Feuds and Reckless Fury by K. Webster

 

Alister

Almost a week later…

Each day ticks by quicker than the last. It’s as though there’s a looming deadline hovering over me.

What will happen tomorrow—my birthday—is the big mystery that seems to plague my mind. Anything. Anything could happen. Everything could happen. The anxiety of not knowing causes a knot to form in the pit of my gut and refuse to fade. With each passing second, each minute, each hour, it grows bigger and heavier.

It’s toxic.

It’s all I can think about.

What happens, though, when you want to stay young?

To always be Dad’s little boy?

I don’t want to be free. I want to belong. To Dad. To be a part of a family. Not be lost again, alone and scared and smelling of pee.

Not to mention, the texts just keep coming, no matter how many times I block the numbers. Always threatening me in some vague way that makes no sense but still terrifies the shit out of me.

Tears prickle at my eyes as a wave of nausea passes over me. Shakily, I drag my bow along the strings, focusing on the music and not the inevitable. Not the future. Not the emptiness that’ll come if everything is all fucked up.

Carrie smiles in my peripheral, clearly pleased with my sudden focus back on the music. I let the notes flow through me, chasing away all scary thoughts and filling my mind and soul with him.

Canyon Voss.

God, he’s so fucking hot.

And mine.

Heat floods through me, burning a trail up my spine and through my nerve endings. Anytime I think about him, I feel as though I’ll self-combust.

And when I’m with him?

I don’t feel as though I’ll catch fire…I do.

Together we fucking burn.

We’ve gotten to know each other’s bodies quite well since this thing between us began. I know what makes him insane with need and how to make him come with just the right curve of my finger inside his tight channel. I know how to draw out his orgasm until he’s a wanting, panting mess, damn near crying for it.

My body isn’t immune to him either. He plays me like I play my violin. Fast and with practiced precision, as though he was born to have me in his grip.

It’s perfect. He’s perfect. Together, we’re so goddamn perfect.

And also wrong.

Jesus.

I slip up, earning a scowl from Mrs. Weston, but quickly recover. Carrie sniggers quietly from beside me, pleased as hell to see me make a rare mistake. I continue through the rest of the song, trying my best to ignore Canyon for now.

Impossible.

He’s in my mind and in every damn heartbeat.

Hell, he’s in my nostrils because I can smell his expensive cologne all over me. We’ve taken to riding together to school in his Challenger, and I love it. Love being immersed in close quarters with him, listening to G-Eazy, and inhaling his fantastic, manly scent that drives me insane.

The hour goes by too quickly, and soon I’m being spat out of class into the dark hallway.

At first, I think Canyon has abandoned me, but then he clears his throat, emerging from an empty classroom, a brilliant smile on his handsome face. A little too eagerly, I saunter over to him, my fingers twitching to run through his hair and draw him to me for a kiss. But, before I can reach him, he gives me a slight shake of his head. His gaze is beyond me, focused on someone else.

Carrie.

“How’ve you been?” she asks, coming to stand beside me. “We miss you, Canny.”

Canyon’s smile falls, and heartbreak flashes in his blue eyes. “You do.”

“She misses you too.” Carrie frowns. “You should try and talk to her.”

He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest, his biceps bulging in his T-shirt. “Fuck that.”

“In case you forgot,” she hisses, shoving past Canyon, “it was Dad who did this.” Then, to me, she grumbles, “See you tomorrow night for a lesson.”

“Later,” I call out to her back before turning my attention to Canyon. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “Actually, no. Seriously, fuck them.”

Grabbing hold of his wrist, I walk him over to the empty classroom and pull him inside. Once we’re out of sight, I push him against the wall and press my lips to his. All tension bleeds from him as he gives in to our kiss. His large hands slide to my ass, squeezing.

“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.

“Want a Coke?” Carrie asks, ushering me into the house. “A sandwich? Chips?”

“A Coke is fine. I’ll grab something to eat when I get back home.” I follow her into the kitchen, wincing when I twist my still-sore ribs the wrong way. I try not to grimace.

My mind immediately goes back to yesterday. That man, who I don’t even know, admitted to trying to get me killed. Since the drunk wasn’t able to do it, he tried to handle it himself in the parking lot by kicking the shit out of me. I hate to think about what would have happened had Canyon not shown up when he did.

Our dads were obviously freaked out. Ryan looked at my phone last night and called the IT guy at his company, but in the end, there wasn’t much they could find since I’d most likely been texted from burner phones. It would be wasted efforts.

“Still hanging with seniors?” I ask. “Gage is bad news.”

Today, I drove my Range Rover since I’d be taking Carrie home after school. When I reached my car, it was crowded by Gage, Damon, Cain, Paige, and Carrie. The guys were their idiotic selves, and the girls were giggling as though they were fucking hilarious. Gage took one look at my face and muttered a homophobic comment under his breath that had Damon smacking him on the back of his head.

She conveniently hides her face from me inside the fridge. “We’re just friends. Besides, Paige likes Gage, not me. He’s a prick.”

“Be careful.”

Crimson paints her cheeks as she shoves a Coke at me. “I will be. It’s fine. Are you doing anything exciting for your birthday?”

Now it’s my time to be embarrassed. If she knew I wanted to spend my evening in bed with her brother, she might not be too keen to ask such questions. Since I’d already made plans to practice with Carrie, we decided we’d all go to dinner tomorrow night rather than tonight. It’s a simple birthday, and I’m not complaining. If Dad were to try and plan a big affair, I’d feel like the fall would hurt that much more.

The fall is inevitable.

I can feel it.

Pain lances inside my chest, and I absently rub at it.

“Alis?” Carrie furls her brows, studying me up close.

I force a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Saturday. We’re going to dinner.”

“But tonight is your actual birthday.” She smiles. Her previous animosity is gone since I started rehearsing with her to improve her playing. “I’ll order pizza. Pepperoni okay?”

“You really don’t have to—”

“Too late,” she sasses. “Let me see what Mom wants.”

She bounces off, and I unscrew the lid of my Coke. I’m just swallowing down some soda when I hear a blood-curdling scream.

Setting the Coke down, I rush toward the sound of Carrie’s yelling. It’s pained and terrified. For a second, I worry that the man from yesterday got into the house and is hurting her. But when I make it into her mom’s bedroom, I quickly realize it’s not the problem at all.

Aimee, who never comes out of her room when I visit, is pasty white and seemingly unconscious, lying in a puddle of vomit. Carrie shakes her mother, trying to rouse her, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Carrie,” I bark out. “Go call nine-one-one. Wait in the living room.”

If her mom is dead or dying, she certainly doesn’t need to witness that shit. Her head bobs up and down as she scrambles to obey. Dropping down on the bed beside Aimee, I check her pulse. Faint but there.

“Aimee,” I bark out. “Wake up. What’s going on?”

But I know what’s going on. The rubber tied around her arm and the syringe still sticking out of her flesh indicates the problem. Looks like an overdose of…fucking heroin.

This woman might be on death’s bed, but all I can think about is him.

Canyon.

The boy she kicked out and whose heart will shatter into a million pieces if anything happens to her.

Fuck.

“Stay with me, Aimee. You have to.”

She fucking has to.