“I sent that girl away because you and I both know that she fucking looks like. . .”
“Don’t you dare say his name!” I growl.
I’m breathing fast and hard as I look at my mother. I step away from her, creating distance between us as I refuse to think back to those horrid years when Astraea, my Blue Star, looked like the man from my nightmares.
“Alex, it’s true. It might not be so apparent now, but back then she looked so much like him.” She continues to speak, hitting the nail on the head, the last one into the coffin.
“So you decided to take care of the situation, sending her away for four years of her life. Denying her family, community and me.”
This woman denied my time with Astraea. Time that we could have spent together and healed, instead, that was the beginning of my hell. Those years without her we my worst and now, she’s being threatened away from me.
Astraea’s life is being threatened and just like I failed to protect her from my mother on Friday and failed to keep George alive, I feel the creeping sensation that I’m going to lose her.
“Yes, but I didn’t know Amanda would sign her away to stay at that dreadful institution for four years! Even I’m not that evil.”
Wait, what?
“Explain.” I demand.
“That night, the night of the. . .incident.” She starts, watching for my reaction but I am so tense, I couldn’t even feel it if someone punched me in the face right now.
“There were letters that arrived to the house before that night.”
I thought she was out of town, for that fucking dinner all the adults went to in L.A.
“What kind of letters?” I question, feeling my gut twist and turn and a queasy feeling settles in there. I put my hands in my pockets, watching her.
“Threats. They were threatening letters.”
Hmm, interesting.
“But we just ignored them because really, it’s not the first time the three families of Westbrook have been threatened by jealous folk.”
The fact that she doesn’t acknowledge that there are four families doesn’t go unnoticed but I ask what I want to know for now.
“What did the letters say?”
“I don’t really remember but it was something about the way the next generation will atone for all the ‘cutting’ sins committed.” She says, making air quotes on the word ‘cutting’ and I still.
There is no way. . .
♥
Restless energy moves through my system as I ease my car to the start line. My body is tense, coiled like a fucking cobra about to strike and it has nothing to do with this fucking race but everything to do with what my womb donor of a mother said this afternoon.
Now, with the cloak of darkness covering the sky and maybe my common sense and aura, a crowd of drunk and reckless college students surrounding the sidelines like addicts about to get their next hit, next fix calling out a name that just kind of filtered in when I started this business.
Blue King.
They chant and scream the name as if they are about to lose their senses much like the cloak of humanity is about to slip from my fingers the more I think of what my mother said this afternoon.
This crowd of people don’t really know who I am. To them, I just leave everything in the blue. Battered and blue. Ghost and blue. Whatever the fuck they think. I don’t even bother checking out the fast cars lined up at the sidelines, everyone jumping and hooting as I come to a dead stop at the line, ready for this damn race to start.
I don’t bother to look at who is here or who the fuck I’m racing tonight. But I knew from the moment I showed up that whoever it is, would have to be selected from the huge waitlist of assholes that would spill blood just to race me.
I haven’t been here in a while, not since George died and Star came back. But I don’t just race anyone, I don’t just show up and burn tires to prove a point.
I come here to reign down hell.
Blue, cold hell. Same difference.
Because when I win, it’s not their fucking money I want. They could never give me what I deserve, even though technically for each race, each fight, each beer drank, all that money is mine. This is my gig, my ring. But when I show up, when the Blue King shows up and right on the starting line, it’s all a one way ride to hell. And these assholes know it.
This is my thing. I own this ring of racers from all walks of life that feel they can win fifty grand a night. But when I show up, the sum is tripled. I have never been beaten. And no one really knows who I am. To them, I might as well be some kind of drug lord who likes the thrill of racing my own races instead of having a mule.
I don’t give a fuck what they think.
“Drivers ready!” The girl in between my car and the Mustang beside me shouts. Its engine purrs beside mine, antsy and ready to go. But I remain calm, seemingly disinterested and I really don’t give a fuck about this race. Only the end of it.
Just two cars.
Ten miles of winding road, through the town ahead and right to the end were the Pit is.
“Always be steady!” She shouts, doing some kind of dance that would have been sexy for anyone else but I’m not that guy. She does the dance as she looks at my car, thinking that I will step out and fuck her on the hood. Too bad sweet cheeks, the hood of my car and my dick, for all intents and purposes, are dedicated like a fucking priest to one girl who might not even love me.
Fuck!
I punch the steering wheel, already feeling angry and ready to pummel the hell out of an unsuspecting shithead tonight. And I don’t think just one will do. I want to destroy them all.
“Go!”
I press down on the accelerator and we are off. As my car gains speed, and as I shift the gears, I feel the pulsing energy in me start to grow, spreading through my system, morphing into something else in me.
I snap my neck from left to right, wanting to get this shit over and done with.
“You and I both know why I had her sent away!”
Fuck that!
As we hit the third mile stretch, the fucking asshole that I’m racing decides to grow a pair. Too bad his balls are made out of his mother’s soft pansy stuff because he makes the wrong decision at the wrong fucking time.
The fucking moron I’m racing tries to slide into my lane, trying to shoulder me off the road because we’re about to encounter oncoming traffic but shit face will have to do better than that if he wants to take on the king.
I ease up just a little, shift back gears and watch as he starts losing control, and just up ahead, a ten-ton truck is speeding down the other lane, coming towards two cars that are trying to push the other into the wrong lane.
Only, it’s not going to be me.
I watch with satisfaction as he tries to swerve back into the right lane but I cut him off, forcing him to swerve back again, then I pass him, leaving him in the dust, disappointed when he is able to miss the carnage that was about to happen with the truck. Whatever, let’s go asshole.
“It was something about the way the next generation will atone for all the ‘cutting’ sins committed.”
Hell no! There is no way that letter could mean what the fuck I’m thinking right now. There is no way.
My phone lights up as it starts ringing. I glance at it, noticing that it’s Emmett trying to call. Another asshole who is trying to keep me away from my girl. He can also go fuck himself.
Just as I press down on the brake, preparing to take a sharp corner, the fucking asshole I’m racing decides to ram into me, definitely destroying the rear end of my racing car that no one knows about.
He just signed his death wish.
The last three miles are a battle of supremacy. I get the feeling that whoever is in that fucking car, knows who I am and they are just itching to beat me. Only he doesn’t know that the loser will be dragged into the Pit and restitution will be paid in blood.
And that’s just how I fucking want it tonight.
As soon I c
ross the finish line where a large crowd waits, winning the damn race right in front of a shady building that looks fucking dangerous with a rough exterior, my guys drag the asshole who just lost into the Pit and I don’t bother looking at him.
The Pit is housed by the building right in front of me. I own this building. Including the rest of the block and the clubs all the way at the front.
But no one would ever know that behind the ritzy clubs and high-end shopping stores, lies a racing circuit and an even seedier Pit for fighting. And I own every single one of these surprisingly profitable businesses.
All in preparation of something bigger. . .
“Boss, wasn’t expecting you here tonight.” Jack, one of the huge muscles I hired to watch over this place, keeping it going without a hitch, questions as he opens the private door that only I use when I visit this Pit.
“Yeah well where is the fun in that?” I question as I flex my back muscles, my knuckles ringing. I can hear him sigh behind me but I don’t fucking care. I’m too damn agitated and angry to give a fuck about anyone or anything tonight.
I don’t care what happens to me, all I know is, I have waited too long to exorcise the shit out of these demons.
Tonight, they get their due.
“Bring him out.” I mutter but he hears me.
“You sure? He seems like he has a bone to pick with you.” He warns.
Last time I heard him warn me like that, the guy I fought that night pulled a knife out on me in the ring. Too bad that knife ended up being embedded in his foot. Fucking sleeze.
“Don’t they all?” I question, pulling down my hoodie to hide my face as I move through the darkened corridors, already hearing the fired up crowd. Tonight, it’s bigger than usual. I bet the word got spread that I’m here tonight, a rare treat of violence ladies and gentleman.
This was one of the reasons I got arrested more than twice in the four years that she was away from me.
This is what I fell into when she refused to even talk about me or acknowledge me.
The adrenaline of racing. Then the addictive high of beating the shit out of an asshole. Then soon after, getting my dick wet in some girl’s mouth, trying to forget the queen that rules my life. The girl that has me by the balls.
This is what she shouldn’t know about. This is none of her concern.
I know I’m not a good guy and she knows it. Hell, she is acutely aware of the turmoil, the anguish and the hate. But I fucking swear she thinks I’m not the worst guy either.
And there is her fucking mistake.
My Blue Star.
She looked like a fucking wet dream come to life at lunch today, serving her best crude shade to Brittney. Fuck, this is going to be ugly, the results are going to be worse than ever and Astraea will be caught in the crossfire if I don’t handle Brittney and Myers.
She’s going to fucking hate me but I’ll have to fucking explain it all to her first. Dealing with Brittney is her gig after all.
“’Ladies and gentleman of the fucking PIT!” The announcer starts. “Tonight, we have a treat unlike anything you have ever seen before in a fucking while!”
The crowd goes wild. The cheering starts as soon as they spot me moving through them, heading towards the crowd with Jack behind me. Just like how he always was. But a few weeks ago, he was behind George, watching over him.
George who I failed. Whose death is now a whole other mystery now.
“You better place your bets wisely folks because you can’t fucking take it back!” The guy calls out. I look up and notice that it’s one of the managers.
“Where is Spider?” I question Jack.
Spider runs more than the ground game of investigation for me. He runs this place. You could say he is the kingpin here. He is scary as fuck and does his job well.
“On his way. He heard you are here.”
Fuck.
“Let’s get this shit started now.” I demand. Because if Spider is here, he’ll pull me away before I can do what I came to do. Mess this fucking shit up.
“You sure? Because you look like you have hell in your knuckles and the fury to match in your expressionless eyes.”
“Save the counselling sesh for your customers, Jack.” I spit out.
“Well, okay.” He says. He is a mean motherfucker but a soft teddy bear really. I know he’s only looking out for me but not tonight. Save that shit for someone else.
“You thirsty ladies, yes he is here!” The announcer shouts, looking so damn cocky because he knows his cut for tonight is about to be fat. Only he doesn’t know that his paychecks are also guaranteed by fucking me.
“Blue King!”
“Blue King!”
“Blue King!”
They scream my name. They already know it’s me who will be in that fucking ring tonight. Me, they will be dreaming about. Me they want to fuck. ME they want in their beds.
But I’m not here for them, I’m here for me.
I keep my fucking head down, feeling their slaps on my back as I move towards the ring. Hearing the catcalls from skimpy dressed girls with large tits that don’t appeal to me at all. I prefer the one set that fits in my palms perfectly, her pink rosy nipples hard as fuck as soon as I breathe in her ear.
Fuck.
Once before, I would have let one of these girls suck my dick, and I know all of them are ready to do just that. In public, in private. Doesn’t matter. So long as they suck.
“Hey handsome!”
“Cut his fucking face.”
“Can I fuck you after!”
“I can ride you so damn good.”
“You look like you could use some love.”
No shit, sweetheart but I don’t bother responding as they drag the shithead into the pit, where I stand ready for him.
I bounce in place, knowing that money is changing hands, bets are being placed. My name is being chanted like a fucking war cry.
My guys throw the asshole onto the middle of the floor and he immediately gets up and then faces me.
My entire body stills as soon as I notice who he is. He is one of the fucking guys from Sunday night, one of Myers’s guys who is hell bent on destroying the Blue Boys and being a part of the Phoenix Corps.
Interesting.
“You.” He breathes, as he notices who I am as well, his eyes widening with shock but that shake going through his body right now. That is fear. That is shock.
“Well then.” I smile a genuine smile as I look at him.
“Look man. . .” He starts pleading but it’s like a switch has been pushed in me and I immediately shut down.
I go for him like he is the reason why everything is shit in my fucking life. Like he is the reason why I constantly feel like everything and everyone is conspiring against me and mine.
I start with a round house kick to his temple and he drops to the hard ring floor like a domino, coughing and wheezing, with shock marring his face. I wait for him to get the fuck up so he can fight me like the hateful asshat he is and surprisingly he does, now with the same fire he had on Sunday night lightning in his eyes. I watch with a smirk as he fists his hands.
He is ready to fight.
Sweet.
He comes charging for me like a pitbull and I let him come with a taunting, mocking smile on my face. I know he hates me, he was quite vocal about it. Only he thinks I don’t know about it.
Or his fucking assignment in order for him and his pathetic crew to be initiated into the Corps.
As he tries to punch me, I let him get one hit in, watching as his nose flares in satisfaction but I use that momentum against him. Ducking, I punch his abs and his ribs in staccato motion, several times. As he doubles over in surprise, I push his chest up, forcing him to take it and start reigning down punches on his face.
“Ohh.” The crowd cringes as I go to work, but soon, even they fade into the dark recesses of my mind.
In my head I see my beautiful girl the day I found her. Covered in blood, unable to move from
the floor. Her broken expression that just broke me entirely. Crying out my name. I can’t get that haunting image out of my head, just like I can’t stop thinking of this fucking marriage shit with Em out of my head.
In the present, I’m being pulled away from a bloody mess on the floor that I just made out of the asshole that is planning to destroy me and my girl.
I don’t care who comes for us, we’ll always come out on top. Too bad we never seem to come out unscathed.
The next thing I know, the crowd is roaring in approval, obviously getting their money’s worth.
Another guy comes out, this time, since it’s not a knock out from the race, we exchange t-shirt fabric—just like I did with Emmett. Fucking Emmett.
I grit my teeth as I wrap half of the guy’s t-shirt on my left knuckles and the other half, my t-shirt, on my knuckles. I start bouncing in place feeling tense, knowing that my time in this ring is running out.
I study the guy I’m about to fuck up. He seems different than all the other types that come out and fight here. For one, he isn’t here for a chance to kick my ass, he actually wants a good fight. Which is why by the time the fight starts, I let him fuck my face up for a good minute, reigning down hard punches to my temple, my jaw, cutting my lip open as blood starts pouring, then my temple, definitely giving me a black eye.
I stumble away, laughing now. Yeah, that feels like it.
Then we engage again, but this time, I don’t give him breathing space. I don’t give him an inch. I go for the fucking jugular, going to fucking town on his large gait, fucking him up with my fists.
This is fair.
This is needed.
This is the fucking Pit.
Another guy comes, I fuck him up as well. Just as I did with the other asshole, letting him hit my face when we started, I let the new guy do just that. Allowing him to fall into the trap. As he realizes his mistake, I smirk, grabbing him by the throat, intending to fuck him up.
But before I can actually do anything to him, I’m being dragged away not just from him, but from the fucking ring.
“Fucking let me go, right now.” I grit through my teeth. My voice low knowing damn well that Emmett and Spider are dragging me away.
Vicious Hate (Westbrook Blues Book 2) Page 22