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“Who the fuck are you?” A voice sounds behind me, deep and filled with nothing good. He has no idea who he’s fucking with.
I hop off the picnic table, spinning to face the guy. “Just a man in a park,” I answer, a smirk hiding the sudden rush of adrenaline. I size him up. Fresh kutte, proud badge of The Wrexxing Crew. Crazy-as-hell black magic fuckers if rumors are true. “Not here for trouble, pal.”
He smiles, all arrogance and youthful bravado. Kind of reminds me of me when I first started riding. “Too bad. Trouble’s what you found.” He scans the surroundings, eyes glinting. “You’re a long way from home, ain’t ya?”
I shrug, casual as ever.
He puffs up like a peacock. “This is Wrexxing Crew turf.”
“Congratulations.” I step forward, shifting left. He mirrors me, his eyes narrowing. “Look, man, before you get all–” Too late. He swings, and I duck, retaliating with a one-two to the ribs. “Just trying to clear my damn head!”
“I can help with that,” he growls, charging like a bull, all muscle and no finesse.
This is gonna be fun.
I jump out of his reach, whip around, and deliver a satisfying kick to his back, sending him sprawling.
“No help needed,” I growl, jumping on his back and losing myself in the rhythm of fists on flesh.
“You sick fuck! Get off me!” he screams, but it’s like music to my ears.
I can feel a wicked shit-eating grin stretch across my face, my hands a frenzy, each punch an exclamation mark. “You wanted a fight, asshole. And you sure as fuck got one.”
Me talking shit gave him a chance to buck me off him. He turns onto his back, glaring at me as I scramble to my feet. “You’re fucking crazy.”
“Heard that before,” I chuckle, my foot finding his face with a satisfying crunch. There’s something inside me, a darkness mixed with joy. Not just survival. Not just rage. Something more primal.
The minute he tries to get up, I’m on him again. “Fucker,” he growls, and I shut him up with a vicious jab. He tries to hit back, to shield his face from my blows, but it doesn’t work. Nothing does because all of my anger—at Maggie, at my folks, hell, at the whole fucking world—is being channeled into this fucking asshole.
I use my knees to keep his hands at his sides and lean my forearm against his throat. “I just want to fucking think! I don’t want your shitty fucking turf, you hear me!”
His eyes go wide with fear, or maybe it’s survival because I’m applying more and more pressure with my forearm, and his words come out more difficult by the syllable. “Hear. You.”
I should stop, but I can’t. This man beneath me is, in this moment, the reason for every goddamn thing that’s fucked up in my life, and I’m determined to make him pay.
“Stupid.”
I apply a little more pressure.
“Motherfucker,” I grunt and jerk forward, applying more pressure.
I’m vaguely aware of his legs flailing and his face turning red, but I can’t stop.
I should stop.
But I just fucking can’t.
“Nova!”
I hear my name, and then I feel hands on my shoulder, yanking me off the asshole. I fight back against the pull.
“Not this time, asshole!” I won’t stop, not now, because I don’t see the faces anymore. They aren’t haunting me. Not right now.
“Goddammit, brother, stop before you kill him!”
“Maybe I want to,” I shout at nobody in particular as I fall backward and then quickly get to my feet. I blink to focus my eyes and then frown. “Wild Man?” I look to the biker asshole on the ground and then to my brothers. “What the fuck, man? What are you guys doing here?” I ask Ace because, no doubt, this was all him.
“Been searching the whole goddamn state for your sorry ass. Why’d you turn your phone off?” His smile dims as he searches my face. “You good?”
