No Limits (Stacked Deck Book 5)

by Emilia Finn

  Tuck’s eyes come back to mine. “That’s her man. It doesn’t matter if you like it or not. And it doesn’t matter if you think the universe has turned all divine and shit and she’s supposed to be yours. For as long as she goes to him, for as long as she’s unharmed, you need to stay the fuck away.”

  “So we wait for him to hurt her?” I snap. “Reactive, rather than proactive?”

  “Jesus, Bry. She ain’t your damsel.”

  “Morris!” Manda’s voice cuts through a lot of the noise surrounding us. “Twenty seconds.” She waves him toward her. “If your front wheel ain’t on the line, you forfeit.”

  “Fuck.” Tuck looks to me and grits out, “leave her be. Let me finish my race before you force me into a war I didn’t start.”

  “I never tell you to wade in, moron. You throw yourself in, then claim to be a victim when it’s all done. Go!” I wave him forward. “You’re about to get yourself onto Manda’s shit-list. You don’t want that heat.”

  Tuck knows I have no qualms about fighting. He knows I have a thing for saving damsels. He knows a hell of a lot about me that most others don’t. But he can’t forfeit a race. It’s against his religion or something.

  “Ugh!” He flips his visor back down and revs his bike. “Wait for me, motherfucker.”

  Then he takes off with a roar, skids to the line with so much speed that Manda skips back a step and eyes him with a dangerous, lifted brow, but then I forget about him as I go back to staring at Maddi’s ass while she leans into Price’s car.

  I’d give almost anything to hear what they’re saying. I’d give even more to be able to hear what she’s thinking.

  The girl in the hot lane stands between Tuck and his competitor. She raises her hand high in the sky, taunts the racers with a little wiggle and a grin. The bikes rev so loud that it’s impossible to speak. Impossible to hear the radio. Tuck sits atop his dirt bike with his head and shoulders down low. His eyes pointing straight ahead as he studies the flat he’s about to hurtle along with nothing for safety except a helmet.

  Then the woman drops her hand.

  They take off with a scream, engine versus engine, but one is a street bike made for racing; the other was once a frame and a broken engine left in the trash. One was bought with a trust fund, and the other was built on blood, sweat, and hard fucking work.

  I try to keep one eye on Maddi, and one on Tuck. But she’s not bent into Price’s car anymore. It’s too loud, too much adrenaline, too much excitement.

  She rests back on her heels, drops her hands into her back pockets, and while Tuck tears up the track and leaves the other guy in his dust, I watch Maddi.

  Her tight jeans, the sparkling pretties on her back pockets. She wears sneakers, black, with green camo stripes, and a top that matches. Her hair dangles to the middle of her back, though those gentle curls pull it up a little.

  She watches Tuck, her eyes glued to the bikes, and in the car, Price studies me in the rearview mirror.

  Busted.

  I was staring at what’s his, and he knows it.

  His eyes bore straight into mine, but because I get off on being a prick, I reach up and readjust my hat.

  I didn’t arrive here tonight with it. But I have it now. And I wonder… does he know his girl held onto it for me? Does he know she went out of her way to bring it tonight?

  When his eyes narrow, I fix it on straight and flash a grin that screams, “Fuck you.”

  I don’t hear anything, I can’t over the bikes and the shouts of everyone around us, but Maddi hears something. She hears him. Because her gaze whips to the left with a fast jolt. Now she’s in profile, her angular face, her almost elvish ears, and her perky nose. She doesn’t smile for him, but I remember the shape her lips make when she’s happy.

  She’s never given me that look. But I’ve seen it.

  She leans closer as the bikes circle around and come closer. They get noisier, their movements create a type of vibration in the air, so she leans in, in, in further, until without warning, he throws his arm across the passenger seat and snags her wrist. He pulls her in until her hips smack against the doorframe.

  And I officially stop giving a fuck about Tuck’s warning.

  I snatch my keys from the ignition, and fly out of my car. I sprint to where she stands and, leaning into the window space, surprise them both when I jam my too-large body into the small opening, I slam my fist against his jaw in a fast one-two pump that jacks his face back, and his head smacks against the opposite window. I grab the hand that remains around Maddi’s wrist, wrench his thumb back until it pops and he screams, then I pull her out and place her behind me while I wait.

  I wait for him. I keep one hand on her hip to hold her back, an eye on our suddenly watchful audience, and when his door opens, I hold her extra tight because I feel like she’s going to run to him and beat him to shit for hurting her.

  Or, worse, she’ll run to him and tend to his fucked-up face.

  “Bryan,” she hisses among the shouted cheers for a fight. “Stop it, right now.”

  “Nope.” I adjust our angle when he comes around the back of his car and to the side we stand on. Blood pours from his bent nose, it dribbles over his chin, and drops to his chest and designer shirt. “Stay put,” I warn her. “Don’t you dare step out.”

  “Bryan!” she shouts. “You need to stop it.”

  “I said no.”

  I have barely enough pockets in my brain to compartmentalize everything happening around me. Madilyn, the rowdy crowd, the cars, and Tuck’s race. The darkness, the roaring engines, the shouting onlookers. It’s sensory overload, but I’ve trained my whole fucking life not to punk out just because something seems hard.

  I keep an eye on the people closest to us, to make sure none get it in their head to snatch Maddi away while my back is turned. But I also watch Jackson, the way he positions his feet, his hands. He covers his face with balled fists, lifts his shoulders the way everyone in my gym does as they step up to fight.

  “Madilyn!” His voice is nasally, whiny, as he points to his shoes. “Come here.”

  “She ain’t a fuckin’ dog, Price. That was your second mistake. The first was grabbing her arm and hurting her.”

  “Fuck you, trash!” Blood spurts to the ground between us. “Madilyn. Come here!”

  “Bryan.” She tries to step around me. “You need to stop.”

  “You are stupid if you think I’m letting you walk your ass over there.” I yank her back, and become no better than him.

  That dilemma hurts me. Because I’m not supposed to order her around. I’m not supposed to do shit.

  I look to Jackson. “Come at me, Price.”

  On my right, Tuck sprints through the crowd. He bowls people over with his momentum, and when he emerges into the small clearing, he catches Maddi when I toss her at him.

  “Let’s go, Price. Fight me for her, motherfucker. You suck on the track. You suck in a fight. But who knows, maybe risking something a little more valuable will get you moving faster.”

  “Bryan!” Maddi shouts. “I’m not a car. I’m not a dog. I’m not a fucking thing that you can bet.”

  I look into Jackson’s eyes and smile. “You scared she’ll see you can’t protect her? That’s our job, ain’t it? We gotta hunt, we gotta provide, and we gotta protect. That’s three strikes, pussy. Bet you can’t fuck, either.”

  He runs at me with a battle cry. He announces his moves, screeches his hatred, and because he’s such a shitty fucking fighter, he barely notices the way I step to my left.

  Instead of jumping out of the way, I swing back in and slam my knee up to rearrange his ribs. With a fist to the back of his head, I throw him to the ground and spin as he lands with a painful exhalation. I follow him straight down, and take guard with a sneaky elbow to his cheekbone as I go. I slam my fist over his jaw. One, two, three, with more venom than I should for an unsanctioned fight.

  In a tournament, I’m allowed to hit until they’re unco
nscious, or the buzzer sounds.

  Here, I’m gonna go to prison if I take it too far.

  Some spectators scream their support, others take it upon themselves to start brawling too.

  But Jackson’s not a complete eunuch.

  He bridges high, shoves me forward so I’m forced to use my hands to catch my weight or risk plowing face first into the dirt, then he flips us and swaps our positions. His fists rain down over my jaw – he’s been trained too.

  The difference is, I was born for this.

  I push his arms out of the way. I eat a couple jabs, and shove his arms to the side until he loses his balance, then I roll to my left and scissor up until he thumps to his back.

  “Stop it!” Maddi’s voice is a screech. She’s the cliché screaming chick at a fight as she tries to wade closer – Where the fuck is Tuck? – and risks a fist to the face for her troubles.

  Jackson and I grapple, we roll on the dirt, and grunt each time one of us gets a shot in. My hat flips off with a loud thump, and the blood from his face transfers to my fists.

  “You don’t boss women around!” I hit him. Time and time again, I smash my fist over his jaw and revel in the way he bleeds. “You don’t hurt women! You don’t speak to them like shit!” I push up off his lap, only to drop down again and dig my knee into his gut.

  “Bryan!” Maddi cries. “Stop it.” She tries to grab my arms, tries to pull me away, but I shove her back and use the wind-up to slam a fist against Jackson’s jaw. “Bry!”

  “Bryan.” Tucker’s voice roars through the buzzing of the crowd. Instead of begging me to stop, he runs at us and crashes into my side with a heavy thud. He knocks me off Jackson, and sends me rolling six feet to the right.

  My body knows how to correct course. It knows to flip to my feet and prepare to run in again, but all I see is Maddi on the ground, scuffed jeans with holes on her knees. She sits back now with her hands resting behind her, her chest heaving, and her eyes… tear-filled.

  “Aw, shit.”

  “Go to her!” Tuck stands between me and Price, and when Jackson tries to use my distraction to run at me, Tuck only spins and slams him back to the ground. He drops a knee to the middle of Jackson’s chest, and a hand to his throat. Then he looks to me and snaps, “Go, Bry! Now.”

  “Cops!”

  The alarm goes up a mere second before the sound of sirens fill the air. Fighters, racers, cheer girls and the like, our crowd scrambles as red and blue lights fill the dark sky.

  Five hundred people scatter like bugs.

  I sprint to Maddi, and scoop her up from the ground with an easy swing. She cries out from my rough hands, but adrenaline carries me, and masks how much strength I’m using when I touch her.

  I set her on her feet, and wrap my arm around her hips. Then I run. I force her to sprint to keep up.

  Straight to my car, I shove her into the passenger seat without a care for how rough I’m being. One, two, three cop cars rush toward our crowd, and skid on the dirt.

  And maybe I know who the cops are. I know who their families are. But I will never admit to them or anyone else that I was here.

  I slam Maddi’s door shut and dart around to my side. Sliding in, I shove the keys into the ignition and switch the Camaro on. Clutch down, first gear, I release the pedal and ignore Maddi’s scream when we take off with a roar.

  The spotlights above bother my eyes.

  “My hat?”

  Panic slams through my gut at my loss, but Maddi thrusts it into my lap in an instant.

  “Here.” Her hands shake. “I picked it up.”

  “Thanks.” I slap it onto my head, and when another car slides into my way, I change gears and skim around the Mercedes with barely an inch between their car and mine.

  Maddi screams. She jerks around in her seat, squishes herself smaller, like that’ll help us squeeze through small gaps. She lifts her feet to the seat, wraps her arms around her knees. And each time I turn, she almost slides into my lap.

  “Seatbelt.”

  She does nothing. Frozen from fear. Frozen from indecision.

  “Madilyn!” I reach across her and tug the seatbelt around. “Put this shit on. Now.”

  She snatches it from my hand and works on jamming it into the clasp. “Put your seatbelt on, Bry.”

  She smacks my shoulder as I slip through a tiny gap between cars and spin my wheels as we leave dirt and gain traction on the tar road.

  “Bryan!” She hits me. Over and over and over again. “Bryan! Seatbelt.”

  I reach over my shoulder when I pull ahead of most of the people escaping the tracks. When the road is mostly clear and I have a second to not have to think about dodging bodies and cars, I pull my seatbelt over my torso and clip it in.

  “Happy?” I grit out.

  My hands are bloody. My knuckles swelling and stiffening as I wrap my fingers around the steering wheel.

  “Oh god.” In the darkness, Maddi hugs her knees, and chants. “Oh god, oh god, oh god.”

  “Relax. You’re fine.”

  “Oh god, oh god. Bryan!” Her voice cracks on tears. “Why do you have to taunt him? Why do you insist on fighting him?”

  “He hurt you.” I expected being questioned on this would make me shout. But my voice is calm. Eerily calm. “He hurt your arm, Madilyn. He hurt your hips. And he tried to force you into his car.”

  “Oh, you mean how you forced me into yours?!” She thrusts a hand forward, as though to show me my car.

  “Not the same thing,” I rumble. “I was saving you from a piece of shit boyfriend.”

  Finally, we pull onto a side road, more dirt, but I know it leads around the outside of town, so I slow my speed and act like the raid at Piper’s Lane has absolutely nothing to do with me.

  “You need to get the fuck out of that relationship, Madilyn. Unless being the battered wife of an angry corporate fuckstick is your jam.”

  “You need to mind your own business,” she growls. “You don’t know anything about me or my life.”

  “I know you’re a repressed woman that has no clue who she is in her life. I know you work at a company that doesn’t suit you. I know you wear clothes that you hate.”

  Her eyes snap down to her jeans. “I love my clothes!”

  “Uh huh. The jeans and sneakers; that’s you. You look good tonight, by the way. But the skirt suits, the sensible twisty bun in your hair, the high heels…”

  “I like heels.”

  I bark out a loud laugh that makes her jump. “I bet you like wearing heels to feel sexy. But not to feel smart. You don’t like the office heels.” I turn to her in the dark and stare into her eyes. “Betcha.”

  In answer, she turns away, studies the darkness outside, and lifts her stubborn chin.

  The adrenaline that slides through my blood makes me laugh. And that laugh comes out broken and squeaked.

  Finally, with enough distance between us and Piper’s Lane, I manage to sit back in my seat and take a breath. Then when I remember, I dig a hand into my pocket and toss my phone into Maddi’s lap. “Text Tuck for me. Ask him where he’s at.”

  Frowning, she lifts my phone and slowly slides her finger over the screen. A picture of me, my sister, and my niece stare back at us.

  Iowa who? He isn’t needed for me to enjoy the women in my life.

  “I don’t know the password,” she croaks out.

  “Zero-seven-zero-four-one-five.”

  She follows my instructions, nods when it unlocks, then I watch from the corner of my eyes as she moves to the text app and searches for Tuck’s name.

  Her fingers fly over the touchscreen without hesitation, she types out the question and hits send. Then, setting the phone on her thigh, she sits back until her head rests on the seat, and closes her eyes as she lets out a heaving sigh.

  “You okay?”

  Her eyes remain closed. “Just… processing, I guess.”

  “Processing how to quit your job, your relationship, and your life? Because
I could probably help if you need pointers.”

  “No. Shut up,” she huffs. “I like my job. Just because it’s not something you would like doesn’t mean others can’t.”

  “I’m not saying you can’t be a PR chick somewhere else. I’m just saying you don’t wanna do it for Monaco.”

  “I love Monaco.” Her brows pull close. “It’s a company to be proud of.”

  “Madilyn?” I reach across, just to be a prick, and stroke a finger along the outer shell of her ear. “Beautiful?”

  Slowly, she turns and opens her eyes.

  “What’s an intake manifold?”

  Her eyes narrow to slits. “Was that even English?”

  I chuckle and turn back to study the dark road. “Monaco manufactures those, but okay. You keep trying to sell products you know nothing about.”

  My phone dings in Maddi’s lap and illuminates the dark car interior. Picking it up with shaking hands, Maddi only has to read the lock screen.

  “He said he’s out. He’s fine. And to…” She hesitates. Clears her throat. “Um… he said to stop being Tarzan. Release your Jane.”

  I slow at a gentle bend that will bring us close to my estate. “He said Tarzan and Jane?”

  She nods. “I read it word for word. Also, there’s another text, from an Uncle Alex.”

  My chest bounces with muted laughter. Uncle Alex is gonna raid my home in the dead of night soon. He’s going to arrest me, lock me up, and explain to my mom why he had to arrest family. “Yeah? What does it say?”

  “It says ‘I saw you, asswipe’.”

  “Oops.”

  Gritted teeth, I accept my phone back and slide it into my pocket as I pull up at the gates that shield my family’s estate. Winding my window down, I swipe my access card over the security box, and roll forward when the gates open inward to allow us entry.

  “Uncle Alex is big mad,” I chuckle. “He’s gonna snitch to my mom and get us all grounded.”

  Maddi

  Tarzan Holler

  “Come on.” He pulls into a driveway at the top of a little street that stretches out between a row of homes. Seven houses, by my count, three on each side, and one at the top overlooking the rest.