Disorder by J.L. Weil

Chapter Ten

Brock and I dropped Ainsley off at her house after seven o’clock. She wanted to sober up some before she went home and faced her parents. Although her coloring was better, less pale green and more rosy pink, she still didn’t feel well. Nothing a bowl of her mom’s homemade chicken noodle soup and some hot tea couldn’t cure. The stuff was magic. Mrs. Fischer had made me a batch more than a time or two when I’d fallen ill. She knew Angie wasn’t the cooking type; nor was she the mothering type.

She wasn’t my mother at all.

A fact that still shook me and felt unreal.

How long did something like finding out your mother is not your biological mother really take to sink in? I didn’t think there were any textbook answers for situations like that.

Brock took a left turn at the stoplight instead of a right, taking us deeper into the old section of Elmwood, not far from where I grew up.

“Where are we going?” I asked, pulling my gaze from the passenger window to look at him.

“Grayson is racing tonight. I thought you’d might like to watch, take a moment to get your mind off all the crap.”

“Oh.” Grayson was racing.

His older brother Sawyer had also raced cars, and it had killed him.

“Unless you want to go back to my place, and I could entertain you in other ways,” he offered seductively. His tone might not have changed, but all my ears heard was the smooth and silky timbre of his voice.

Brock’s suggestion was appealing, especially since his and my idea of entertainment went along the same lines. Sex.

My body tingled at the prospect of having him inside me.

This unhealthy obsession with his dick had to stop. I was getting too attached.

I had to stop thinking about his dick.

Like now.

“No, street racing is great. Can’t wait,” I replied. This was something Grayson was into—something that I imagined made him feel closer to his brother, our brother. Holy shit. I just realized that Sawyer had been my brother too. I never got to meet him. Just another thing Angie took from me.

Sadness filled me for the brother I would never know—never see.

“Hey, Firefly, you okay?”

Brock’s unusually soft voice pulled me out of space where I’d gotten lost in my thoughts about Sawyer. Forcing a smile on my lips, I replied, “Yeah, I’m good. I think everything is just catching up with me.”

Headlights from the upcoming traffic illuminated the shadows on his face. Despite how incredibly beautiful Brock’s features were, he had an edge about him that roughed up some of that beauty. “I’m surprised it hasn’t sooner.”

“I’ve had years of practice suppressing shit,” I admitted, returning my gaze to stare at the blur of dark trees streaking by. As usual, Brock drove fast, but tonight seemed like a night that called for speed.

He eased the car to a speed lower than fast as fuck. “You don’t have to with me.”

When he said shit like that, my heart fluttered in my chest. I wanted to reach across the seat and run my fingers through his hair. I bit my lip instead. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I told Grayson we’d swing by and pick up Mads from her mother’s shop,” he explained as we headed into the shopping district of old downtown Elmwood.

Mrs. Clarke owned a clothing boutique. Actually, she owned several in the surrounding area, all named after her daughter. Mads was sitting on the curb when we pulled up, a cigarette in between her fingers. Her leather-clad legs stretched out in the street, ankles crossed, and the forest-green sweater she wore hung off one shoulder. She was by far the coolest person I knew.

Brock stopped the car next to the curb in front of her, since Mads made no gesture to move. I rolled down my window and leaned out. “You looking for a good time?” I said, channeling my inner Micah. I’d been hanging around the Elite too long. They were starting to rub off on me.

Her smoky eyes glittered as she finally stood and walked to the car. “I’m not into kinky threesomes.” Her gaze shifted to Brock’s.

A memory of him flashed through my mind from the first night I’d met Ava and the bitch cornered me in the bathroom. I had stumbled upon Brock with a chick, and he had asked if I wanted to join.

“You’re missing out.” Brock smirked like he knew what I was thinking about.

Mads’s gaze swept over me. She angled her head to the side, exhaling. A ring of smoke puffed from her lips. “She can’t go to a race like that. We need five minutes.” The car door opened, and Mads stepped back.

“What’s wrong with how I look?” I asked, pouting a little as I glanced down at my usual jeans and T-shirt. Sure, I wouldn’t win any beauty pageants, but I didn’t see what the big deal was. It was a race. At night. Who would see me? I’d been to plenty before.

“Maddy,” Brock rumbled, as if Mads was trying his patience.

She took one last drag on her cigarette, not giving a shit, and flicked it over the roof of Brock’s car. “Five minutes, Taylor. She needs it.” Mads grabbed my hand, pulling me into the shop. “Come on, girl, let’s get you fixed up.”

“You don’t have to do this. I’m not sure going to this race is even a good idea,” I protested.

Mads’s firm grip remained unwavering. She wasn’t going to let me back out. “If the Elite are involved, it is never a good idea, which is precisely why we are going.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Neither do french fries and chocolate shakes, yet they are fucking great together.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Trish, I forgot something in the back. We’ll be just a few minutes,” Mads said the girl behind the counter inserting tags into a pile of folded pants.

The college-aged girl smiled as we walked by. “Sure thing. Your mom is still taking inventory.”

I followed Mads into the back room of the shop. Racks and racks of new clothes freshly pressed lined the walls. Mads fingered through the pieces, pulling out a few items. Five minutes turned into ten. I walked out of Madison Clarke Boutique in pair of tight jeans, which I’d already been wearing, a red crop top that somehow made the amber flecks in my eyes brighter, a black leather jacket, and a seriously kickass pair of heels. Mads teased my hair, adding volume and texture to it. She made quick work applying a little bit of makeup, mostly mascara and eyeliner to darken my eyes. The bruise on my cheek was mostly gone and completely invisible with a tad of concealer.

I turned in the mirror.

Hot damn, I felt badass. “God, I needed this.”

Mads admired her handiwork, taking the full view of me in from head to toe. “Yes, you did.”

The heels on my black booties clicked with confidence as I strutted over the sidewalk toward Brock’s SUV. His gaze devoured me, and my lips twitched when I watched them darken in appreciation. “What did you do to her?” he snapped to Mads.

She slid into the back seat. “I made her fucking hot.”

The scowl on his lips increased. “No.”

“No, what?” I grinned, loving the way his eyes flared at me. His lips and tone were disapproving, but his eyes betrayed him.

“Don’t toy with me, Firefly,” he deadpanned. “You can’t go like that.”

“Yes, she can,” Mads insisted as she fastened her seat belt. “Now put the car in gear before we miss the take-off.”

Brock held up a finger. “Maddy, I’ll get to you in a minute.”

She ignored him and replied snottily. “Okay, Dad.”

I angled my head toward Brock. “Since when do you dictate how I dress?”

“You’re not her keeper,” Mads added, the two of us ganging up on him.

With a shake of his head, he rebuffed. “She doesn’t need the attention.”

“You mean you don’t need the competition.” Mads reached for a cigarette. “Admit it, Taylor, you have a thing for my girl Josie.”

Before she could light her smoke, Brock snatched the slim white stick from her fingers and snapped it in half, tossing it out the window. “You know the rules. Next time you need a ride, call Grayson.”

Mads scowled. “Fuck off, Taylor. Don’t get pissed at me because you have commitment issues. The guys at the race are going to be all over her.”

“This is for me. Not them,” I defended. I wasn’t looking for attention, but now that Mads mentioned it, I wouldn’t mind making Brock jealous. In fact, it sounded downright fun.

His scowl remained etched on his lips as he hit the gas.

* * *

Fynn whistled when he caught sight of me getting out of Brock’s car. “Sweet Jesus, you look hot.”

I tossed my hair over my shoulder, shooting Brock a sidelong gaze. “Tell that to Brock.”

His flat look annoyed me. “I never said you didn’t look good, Firefly. I said you didn’t need the attention.”

I returned his look with one of my own. “No one will be looking at me.”

Two seconds later Micah had me off the ground and in his arms. He twirled me once. “Damn, James. Leather suits you.”

It did. It really did.

“Tell me that you’re coming home with me tonight,” Micah purred, his arms still locked around me.

I pushed at his shoulders, but it did no good. “Only if you promise to put me down,” I muttered.

“Now that’s a promise I’m not sure I can make.” He flipped me over his shoulder, causing my ass to point up into the air, straining against my pants, and then proceeded to smack it.

“Micah!” I shrieked.

“Put her down,” Brock demanded, his voice harsh.

Micah chuckled. “You know she isn’t just yours.”

“She is in the way that counts,” Brock replied, a twinkle in his eye like he had the right to be protective, which he didn’t.

We might have slept together, but he had no claim over me. We were not dating.

Mads snorted. “Sex doesn’t mean shit to you.”

My feet hit the ground as three guys strolled up, ending the conversation. I recognized them from Public. Two of them had graduated last year, Todd and Weston. The other was known around school as Stitch. I had no idea where the nickname came from.

“Look who’s slumming tonight in the lower E,” Stitch greeted, clasping Brock’s hand first before moving to greet the others in the same manner.

“The fucking Elite,” Todd, of the older guys, said with a wry smirk.

“Should I take my money elsewhere?” Grayson flashed a stack of bills alongside a grin.

Stitch eyed the cash, dollar signs beaming in them. “You’re lucky you’re Sawyer’s little brother, man.”

Grayson left eye twitched at the mention of Sawyer, but that was the only tell he gave.

“Your brother was a goddamn legend on the streets,” Weston said with apparent admiration.

“He was,” Grayson agreed, a forced emotionless expression on his face. “Which is why I’m definitely winning this race. It’s in my blood.”

Stitch’s gaze landed on me. He took his sweet time looking me over. Tension radiated in the air suddenly, and Brock’s jaw tightened. It took me a second to realize the four of them circled me. I hadn’t even seen it happen. They were just there, surrounding me, but Stitch and his buddies noticed.

I was theirs. And no one was to mess with me unless they wanted a problem with the Elite.

“I told you the guys would be all over her,” Mads murmured to Brock. “What are you going to do about it, Taylor? Let them hit on your girl?”

I poked her in the side as I hissed through my teeth, “Stop trying to stir up trouble.”

Her lips curved at the corners. “I can’t help myself. He makes it so easy.”

Stitch smiled at me in slow appreciation. “Josie James. Heard you moved up in the world. Don’t tell me you’re running with these four.”

“Hey, Stitch. When did you start racing?” I said, quickly changing the subject.

“I don’t. I just organize them.”

How did I not know about this? I’d lived in these parts of Elmwood my entire life. I went to school with most of these guys. I’d been to races on the track with my dad, but never any on the streets. Ainsley would eat this shit up. It seemed like one of those exclusive pop-up events you needed to know someone to get an invite to.

Ainsley and I were never that cool.

But the Elite were.

I glanced around the abandoned parking lot stuffed with cars of every make and model. Neon lights lit up from underneath many of the cars as music bumped. “Interesting little side hustle you have.”

He shrugged. “It beats working a part-time job. Harvey’s here.”

“Harvey,” I choked. Like my ex-boyfriend Harvey? Fuck. I hadn’t seen him in months. After the asshole cheated on me, I’d be good with never seeing his face again.

“Who’s Harvey?” Mads crooned beside me.

“You look good, James,” Stitch purred before I could answer Mads, thank God, not that his comment was any better.

Stitch had balls to eye me like he was in front of the Elite. Brock’s expression looked as if he was two seconds away from giving Stitch a bloody nose, race or not.

My cheeks warmed, and I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “Thanks.”

Stitch didn’t seem to be intimidated by the four guys surrounding me. Did that make him brave or just stupid? “Please tell me one of these assholes is not your boyfriend.”

“She’s dating them all,” Mads spoke up, a fast grin on her lips.

The hell I was. “That is so not true.”

“Well, except for that one,” she added, her gaze shifting to Grayson as she bulldozed right over my denial.

Stitched lifted his brows.

Mads pulled out a cigarette. “It’s complicated.”

Brock rolled his eyes as Micah slung an arm around my shoulder. “Sorry, she’s taken, dude.”

Grayson shot Micah a WTF look but didn’t say anything as he leaned against the most beautiful piece of machinery I’d ever laid eyes on. His ride tonight was sleek, shiny, and looked fast as fuck. That was enough for me. I was in love.

I wiggled out of Micah’s arms and strolled over to the car. “This is yours?” I said in awe, running a finger over the smooth midnight blue paint. “My dad would go apeshit over this.” I liked to pretend I knew shit about cars. Thanks to my gearhead dad, I knew more about cars than I cared to.

“’67 Dodge Challenger. My dad helped me build it,” Grayson said, coming to stand beside me as I petted the hood.

His dad. My biological father. I knew nothing about him… except that he liked to build cars. How strange that both my fathers had something common.

Weirdness hung in the air. Would things ever be normal between us?

Luckily the race was about to start. More cars started to line up on a long stretch of road. Grayson paid the entrance fee. Brock and Mads were preoccupied talking with the guys while Grayson and I admired his car.

The corners of his lips pulled into a wicked grin. “What to ride shotgun?”

Only a moment passed before I responded. “Thought you would never ask.”

He nodded to the other side. “Get in then, Lil’ J. Better hurry before Brock has something to say about it.”

I didn’t give it a second thought and scrambled around to the passenger door, slipping inside before anyone noticed. The Charger’s engine hummed to life underneath me, a gentle rumble like a lion purring, but once Grayson pressed on the pedal, giving the car a little gas, it roared like a furious beast.

Grayson’s smile was that of pure joy, one he rarely displayed, and I found it impossible not to smile in return. I glanced out the tinted window. Brock scowled back at me, shaking his head as he folded his arms. There would be hell to pay, but that didn’t matter right now.

Grayson and I were having a brother-sister moment, something I’d missed out on for seventeen years.

We moved into position in the lineup. Grayson revved the engine as we waited for the signal to begin. My heart beat against my ribs in anticipation, equal parts excitement and fear. The white flag lifted, and Grayson shifted the car into gear. He stole a glance at me. “Brace yourself, Lil’ J.”

The flag went down and Grayson slammed his foot on the gas. I was tossed back against the seat. A rush of adrenaline tore through me. And I laughed.

Grayson handled the car like a pro—like he was born to drive. His fingers fit snugly over the vibrating steering wheel, his other hand shifting the car from one gear to the next. We weaved in and out of traffic, passing racer after racer. I didn’t think I exhaled until we cleared the busy street, heading into a rural part of town where the road opened up.

And that was when Grayson let the Charger free.

I was never so damn thankful for a seat belt in my life. It kept me strapped securely against the seat. The guy beside us kept neck to neck with Grayson’s car, not giving an inch.

“This asshole wants to play.”

Grayson didn’t flinch as he shot through a red light, foot pressed to the floor. “Holy shit,” I whispered, bracing my feet against the floorboards, while my hand clutched the ceiling. I nearly shit myself and decided if I was about to die, I didn’t want to see it coming. My eyes squeezed shut. This was intense. I didn’t know if I was cut out to race.

“Did we win?” I asked moments later, noticing the car was losing acceleration.

Grayson laughed. “You can open your eyes.”

He sounded happy. Like truly happy, so I took that as a good sign.

I slowly opened my eyes, ready to congratulate him for crossing the finish line, but the second I blinked, a pair of blinding headlights beamed through my window, barreling straight for us. I was about to be smashed like a pancake.

“Hang on!” Grayson ordered.

Is that panic I hear in his voice?

I was panicking enough for both of us. My scream got caught in my throat as his foot hit the brakes hard and he cranked the wheel to one side. The car drifted, throwing me against the door.

It felt like the car would never stop coasting over the road, the Charger turning parallel with the oncoming car. The world blurred, the night’s sky nothing but a streak of darkness. Then it all went still except for the thumping of my heart.

“Oh, my God, how did you do that?” I would have frozen, let the oncoming car hit me. Not Grayson. He managed to avoid a collision like he was a damn stunt driver.

His frown turned into a grimace as his gaze swept over me. “Are you okay?” Concern glittered in his features.

“I’m fine because of you,” I replied, residual tremors of fear still shaking through my body.

“The fucking car came out of nowhere.” Anger vibrated in his voice, the lines around his lips hardening.

I recognized the car, and no amount of wishing otherwise would make it less true. “That’s one of Steven’s cars,” I said, staring at the taillights that lit up the vanity plates. IGROWL. It was pretty difficult to mistake a car with plates like that.

“Carter,” Grayson snarled right before he punched the gas, causing the Charger to go from a dead stop to full speed as he gave chase. “That asshole is dead.”

“Do we want to take a moment to think about what you’re doing?” I just barely lived through my first race and managed to escape a car crash. I wasn’t super eager to engage in another.

His foot didn’t let up, conviction flaring in his eyes. “He could have killed you.”

“He is trying to scare me. He is upping the stakes until I agree to help him.”

“This has gone too far.”

My fingers gripped the edges of the seat as I pressed myself further into the seat. “You think?” The Charger lurched over a dip in the road, gaining ground on Carter. “What do you plan to do if you catch up to him? Run him off the road? It’s not worth it. And this car doesn’t deserve to be wrecked over him, no matter how satisfying.”

He released a grim exhale. “I’m sick of his shit, of waiting for him to be accountable for the shit he’s done.”

“No one more than me wants to see him pay.”

“Dammit.” Grayson slammed his hands against the steering wheel. For the second time, I saw my life flash before my eyes as Grayson spun the car around in a one-eighty, taking us back to where the race ended, letting Carter get away.

Quite a crowd had gathered by the time we pulled in and parked. I glanced around, searching for Mads, but it was Brock who found us.

He got in Grayson’s face as soon as he stepped out of the car. “What the hell was that?” I’d never seen them fight before, not like this. And I didn’t want them to start.

Not over me.

I never wanted to be that girl, the one that breaks up a friendship.

Grayson didn’t back down under Brock’s burning glare. He stayed nose-to-nose with him. “She’s fine. So am I, thanks for asking.”

“That’s not the point,” Brock growled. The crowd that had gathered for the race now turned their attention to Grayson and Brock.

“What is the fucking point?” Grayson shot back at Brock. “If you think I’d let anything happen to her, then you don’t know me as well as you think.”

“Stop!” I yelled, shoving my way in between them, a dangerous maneuver, but I didn’t think. I just reacted and hated seeing two people I cared about arguing. This was Carter’s doing, and I refused to let that little shit get in between the friendship these guys had. Their bond was supposed to be fucking unbreakable.

I needed it to be.

Micah stepped to defuse the tension as he normally did. “Well, that was an interesting race. The winner doesn’t usually take off.”

A scowl locked onto Grayson’s lips. “Carter made a surprise appearance.”

All amusement fled from Micah’s handsome face. “That was him in the car at the finish line?”

I nodded.

“Why don’t we let the asshole think you’re helping him?” Mads said to me. “Just hear me out, before the four of you get all ‘me man, hear me roar.’”

The sudden intensity dripping off the Elite thickened the air.

“What if we make him think that Josie is willing to snoop around and find the thumb drive? It would get him to let up on the scare tactics for awhile at least.” Leave it to Mads to hatch a crazy plan.

Grayson blinked, regarding his cousin with a blank expression. “The way your mind works sometimes scares me.”

“You’re not the only one it scares,” she mumbled.

“There are so many things that could go wrong,” Fynn said, being the voice of reason.

We had formed a circle as we talked, closing off the crowd around us, our voices lowering. “So you just want to sit around and see what crazy thing he is going to do to her next?” Mads argued. “At the very least, it might buy us some time, make him believe she has succumbed to his blackmail.”

“She has a point,” Micah agreed, meeting each of the other three guys dark stares. “A person can only handle so much. We need him to think this was Josie breaking point.”

“Absolutely not.” No one was surprised by Brock’s refusal.

“Shocker, the king disagrees,” Mads retorted sarcastically, pulling out a cigarette. Her lighter flared in the dimly lit area.

Brock gritted his teeth. “We’re not using Josie as bait. Not again.”

“And if I volunteer? You’re not using me then. We don’t have any other options that I can see.”

Every muscle in his body went rigid. There was a bit of wariness too. “If we do this, we do it my way, on my terms,” he finally said after a long moment of consideration.

We shared a look, and my brows lifted. “Is there any other way?”

With Brock, there wasn’t.

* * *

My ears still rang as I laid my head on the pillow and closed my eyes. I swore the bed rumbled like an engine underneath me.

Eventually, my mind and body must have quieted enough for me to fall asleep, somewhere between reliving the thrill of the race and Brock’s angry face. The next thing I knew, I was locked back inside Carter’s car, blindfolded and bound. Fear hit the back of my mouth, coating my tongue with the sharp tang of panic. My hands trembled against the twine tying them together.

A door squeaked open, and a spear of terror lanced through me. Seconds later, Carter’s voice pierced the roaring of fear in my head. “I warned you what would happen if you chose the wrong side.”

“No,” I screamed, my head shaking back and forth wildly. “Carter, stop.”

The blindfold ripped away from my eyes, and I stared into the twisted face of a madman.

Carter showed no remorse, no emotion as his fingers wrapped around my neck like a thick noose, tightening until air was impossible to get into my lungs. My eyes went wide as I bucked, struggling to dislodge his body. But Carter had the weight to keep me pinned to the back seat.

I thrashed, but it was useless.

I couldn’t breathe.

He was going to kill me.

No one was coming to save me.

“Firefly.”

The gentle voice nudged me out of that place of horror that trapped me, urging me out of the nightmare and into wakefulness.

Through the well of hot tears, it was Brock’s face hovering close to mine. Not Carter’s.

I swallowed a cry of genuine fear and blinked just to make sure.

“Firefly, hey. It’s me. You’re okay. Do you hear me? You’re safe. I won’t let him hurt you. Not in my house.”

“Brock?” I whispered, my voice raspy like I’d been screaming.

Had I?

Thump. Thump. Thump.

My heart still hammered in my chest, despite the realization that it was only a dream. Carter wasn’t here. And I wasn’t trapped in his car. I was in Brock’s bed. It was his body warm against mine, chasing away the chill of fright and helplessness.

Brock brushed his knuckle along my cheek, and I stared into his eyes. It was those eyes, the color of the ocean at night, that calmed the racing panic. His touch banished any lingering traces of Carter’s fingers wrapped around my neck.

I lifted my arms and touched his face, needing to feel that he was real. His skin was warm and comforting. I slide my hands into his hair, pulling him down against me. “Hold me,” I murmured.

His body became flush with mine. If there was one thing Brock was exceptional at, it was making me forget. I needed that now.

I needed him.

Brock didn’t protest when I guided my lips to his, not that I thought he would. In this area, Brock never denied me. I didn’t let myself think that meant anything. Brock wasn’t the kind of guy to get tangled with a girl—physically, yes but not emotionally.