entrance to Hollow Hill Academy. Anything could greet us beyond these gates. I can handle whatever twisted game Tripp wants to play. I am fully aware of the type of guy he is, and he isn’t above using Delaney in ways that could end up hurting her. Not to mention, Palmer being here adds a whole different level of worry.
Greasing the security guard’s palm grants us easy entrance to the campus.
“You owe me two hundred dollars, by the way,” Marek says from the back seat, where Palmer is curled into his side, a sheen of nervousness painted on her face. She’s too stubborn to listen to us. All we asked is for her to stay back for this one until we can see what we are up against. Why am I not surprised that she refused to listen to either of us?
“A drop in the hat, my friend.” I wink at them, but when the truck veers off to the left, I straighten and glance around. “Looks like we’re here.”
Dixon parks in a nearly empty lot. This isn’t a big surprise. Everyone who lives on campus uses the student parking lot at the far end, closer to the dormitories.
Hollow Hill, our rival school, is the only other academy in the vicinity. I’ve been here a few times, but it has always been in the dead of night after meeting some of their students. These guys have mastered the art of the silent party that goes undetected. They’ll swoop in and swoop out before they’re busted.
I climb out of the truck, circling around to get acclimated.
Dixon kills the headlights and joins me. Marek holds Palmer’s hand protectively, helping her out. She stands shoulder to shoulder with me, gazing upwards, and with a single nod of her head, she gives me permission to deal with whatever is thrown at me, however I need.
We walk as a unit, heavy boots and heavier moods at what this prick will throw at me. I can handle almost anything. I’ve seen things no one ever should, lived through events that have proven what a sick sense of humor the universe has.
“It’s about damn time.” Someone creeps out from a dark line of trees. “Tripp was starting to think you chickened out.” He’s tall but not built. If this is an ambush of some kind, each of us could take this kid on a bad day. He lifts a flashlight, shining it on his baby face. He can’t be older than a freshman. “Come with me.”
Dixon and Marek’s feet move forward, wh
ile mine stay stuck to the ground. Palmer twirls, breaking Marek’s hold on her hand. She rises on her tiptoes to be eye-to-eye with me, holding onto the front of my shirt to keep her balance.
“Whatever it is, Breaker, don’t stop until he does,” Palmer whispers. “He’s going to try to goad you, outsmart you. Don’t fall for it. Be smart.”
“I’m going to be okay, Palmer.” I lower my lips to her forehead.
“You have to be. There’s no other choice.” Palmer lowers to her feet and takes Marek’s hand once again.
I follow the four of them inside the building. Everything is dark except for the beam from our leader’s flashlight and the moon outside the large windows. Sports trophies and academic accolades line the hallway walls.
Around the second corner, the kid stalls at a door, pinning himself against it. “Welcome to hell.” Without any instructions, he opens the doors wide.
Inside, it’s nearly pitch black, making it hard to see.
Side by side, we enter, slow and hesitant. The slam of the door behind us startles me. The room is silent, with not a sound escaping a single living thing.
We aren’t alone, though.
When one of our five senses is taken away, like our vision, our other senses compensate for the loss. Right now, I feel heat bodies produce.
Without warning, a light appears from down the hallway. I cover my eyes with my arm, blocking the abrasive shine. That isn’t the problem, though. Within the light is a familiar face, one I haven’t seen in almost two years. You don’t typically forget taking a girl’s virginity.
“You are here to complete a task,” Madison says. Her words are cold, so unlike her.
The light goes out, and another beyond her flickers on. This girl I don’t recognize.
“If you don’t complete the task, there are consequences,” she instructs, then her face goes dark.
With the absence of light, electricity cycles through the room as if it’s gaining strength from the anticipation of what’s to come. I rock back and forth, fully prepared for anything Tripp may have in store for me tonight.
A bright spotlight shines, illuminating Tripp on a platform above us. This tool is a whore for theatrics, wearing the universal outfit of a rich prick. Who the hell rocks khakis anymore? He jumps down a step, slowly making his way to where we are. As he moves down the stairs, the lights shift with him, casting an eerie spotlight on him and the area around him.
