The Takeover (The Miles High Club 2)

“That means yes,” he growls. He turns his attention to me. “You!” the huge kid screams. The veins are sticking out of his neck in anger. What the hell? He looks like the Hulk.

“You!” he yells again at the top of his voice. “I’m going to kill you with my bare hands.”

My eyes widen in horror, and I step back and stand on something—a skateboard. It rolls out from underneath me, and my ankle turns, and I step back as I fall. Then I tumble down the six stairs. “Ahh!” I cry as I hit the ground with a thud.

Claire runs down the stairs. “Oh my God, Tristan.”

Ouch . . . a searing pain rips through my ankle.

The huge kid comes running down the stairs and starts whipping me with something across the head. “Stay the hell away from her.” He continues to hit me. “Stay. The. Hell. Away.” He whips me again and again.

“What are you doing?” I cry as I try to shield myself from his onslaught.

“Fletcher!” Claire screams. “Go inside the house. Now.”

He holds something up to my face. “Are these your underpants?” he sneers.

My eyes widen . . . oh, hell on a cracker. This is the fucking twilight zone.

“Are they?” he cries. He holds them up to my face, and when I don’t answer him, he gets infuriated and begins to suffocate me with them as he tries to stick them in my mouth.

I thrash on the ground as I fight for survival. “Claire!” I scream. “What the actual fuck?”

“Fletcher. Get into the house!” she screams as she pushes him off me.

The crazed lunatic is panting, gasping for air as he glares at me. “Don’t push me . . . pretty boy.” He pegs the underpants as I cover my head with my forearms to shield myself from another attack, and he storms inside. The screen door bangs hard.

The second-oldest boy disappears into the house as well, and Claire and the little one kneel down beside me.

“Tristan, I am so sorry,” she whispers. “He’s in so much trouble you won’t even believe it.”

I stare at her as I pant . . . what the actual fuck just happened right now?

I go to stand up, and my ankle gives way, and I nearly fall.

“Oh my God, you’re hurt,” she whispers.

I stare at her deadpan. “I wonder why.”

“Because Fletcher tried to put underpants in your mouth so you would choke,” the little kid says. “Choke to death,” he adds.

“Enough, Patrick,” Claire says to him.

They help me up, and I can’t put any weight on my ankle.

“Come inside, and let me get some ice,” Claire says.

“You have to be kidding,” I snap as I pull my arm from her grip. “I am not going in that house. That kid is deranged. He almost killed me.”

“He has anger-management issues,” the little kid says.

“Tris, come on. You can’t drive anywhere like this,” Claire urges. Eventually I hop up the stairs, and they both help me in and lead me, and I fall onto the couch.

Claire moves the ottoman over to me and puts my foot up and takes my shoe and sock off.

“What is he doing in my house?” the Hulk kid says as he comes storming into the room.

“He is my guest. Go to your room,” Claire growls.