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She wasn’t born into wealth but adopted into it a few years ago after a rough ride in the foster care system. While she hadn’t filled me in on all the details about what happened when she was younger—I think because she was determined not to relive that hell—I’d pieced a lot of it together by how she reacted in certain situations.
And she didn’t do well with people touching or grabbing her without warning.
Tate wasn’t a pushover. The girl was stronger than people gave her credit for, but right now, there were tears pooling in her eyes, and as the seconds ticked by, Captain Fuckhead was still touching her and grinning like a Cheshire cat.
Almost as if he was expecting her to turn around and swoon at him at any fucking moment.
My heart leaped up into my throat, and without a second thought, I leaped out of my seat and grabbed the nearest weapon—the acoustic guitar one of the boys had propped up against his table.
Taking it by the neck, I lifted it over my head and brought it down hard, aiming for Liam’s arm.
“Jesus Christ!” he cursed, snatching his limb away and stumbling back into a couple of his friends. The body of the guitar barely grazed his hand before connecting with the dirty linoleum floor with force. The rounded edge crumbled, leaving a gaping, jagged hole. “Bitch, are you fucking crazy!”
The rest of the room was deadly silent.
I looked up, my eyes meeting with Liam’s horrified gaze.
And I smiled.
“Contrary to popular opinion,” I announced, dropping the mangled instrument to the floor, the fact that I’d just destroyed someone’s prized possession not entirely sinking in just yet. “You don’t have the right to fucking grab anyone.”
“Stella Weston!” Mrs. Calder gasped, stepping inside the room as Liam and every other kid in the class stared at me in silent horror. “The principal’s office, now!”
Tate, now collecting herself, tried to protest. “But Mrs. Cald?—”
“It’s fine,” I interrupted, throwing her a pointed look to just leave it alone. Tears still settled on her lower lashes, and her hands shook despite the way she forced her shoulders back and lifted her chin defiantly.
I grabbed the guitar off the floor and turned, placing it back on the table of the kid I’d snatched it from. “I’m really sorry. I’ll get you a new one,” I told him, but he shrugged and cracked a smile, which he quickly hid with the back of his hand, no doubt not wanting Liam to see the delight on his face.
Most of the class just stared on with their mouths hanging open as I made my way toward the door, but I couldn’t help myself, stopping beside a still horrified Liam and looking him directly in the eye.
“You touch my friend again…” I murmured quietly so only he could hear. “Next time, I won’t miss.”
“Miss Weston,” the teacher snapped again, pointing sharply toward the door. “Out. Now.”
I complied, walking out with a smile on my face, which only grew wider as I thought about my parents and how they’d been scared Jaxon’s outlaw lifestyle would rub off on me.
Maybe they’d been right.
And for the first time in my life, I was glad they were.
CHAPTER 2
JAXON
“You did what?” I hurried out the front of the Montana clubhouse, stepping around the side of the building and out of the brisk breeze.
“He grabbed Tate’s ass. She just froze. I could practically see her past playing over again right in front of her eyes,” Stella rambled, the tone of her voice firm but also panicky. “So I picked up this guitar, and I swung.”
The smile tugging at the corner of my mouth came naturally with the image of Stella—all five foot three of her—attacking the fullback of their football team with a fucking guitar. “But you didn’t actually hit him.”
She let out a disappointed sigh, making my smile only grow bigger. “No. He moved his arm out of the way, but Principal Graft gave me this lecture on how Liam could file assault charges if he wanted to because assault is?—”
“The threat of harm, not necessarily the act of physically hurting someone,” I finished, repeating the words I’d heard several times before from my father and the club’s lawyer.
“Damn,” she said, huffing out a laugh that sounded forced at best. “I thought she was just trying to scare me.”
“She probably was. I doubt he’ll try to file charges against you. Your parents are going to be furious, but there’s no way in hell they would allow an assault charge on your record, and he knows it.” It was hard to reassure her while I was nearly two thousand miles away, unable to look her in the eye and promise everything would be okay. This was new territory for her, and I could hear the fear and confusion in her voice. She was wondering how she’d let herself react that way and lost control so easily.
