by Lindsey Iler
“You see our girl is here,” Tripp says.
Falling into his trap, I search the room, and through a break in the bodies, my eyes land on hers. She’s beside Palmer, their faces blank of emotions. With my concern elsewhere, Tripp strikes an uppercut to my stomach. I stay on my feet, wincing through the pain.
Underestimating my opponent is the biggest mistake I can make in a fight. I may have discredited this fool because he’s holding his own. I envisioned him curling into a ball in the corner and relenting after the first punch. I’m glad he’s not an easy win for me.
I am filled with anger, and I have plenty of reason to direct most of it at Tripp.
“Come on, pussy. Let’s fight!” Tripp yells, exciting the crowd on his side of the ring who are here to support him.
I close my eyes for a second, and when they open, the shift happens. I’m no longer me. He’s no longer him. None of these people are here. We are at war, and I’m prepared to make him bleed. Tripp’s quick footwork should scare me, but a couple of fake lunges shows me he favors his left side. When I swing one more time, I go full force, knocking him on his ass. His head cracks against the cement, but it doesn’t faze him.
“Here we go,” I whisper in his ear as I slam on top of him.
My fist rains down, over and over again. The crack of bone on bone combines with the heat of our blood splattering on my shirt, fueling the adrenaline coursing through my body. I stand, hanging onto his shirt to lift him off the ground. When I do, he swings his left around, knocking me down.
“Now, this will be a fight,” I croak.
We claw our way to each other, rolling side to side, each landing a few hits here and there. Both of us on the defense doesn’t make for a good fight. We shove away from each other, taking a second to collect our breath. Once we’re satisfied, neither of us hold back, running full speed to meet in the middle.
My right shoulder takes several hits, telling me he knows about my injury.
No moral compass inside the ring.
“Fuck!” I scream, pressing my chest into his until we’re out of the circle. The crowd parts to make room for us.
Tripp catches onto what I’m doing and grabs a piece of piping from a cement ledge. He lifts it, ready to whack me. I dodge and snatch it in time to yank it from him. I have no intentions of killing this kid, so being careful is important.
I slam it into his stomach, then toss it into the dark part of the warehouse where it will stay if I have a say in it.
“Low blow, DuPont.”
“You’re the one who said no rules,” he counters.
He’s right. I did say no rules. No rules.
I spring forward, connecting my fist square to his eye. It swells immediately. I jump on him and rain down punch after punch, alternating each side. At some point, his body goes limp, but I can’t stop my hands from hitting him again.
Above him, Delaney appears, worry on her face. Is it for me or him? Of course, it must be for him. He’s the one being beaten into the ground. How nice it would be to have someone worry about me for once.
“He’s done!” Richards yells, elbowing me. I remain unmoved, sliding down Tripp’s body until I have full clearance to his ribs.
Marek walks into the makeshift ring and punches Richards in the face.
“What the fuck is that for?” Richard shoves Marek with one hand while cradling his jaw with the other.
“I don’t like you,” Marek says nonchalantly.
“Breaker, stop!” Delaney yells, gripping my arm before another blow connects.
I stand abruptly, flinching at his lifeless body. Anger mixed with disdain is a heady emotion. The crowd cheers. A few girls grimace as their eyes land on my chest. I’m covered in blood and sweat, mixing together on my sticky shirt.
“I’d say we have a winner here,” Marek announces, shoving Richards further away from us. “Don’t move.” He jabs a finger at him.
As I work my way through the crowd, I catch a look of astonishment and surprise on everyone’s face. I spin to see what has them spooked. Tripp is on his feet, sprinting towards me.
Delaney does something completely stupid and jumps in front of him.
“Tripp, he won.” She spins on her heels, blocking him behind her. “Did you have to go so far, Breaker?”
I grip her arm and jerk her close enough that her precious Tripp’s blood stains her blouse. “He probably has a concussion. Might want to make sure he doesn’t fall asleep right away. If he starts vomiting, take him to the emergency room.” Ready to put distance between us, I walk away, but turn when I’m halfway out of the building. “And yes, I did. You can not like it, but he challenged me.”
“You don’t even want me anymore!” she shouts.
The crowd silences at her words.
“The question was never if I wanted you, baby girl. The question was always going to be if you were too scared to want me back.” I rub the sticky blood from my lip with my forearm before I’m engulfed by the crowd.
******
“That was quite the show tonight, Davenport.” Max grabs a beer from the fridge, holding it up in a congratulatory manor. He opens it and guzzles the liquid, reminding me how damn thirsty I am. “Want one?”
I take it like it’s my prize for the fight, popping the tab and placing it to my mouth.
The front door flies open.
“Looks like you’re in trouble.” Max slaps my shoulder while passing me to get to the porch. Red embers burn in the darkness, suddenly giving me the urge to smoke.
I follow Max out, shutting the door behind us.
“Never pegged you to be a scaredy cat, Davenport. Running from a girl is unlike you.” Max’s joke makes a couple guys from the lacrosse team laugh.
“Being smart doesn’t make me scared. She’s going to filet my ass, if given the chance.” My eyes scan the length of the house. The larger-than-life glass windows make it easy to see what’s happening inside, while staying hidden outside.
“Want some?” Max offers me an unlit joint. “You probably need this more than any of us.”
“I never say no.” I take it from him and dig the lighter from my pocket, lighting the end, while sucking in the one thing that’s never turned its back on me.
I’ve been given the drugs are bad speech. I understand the risk, but sometimes I need a way to unwind. I’ve been smoking weed since I was twelve. It’s not exactly something to be proud of, but it’s something everyone does at parties. We don’t give it a second thought. I’m sure, at some point in our lives, we’ll stop because it’s what we are meant to do. That time isn’t now.
“So, what’s going on with you two anyway?” Our goalie, Paul Fitzgerald, motions for me to pass the joint, which I do, because etiquette says that’s what you do when huddled in a group of guys getting high. The smirk on his face makes me want to put it out on his cheek.
“You aren’t asking because you’re curious about me and her, so out with it.” I lean against the railing, daring him to test me. I have enough remaining adrenaline pumping through my veins to garnish the strength to fight again.
“She’s hot.” Paul shrugs as if his answer is obvious.
“If you ever touch her or look in her direction”—I shuffle across to him, pointing my finger in his face—“I’ll do to you what I did to preppy boy. You got me?”
Paul holds his hands up in defense. “Chill out, man. I’m fucking with you. We get it. Any girl that passes your threshold is yours. Do some of us a favor and don’t invite them all over because I’d like to get laid for the next two years.” He shifts around me, heading straight for Max. They shake hands, then he’s on his way inside.
“Bro, you need to calm down a bit.” Max hands me the joint, and I take one more hit before passing it. “I know this is a crazy idea, but if the girl has you this bent out of shape, why don’t you tell her how you’re feeling?”
“Like that’s gotten anyone somewhere good, ever.” I shrug, stretching my neck and walking t
o the door, uncomfortable with being put in my place a bit.
“It’s better than dancing around the truth and playing games.”
“Playing games is my middle name.” I wink at him over my shoulder.
“Good luck in there!” Max yells. His humor is laced through every word and hits me square in the head as I open the door to walk inside. I stop in the doorway, debating what to do once I’m inside.
Dixon and Marek are at the island, looking completely unaffected or aware of the party going on around them. This is typical. They aren’t the partying type. They enjoy the party favors, but the people are what turn them off. I, on the other hand, live for this shit. I thrive in big groups. Some may call me the class clown. Others may say I’m an attention whore.
“You look like shit.” Marek swats my hand off his shoulder when I come up behind him.
“I’m high as fuck and even hornier, so what can I say? It’s a lethal combination.” I chuckle, leaning on the island between them.
“Delaney is searching for you,” Dixon explains.
“Is Palmer with her?” I ask Marek.
If the two of them are together, I can’t imagine what kind of mess they are creating.
Marek grins, knowing damn well I’m in big trouble. “My girl may be hyping up her best friend, readying her for war.”
“Oh, come on.” I brush off his exaggerated concerns. “How much trouble could I possibly be in?”
Dixon covers his mouth with a clenched fist. His wide eyes are the proof of what kind of trouble I am in. “You beat the living fuck out of her little boyfriend. Literally had to be yanked from his body.”
I stand up straight, partly proud of myself, but mostly from the chill running up my spine.
“Preppy boy shouldn’t call a gauntlet if he can’t handle what’s thrown at him.”
“He’s okay, in case you’re wondering,” Delaney says behind me.
I spin, forcing myself not to be affected by the sight of her. “I actually don’t really care, if I’m being honest.”
“That’s not the Breaker I know.”
“The Breaker you knew isn’t here anymore, doll face. He left the minute you decided to make me fall for you and then bail.”
“Breaker, that isn’t fair,” Palmer barks. She walks over to her best friend, presenting a beautiful and powerful duo.
“No one asked you if it was, Palmer.” I stare her in the eyes, daring her to try me.
“Watch your tone when speaking to her.” Marek stands, pumping his chest against mine.
Over his huge shoulders, I look at Palmer, gazing into the gentlest eyes I know. She has a soul worth protecting.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t treat you that way. After all,”—I look directly at Delaney—“you’re the only girl I can truly trust.”
“Not cool, Breaker.” Palmer punches me in the chest.
“I don’t have time for this,” Delaney announces, spinning on her heels and running from the kitchen.
Palmer sits down on Marek’s lap. “Go make this right.”
“Why should I, huh?” I pump my shoulders up, readying for whatever kind of bullshit she’s about to toss my way.
“She’s hurting, Breaker. I don’t know what’s going on with her, or what her deal with Tripp is, but it’s there. We can’t ignore it. That girl is my best friend, and I honestly think you care about her, even though you want everyone to believe you’re now this heartless version of the boy we know.” Palmer’s eyebrow perks up, testing me. “Now go, or else I’ll have my boyfriend whoop your ass.”
“Your boyfriend couldn’t take me if he tried.” My laughter trails behind me as I leave them in the kitchen.
The party is packed. Delaney could be here anywhere. Hell, she could have run out the front door and left. As I search the house for her, I think about what Palmer said. She’s hurting. I’ve never been one to let anyone be in pain, with the exception of those who deserve it. Even when we were literally fucking up Palmer’s life, a part of me was drawn to help her, to save her from us.
I head up the stairs. The main landing has a pool table, several couches, and an enormous television. Delaney rests on one of the couches. Her hands are linked together in front of her, and her face is blank. Someone stole the life from her. I wonder if it’s been me the whole time.
“Delaney,” I whisper, walking out of the shadows of the stairwell.
Her head jerks to the side, her eyes rolling at the sight of me. “Don’t you get it. I don’t have the energy for this.”
“What’s bearing down on your soul that you don’t even have the energy to give me shit?” I move to her, our legs brushing. “Because the Delaney I know doesn’t hesitate to fight me.”
“The Breaker I know doesn’t treat people like shit.”
“If you’re referring to your little boyfriend, let’s get a couple things clear. I don’t consider him people. You may see something redeemable in him, but to me, there’s nothing worth saving. If we’re talking about you, then you’re right.” I cup her cheek like an old habit. “Now, tell me who you came here to fight for. Him or you?”
“Does it even matter?”
“You bet your beautiful ass it matters. If you’re here for him, then you can fuck off. If you came to this party for you, then we can talk.” She leans into my hand, silently admitting what I feel isn’t a lie. The lust and attraction are dancing between us.
As if she catches her misstep, she darts from the couch and runs down the hall. I give her a second, then follow. The doors are open except for one. I pause with my hand on the doorknob, and after a couple of heavy breaths, I twist it, open it, and slam it behind me.
Delaney jolts from the intrusion. “What do you want me to say?”
Before she can whisper another word, I cross the room, placing my hand on her neck. Our bodies collide, and I move forward, stopping when her spine hits the portrait on the wall. The glass squeaks under the weight, but we don’t stop. Delaney’s hand, soft and deliberate, covers my wrist that has complete control of her.
Feeling every breath she takes beneath my fingertips is an experience. We’ve hooked up more times than I can count, but as she stands with wide, slightly scared eyes, it seems different. Exhilarating and fascinating, mixed with dangerous and yet perfect.
Unable to stay away, my lips crash into hers. At first, she’s reluctant, but within what feels like half a second, her mouth moves against mine. The kiss is sloppy, untamed, and everything we are.
I release the hand around her neck, guiding it down her body. She whimpers like she misses the control I’d held for a short time. Her arms close around behind my head, and I lift her off the floor, pinning her against what I hope isn’t an expensive painting. We’re about to destroy it.
With my hips tight against her, I hold her in place, grinding my cock against her. She whimpers with every small movement.
“I hate you,” she whispers against my lips, reiterating the words I’d written to her in class.
I palm her ass and carry her across the room, tossing her onto the mattress. Her body bounces and jolts. She gazes up at me, watching me tug my shirt over my head.
“Do you think I fucking care?” I toss the shirt at her chest. “Like I said, I fucking hate you, too, baby.”
Chapter Eight
Delaney
Used as knives, words slash and mangle our flesh in quiet cuts, for no one but us to see. We try our hardest to hide their effect. The second you let your guard down, your mask to slip a bit, you give someone the ability to dig deeper.
I’ve allowed my mask to slip.
“What, Delaney? Does that bother you?” Breaker falls forward, catching himself at arm’s length from me. His hair flops around, begging me to run my fingers through it.
I manage to control myself, tucking my hands behind my back. The position isn’t comfortable, although it does its job.
“What are we doing here?” I ask the obvious question, running my sight between our ne
arly connected bodies. He does the same.
Breaker slides away, aligning his lips with my stomach. He nibbles and kisses a path across my skin, sending electrifying chills through my body.
“What does it look like we’re doing?” His fingers hook around the strings of my underwear, dragging them down. Could he go any slower? His eyes twinkle in the dim room, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “I’m torturing you.”
“Why?” I moan the question as my black satin panties hook on my foot. “What purpose does this serve? You want me. I want you. Why make it any more difficult than that?”
“Contrary to what you might believe, your body isn’t enough for me,” Breaker argues. “You’re only giving that part over to me, and I’ll take it for now, but it won’t be enough for long. At some point, you’ll have to tug up those big girl panties I just took off and make a choice.”
“Hence the gauntlet.”
“Fuck the gauntlet, Delaney. The gauntlet’s a stupid game. It means nothing. It’s an over-the-top pissing match between two boys who think they know what’s best for you. The real game is happening right now, in these moments between us and, as much as I hate it, the time you spend with Tripp.”
“If that’s how you feel, then I’ll ask you again, what do you get out of this?” I ask.
He crawls up my body, entrapping me. As he lowers himself, I glance away, far too afraid to look him in the eyes when he speaks. Whatever he says, it won’t matter. I’ll eat up every word.
The side of Breaker’s mouth presses into my ear. “What don’t I get from it?”
My head turns at his question, and his lips find their rightful place against mine. His tongue swipes the crease of my mouth, reminding me of the way he’s lapped up my pussy time and time again.
Nothing about Breaker is selfish in the bedroom, or if I’m lucky, outside either. He’s feverish with his touch, never leaving a single inch unattended.
“It is killing you, not knowing whether or not you were the last person inside of me, isn’t it?” I reach between us, unhooking the buttons of his jeans.
