“We need to talk.”
I don’t need to check to know who it is.
“Fucking Tripp DuPont,” I singsong as I spin on my heels, resting against the door his hand is pinned against. “Get your greaseball fingerprints off my windows.”
He grins as I smash my arm against him, forcing him away from me and my truck.
“Stay away from Laney,” he commands.
“I don’t take too kindly to threats.” I open the door and start the engine, ready to get the fuck away from this guy.
“Trust me when I say you have no business being around my girl.”
“Your girl?” I laugh, enjoying the annoyance plastered over his face at my challenge. “Oh, let me guess, you caught that little kiss. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.” With a pat to his chest, I square my shoulders.
In a standoff, we stare at each other, neither of us willing to budge, like the first one to move a single muscle will have lost.
“History doesn’t make romance.” His turning away draws attention to his cronies. Two, to be exact. They’re wearing their school uniforms, the shirts unbuttoned at the top with a loose tie.
“Oh, did you bring your boys for muscle?” I scoff, not bothered by this show of dominance. “You’ll have to do much better than that.”
A hand clenches my shoulder, and without thinking, I spin, ramming my fist into his jaw. Tripp groans, stumbling but not falling. The pretty boys behind him advance to me, their eyes drifting over my head, and they immediately think better of it.
The sound of metal buckling under weight is music to my ears. Could I take these three? I sure as hell would give them a run for their money. Would they be dumb enough to try to jump me? Rich, pretty kids usually are.
I glance back to see Marek leaning against the hood of the truck. Dixon circles the back end, proving where there’s one of us, there’s all of us.
“Richards, shouldn’t you be tending to that pregnant side piece of yours?” Dixon questions, causing one of the guy’s mouths to drop open. “Oh, my bad. That wasn’t a secret, was it?”
“Is that for real?” I glance at Dixon, finding him nodding his head. “Oh, shit. Only a rich mother fucker like you would knock up his whore.”
“Like father, like son,” Marek adds, circling the truck and coming to my side. “You’re a bastard, if memory serves me.”
“Daddy bolted the minute the piss dried on the stick, returning to his real family and leaving you and your mom high and dry.” Dixon’s laughter forces this rich prick’s face beet red.
“And your point?” Richards bolts forward, ready to fight Dixon. He doesn’t know who he’s messing with. Nothing rattles Dixon, especially not an entitled piece of shit like him.
I shove Richards away from Dixon as the tips of their noses bump. They can buy all the time they need, but I’m not letting them brawl tonight.
“Do you always let your minions fight your battles?” I smile, knowing damn well Tripp hasn’t come here to get his hands dirty.
“I came here to challenge you.”
“What is this, medieval times? You want to joust, DuPont?” I point at him, checking over my shoulders with an amused laugh.
“A gauntlet,” Tripp announces, amusement and excitement plastered on his face.
The gauntlet is an urban legend, complete folklore, something upperclassmen say offhand to make underclassmen believe this is something that can be executed.
Marek stands a few feet away, disbelief on his face. He’s worried, and if he’s worried, that means the infamous gauntlet isn’t some campfire story.
“Fuck!” I whisper-yell.
“So, you’ve heard of it, then?” Tripp reaches up and loosens his tie.
“What are the perimeters? I’m not going to agree to anything if I don’t know the details.”
“Why don’t you sleep on it? We’ll have a meeting soon.”
“No, asshole, why don’t you tell him now?” Marek yanks Tripp to us when he tries to escape.
“Or how about you grow a fucking pair and take the punch on the chin, or are you too afraid?” Tripp goads, knowing damn well I’ve never been one to stand down.
“Whatever it is, I’m in.”
Tripp and his cronies scurry away, never giving us their backs. Smart, because I’m not above sucker punching them.
Their tires squeal as they race out of the parking lot. Confusion and uncertainty spread in my mind and is easily replaced with anger.
“What did I just do?” I open the door of my truck and sit. Marek and Dixon close in. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”
“That all depends.” Dixon grins, leaning on the door and tapping his fingers on the metal.
“On what?” I ask.
“The weight will always be measured by what that girl means to you.” Dixon shrugs.
“Is she worth it?” Marek adds. “Because if she is, then you go into this gauntlet on high alert. He’ll take her every chance he gets. Take what’s yours.”
“And if she doesn’t want me?”
“Well, then it’ll be super embarrassing for you.” Marek smacks my stomach when he notices I’m not smiling. “Relax, man. You got this. She’s been yours since we dragged Palmer and her into the woods.”
The memory of us in those woods, and the events that followed, collect in my mind, punching and slashing their way forward, not willing to be ignored. A movie reel of everything she and I have been through has my heart beating like a drum. Her cuddling into my chest after we’d stopped Declan from attacking her in the club. Watching her sleep that night, too afraid she’d wake up and be alone. Seeing the hurt in her eyes when she’d learned the truth about what we did to Palmer. Refusing to leave her side after they’d drugged her at the auction. Trying to hold her together when she’d been covered in
