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I yank off my helmet and stalk toward him, black Vans crunching on the dirt. He still doesn't turn around, just sighs heavily like I'm not a threat. Big mistake.

“I'm not in the mood to play tonight, love, so go home to your little friends⁠—”

Swinging wide, I crack the helmet against his skull with a satisfying thud.

“Ow, what the fuck!” Devon stumbles off his bike, clutching the back of his head. Dazed brown eyes meet mine. “You psychotic bitch!”

Adrenaline courses through my veins as I take another swing. “I'll show you psychotic!”

This time, the helmet connects with his cheek, knocking him to the ground. I plant my feet on either side of his body and raise it in the air. “Don’t you ever fuck with Logan again, do you understand?”

He groans, turning over to spit blood and teeth onto the dirt. A dark welt blooms next to his mouth. “I think you ruptured my brain.”

“Oh, please. I doubt you have one. We both know you only think with your dick.”

“You liked my dick.” Dev drops onto his back before flashing me a bloody grin. “And so did your husband.”

I bring the helmet down without hesitation, smashing it into his face.

“Fuck! You broke my fucking nose!”

“Good,” I snarl. “Maybe that'll teach you to keep your mouth shut. I'm so sick of men thinking they can do whatever the fuck they want!”

Devon curls inward and coughs wetly into the dirt. He must have learned his lesson, though, because he doesn't speak. Either that, or it's too painful.

I don’t hit him again. But God, I want to.

Instead, I take the helmet and make my way over to his bike, still fucking fuming. “If you ever hurt someone I love again, I'll bury you, Devon. This isn't a threat.” One swing of the helmet shatters his headlight in a spray of glass. Another puts a satisfying dent in the gas tank. “It's a fucking warning.”

Lifting Taylor’s bike, I fire the engine and slide on my helmet. The roar drowns out Devon's groans as I speed back toward the RV, leaving him behind. There's blood covering the visor, so I keep it up, squinting against the wind in my eyes.

Everyone's outside when I squeal into the parking lot, gathered in a huddle. They turn toward me when I skid to a stop and yank the keys from the ignition.

“Is that blood?” Christian asks as his best friend gasps.

“What did you do to Devon?” Taylor's gaze lands on the rear fender of his two-stroke. “What did you do to my bike?”

Tossing him the keys, I ignore everyone and march right up to Logan, who’s pressed against the RV like he's trying to become one with the aluminum. He straightens when I approach, golden eyes going wide.

Perfect. Let him be scared. He should be fucking terrified.

“If you ever lie to me again,” I hiss, stopping inches from his chest. “You'll be in the same boat Dev is right now.”

Logan swallows hard, attention dropping to the bloody helmet dangling from my fingers. “Is he… okay?”

I tilt my head and smile—just like the psychotic bitch that I am. “Define okay.”

Behind me, Taylor audibly sobs over the scratched paint on his bike. Christian consoles him like it's a funeral, Huck mutters something about group therapy and Arya cackles. I simply shove the helmet into Logan’s arms before silently entering the RV, slamming the door shut behind me without another word.

There's nothing left to fucking say, anyway.

Chapter

Twenty-Six

Logan

Why do hospitals have the most uncomfortable chairs?