91

My first thought is that the guy must be drunk or something. He straightens up, wipes his hand under his nose, and checks it out.
“Fuck,” he says in a calm and collected voice. “Bastard dog-shot me.” His hand is covered with the blood flowing from his nostrils. He rubs it against his shirt.
That’s the strange thing about Jackson … he gags at the sight of blood … unless it’s his own – or something.
“Oh, he’s dead,” he growls in a super calm manner, scrutinizing the direction he came from. I follow his gaze and wonder who is stupid enough to pick a fight with him.
“Hey, Grimm, you better keep your little spies out of our space!” A bald bear with tattoos all over his body remarks, sticking his head through the tent opening.
“We found him snooping.” It’s Graham Scott, Enervoltz rider and a real asshole when he wants to be. Which is most of the time I’m around.
He hates my guts. Even more so since the accident last season caused the death of his teammate and friend. Which he blames me for.
“Since Reaper is clearly the better team, why do we need to spy on you, Scott?” I salute him with a smile cause I know he chose the wrong brother to sneak a fist on.
Jackson might be quieter than his twin, but he’s a man of action! And believe me, sucker-punching him for no reason will cause some serious action.
Graham’s lips form a silent ‘O’ when a foot lands on his chest, throwing him back, off balance, and onto my truck outside. Jackson blots his nose against his sleeve and slowly moves forward. I follow behind, just in case he needs me to have his back.
“Are you crazy?” Ren shouts while helping Graham to his feet. What the hell is he doing here? The guy is like a fucking tick I just can’t get rid of.
Graham picks up his hands and fists them in front of his face. He is older. Taller too. With a bulkier mass that outweighs Jackson. But Jackson is more badass when it comes right down to it. And the man harbors a lot of skills and the most control possible, so it’s not going to be a solid match. Not for Graham in any case.
Graham moves first, aiming a punch at Jackson’s chest. Rookie mistake. Jackson dodges it with ease and goes in with a solid attack – a few rib-breaking blows to the torso, a kick to the ear, and as the big man staggers to the side, a final knock to the face with his elbow.
A little overkill, but Jackson is not really the sympathetic or forgiving type.
Graham stays on his knees and pants, struggling to breathe, holding a hand to his painful chest. I’m sure a few ribs got knocked loose. Blood runs from his nose to drip on the grass. A nose, and some broken ribs, for a nose. Which is fair since it was a covert attack.
Ren helps him up and glares at us over his head. He looks slightly scared.
“What the hell is going on here?” Mark shouts while running from the tent.
Graham’s manager also appears and gets into a debate with Mark. Ren helps Graham into the Enervoltz tent. He’s not going to race today, that’s for sure.
“Why were you in their tent?” I ask Jackson. I know he must have a good reason.
“Saw that stupid ex of my sister slip in there. Just wanted to say hi.” That’s a good reason. A very good reason. Especially since Jackson saying hi usually includes a mean right hook or two.
Dean appears and swears, then runs in a circle like a beheaded chicken, before he heads back into the tent.
Jackson takes off his shirt and sits on the grass, head forward, holding the shirt against his nose.
Dean runs back with Ilkay.
“What did you do now?” the doctor asks. Jackson gives him a shut-the-fuck-up look, but Ilkay chuckles as he bends down next to him. Ilkay is one of the few people not scared of his younger brother. He tenderly touches the area around the nose.
“Hold still,” he says and with a swift movement straightens it back in place. Jackson doesn’t even winch.
“There, now you’re all pretty again,” Ilkay mocks. I throw Jackson a clean shirt from our stash.
While all of us are damaged in some fucked up way, battling our inner demons lurking in the shadows, some are slightly more broken than the rest. For some reason, Jackson is worse than his brothers. Logan told me that Jackson was the cowardly brother – he always gave in first; he screamed the hardest; and cried the loudest when their grandfather tortured them.
And Alexander apparently didn’t like that. He did his best to toughen him up. And I guess it worked cause the boy is no coward now. And he dominates his emotions like a bitch. Needing the least backup of us all.
But I’ve discovered that although our tried and tested techniques – getting wasted on dopamine and adrenaline – may help for a bit, they never heal any of us. It’s like taking drugs. It puts you on a high for a short while, but the effect wears off quickly, like any narcotic, and you’re right back down where you’ve started.
But since I’ve pulled Mel in closer, it’s as if I’m riding on a high all the time. I think I’m getting addicted to another even more lethal drug – one I want to overdose on.
Although, right now, I’m not feeling particularly well. Mel is upset and hurt and with that Alejandro dude. My intestines turn and I feel somewhat queasy.
“You need to get ready to walk the track,” Mark instructs, but right now I’m contradicting letting my team down to run away and find Mel. I take out my phone and call her. Of course, she doesn’t answer. Fuck.
I type a message – we need to talk. She leaves it on read.
“Are you ready?” Sean comes up from behind.
Not at all. “Yes.” I give him a pathetic smile while looking hopefully at my phone.
“Expecting a call,” he asks. “From your little blonde girlfriend?” My eyes shoot up to find his teasing ones.
“She’s not my girlfriend.” I want to add a ‘yet’ but decide against it. The fewer people who know about my feelings for her, the better.
“She’s my best friend’s sister.” As if to remind myself. Just until I find a way to deal with her bloody stalker … and also until I find the right moment to tell her brothers about us.
That is so going to be fun. I imagine I’m going to look much worse than Graham does right now.
“Oh, so you won’t mind if I take her on a date?” I turn my head towards my teammate as if he has sunstroke or something.
“Stay away.” If you don’t want to end up in the fucking hospital. He gets the glare and holds up his hands in a defensive manner.
“Thought as much. The way you look at her says it all.”
“What way?”
“Your eyes just go all soft and mushy.” Okay, he has me there. I stare at my no-message-receiving phone. Is she crying in his arms? The thought makes me want to punch a wall.
Dean and Mark walk up to us with big smiles.