Until You
Page 33

I pressed into their space. “Not sure what you’re looking for, but it ain’t here,” I growled, bearing down on them.
“We want our money back,” Ryland ordered like he had a leg to stand on.
“Get over it,” I sneered. “You took the gamble, and you pay the price like everyone else.” They tried to push into my space, but I kept my feet planted.
“It wasn’t a fair race!” The other, taller and darker, one used his pointer finger in my face like a tattletale at recess.
I snorted.
There were two kinds of stupid. Stupid people that got drunk and humped trees, and stupid people that just humped trees. The first one was Madoc. These guys were the latter.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I laughed. “Your car never stood a chance. Bring the right tires next time. This isn’t street racing.”
“Fuck you!” Ryland barked. He slammed me in the chest, and I lost my breath as I stumbled backwards.
Coming back up on him, I stared him down. “Get off my property.”
Just then, I could make out the rumble of Madoc’s GTO, and I immediately relaxed my shoulders a bit when he came into view, speeding down my street.
I didn’t even think he turned off the car before he was out and running.
Thank God.
I wasn’t afraid of these guys, by any means, but I wasn’t stupid, either. Two against one, and all I had in my hand was my helmet for a weapon.
A vicious slam nearly knocked me off my feet, and an ache rocked my head.
Shit. I’d been hit.
No. Sucker punched, actually.
Cowardly motherfuckers.
They both rushed me, throwing fists in my face, and a million goddamn things were going at once.
Arms flying at me…crowding me…I’m about to fall…
My head was still ringing from the hit, and it took me too f**king long to get straight.
I launched my body forward, shoving my shoulder into one of their stomachs and taking the fight to the ground.
Madoc must’ve gotten the other one, because I didn’t have anyone else coming at me from behind.
My jaw clamped shut and air rushed in and out of my nose as I grabbed the guy—Ryland—by the neck and whipped him onto his back.
Grunts filled the air, and the grass, slippery with dew, made it hard as I tried to climb over him. It was a chilly night, but the sweat glided down my forehead like it was the middle of August.
I threw punch after punch, my knuckles burning with the impact. He brought his hands up, wrapping one of his fists inside the other and hammering down into my stomach.
I lost my breath, and he took the short reprieve to draw a switchblade out of his jeans and sliced me across the bicep.
Goddammit!
I whipped my body back, leaning away.
The hot sting of the cut quickly spread, and my arm turned cold. I realized it was the blood hitting the night air, cooling my skin.
But the rest of me was hot as f**k, my blood pumping so hard. I grappled for my helmet on the ground and slammed him over the top of the forehead with it.
Hard.
His knife fell to the ground, and he covered his bleeding hairline with shaky hands.
Damn coward.
I liked fighting, and I liked trouble, but pulling a f**king knife?
That made me want to damage more than just his window.
Standing up and gripping my arm to stop the blood flow, I carried the helmet over to his piece of shit Honda and smashed his windshield until it was so splintered that it looked like it was crusted in a winter’s worth of frost.
I walked back, tasting the blood in my mouth and hovering over the piece of shit on the ground. “You’re not welcome at the Loop anymore.” I meant for my voice to come off strong, but my breathing was still ragged.
And the damn blood from the cut was dripping off of my fingertips now. I probably needed stitches.
Madoc had already dumped the first guy, bloodied and unconscious, over by the car and was now stepping over to get the other one off my lawn.
“Jared.” I heard him say, almost a whisper.
I turned my eyes to him, but then saw he was concentrated on something else. Following his gaze toward the Brandt’s yard, I stopped breathing.
Fucking. Hell.
Tate was standing there, on the walkway leading up to her porch.
Just standing there and staring at us. A little scared, a little confused, and in her goddamn, f**king underwear!
What the hell?
Madoc was here. Two other guys—although unconscious—were here.
My blood boiled and heat immediately rushed to my pants.
I hardened my jaw and breathed hard.
She wore a tight, black band T-shirt and some of those cotton boy short underwear. Red ones. Fucking red.
She was covered, but just barely.
It didn’t matter, though. You could still make out everything, and she was perfect. My heart was jackhammering so hard and fast at her skimpy attire that I just wanted to peel everything off of her and sink my hands into her body here and now.
Was she trying to kill me?
Get in the f**king house, Tate! Jesus.
Then my eyes fell to the gun in her right hand.
A gun?
No.
I narrowed my eyes, forgetting her legs and her beautiful hair spilling around her.
She wasn’t helping us. She wouldn’t do that.
She was waiting for the cops or something.
Tate didn’t give a shit, and she was just sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.
But then I blinked.
If she’d called the cops, I doubted she’d be walking around in her panties, carrying a gun.