Feuds and Reckless Fury

“How are we going to run in this state?” I tease, rubbing my erection against his through our clothes. “This shit really slows me down.”

“We could take care of it before practice. In my car.” He grins against my lips. “Tinted windows and all.”

I shake my head at him. As much as I’d love to blow Canyon in his car, I would never risk getting caught. That would surely have Dad kicking me out on my ass.

“I owe you one,” I promise. “Come on. I have to whip your ass on the track first.”

“You wish, Wonderland.”

“Nah, man, I know. Let’s go.”

After practice and showers, Canyon gets called back by Coach Davies’s assistant, Coach Reeder, to discuss something, so I let him know that I’ll wait by the car with a nod of my head. Everyone else has cleared out since no one ever stays as long as Canyon and I do. Coach Davies is still resting after getting clipped by that car, but he’s going to be back to school next week. Thank God. I can’t help but feel guilty for what happened because I feel like it somehow relates to me.

My phone buzzes as if on cue, and the second I see the unknown number, the rock in my gut triples in size. A cold sweat breaks out over my skin as I read the text.

Unknown Number: I have a message for your daddy…

I’m still staring at my phone in confusion when footsteps rush me from behind. Someone shoves me hard, and I land on my knees, scraping them on the pavement. My hands slam to the asphalt in time to keep me from face planting, my phone sliding under Canyon’s car.

“What the fu—” The words are knocked out of me as a foot slams into my side. I’m so stunned by the painful shock to my system, I collapse, barely having the foresight to draw my hands over my face to protect it. “Stop,” I croak out.

“I paid that drunk motherfucker to take you out with his car, not kill himself trying,” the man snarls, hatred dripping from his words.

I’m stunned at the confession that confirms this guy was the one who’s been texting me. He goes to kick me again, but then more footsteps can be heard as someone yells out, stopping him. I slip my hands away in time to see a flash of black and red as Canyon charges at my assailant. Like he’s on the football field, he tackles the man attacking me, easily dropping him to the pavement. He lands one, two, three punches to the guy’s face before the man manages to shove him aside. The guy gets up, runs toward a running car, and then falls into the driver seat. Canyon rushes over to it, but the guy peels out of the parking lot before he can reach him.

“Alis,” he growls, turning and running back over to me. He kneels next to me and gently runs a hand over my head. “What the fuck? Who was that? Are you hurt?”

Shakily, I sit up, wincing at the pain in my ribs. “I’ll be fine. Just scraped my knees.”

Scraped is an understatement. Blood runs down my shins in rivulets, and it stings like a sonofabitch.

“It’s the person who’s been texting me,” I admit, fear making my voice shake. “I got another one a couple of minutes ago. The text said he had a message for my daddy. Before I could make sense of it, he came out of nowhere and shoved me.” I motion to his car. “My phone is probably busted.”

He crawls up to his car and reaches beneath it. After studying my phone, he hands it back. “It still works.” Then, he frowns. “Erase anything incriminating about us and then give it to Dad. Maybe they can figure out who’s sending this shit.”

Pulling our dads into it doesn’t seem like fun, but neither is getting attacked in the fucking parking lot.

“He also said…” I trail off and shoot him a helpless look.

“What?”

“The car that hit Coach the other day wasn’t an accident. It was aimed for me.”

A murderous, dark glare crosses over his features. “That motherfucking psycho.”

“He didn’t succeed,” I mutter, desperation bleeding into my tone. “We don’t have to tell our parents.”

“Wonderland,” Canyon barks. “You’re going to let my dad figure this out. You aren’t alone. We’re not going to let this shit keep happening. Understood? We’re going to protect you. I’m going to protect you.”

“What if Dad thinks I’m not worth the trouble?” My words are soft and barely a whisper.

He hears.

Canyon is practically inside my head most days.

His features screw into a severe frown that makes him look downright menacing. “Shut the fuck up. Of course, you’re worth it. Don’t say that shit again.”

When he says it, I almost believe it.