Asshole.
Miss Harper leans against the corner of her desk, her arms crossed over her chest and that stoic scowl filled with venom. “Is that your name at the bottom?”
I flip over to the last page and find my name at the bottom, right where I’d originally put it. “Yes, that’s my name, but—”
“Did you submit those papers?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then it’s your essay,” she says, cutting me off.
“I swear,” I tell her. “I wrote about the trials and hardships of entering a world that I was unfamiliar with, not some asshole who lives next door. Please, you have to believe me. I didn’t write this shit. I wouldn’t. My grade—”
Anger blooms through her stare. “Get out of my classroom, Miss Ashford,” she snaps, pushing off the edge of her desk. “I do not tolerate that type of language. If you wish to discuss your essay and your grade, then you may do so in your own time. Right now, I have a class to teach.”
Well, fuck.
Tanner Morgan is going to die.
Making my way back to my desk, I collect my things, my glare slicing across the room and landing on Tanner’s. His elbows are propped against his desk as he braces his chin in his palm, using his fingers to cover his stupid smirk. Rage boils through me, and I know without a doubt that his bitch ass is going to get the full wrath of Brielle Ashford, but it’s going to have to wait until I can get him alone.
Fuck, I don’t know if I want to rage at him or have a deep conversation about what I’ve learned of Colby.
“Dead to me,” I tell him, my voice low and full of venom, letting him know just how serious I am about this.
His fingers roam over the soft stubble lining his sharp jaw, and his eyes sparkle with the challenge. “Do your worst, Killjoy,” he spits, ready to tear me to shreds, “but remember, I bite back.”
Chapter 23
TANNER
Hudson loops the heavy chain around the tow ball of Logan’s new Dodge RAM as the fucker hangs out the driver’s window, his hand belting down on the side of his truck and a stupid fucking grin across his face. “Ain’t no way you can beat me,” he yells to Jax as Hudson grabs the opposite end of the chain and loops it around the tow ball of Jax’s new Chevrolet Silverado. “You’re a little bitch. You can’t handle that.”
“That’s some big talk for such a little guy.”
I roll my eyes. Neither of them are little. Not even close. “We’re twins, dickhead,” Logan fires back, the smirk on his lips worrying me. “If I’m little, then you’re little.”
“Have you not seen these gains?” Jax roars, his voice traveling right down the street. “I’m a fucking beast.”
“This isn’t going to end well,” Riley murmurs at my side, his gaze settled on Hudson as he checks the chain firmly secured between the two tow balls, and that nobody is going to end up in the hospital, again. The twins tried a stunt like this before, only last time it was with Logan’s Camaro and Addison’s brand-new, cherry red Maserati convertible. The only issue was that neither of the cars had a tow ball and the boys had to be creative. It’s a shame they’re both fucking idiots and their version of being creative meant that everyone around them was suddenly in the fire zone. Which is exactly what happened when the whole bumper of Addie’s Maserati flew off and took Riley out. He spent three nights in the hospital and his mom busted our asses.
Fuck, Addie was pissed when she found out what we’d done. She had to drive my Mustang around until hers got out of the shop, and she wasn’t impressed.
Jax and Logan turn eighteen in a few weeks, and with their father out of town again, he couldn’t resist earning their affection with another bullshit gift that means absolutely nothing to them. But hell, they’ll have fun with the trucks until they inevitably destroy them. Looking at them now, that won’t take long.
“Your bitch ass ready?” Jax hollers out his window.
“Who you calling a fucking bitch?”
Fucking hell. “Just get on with it,” I call back, needing this shit over and done with before my mom comes speeding down the street and puts an end to it and we never get a chance to put this to rest. The twins have been at each other’s throats all day, comparing their trucks and insisting that theirs is more powerful than the other. I honestly should have seen this coming, but I’ve been distracted by the little fireball who’s made her way around school all day with a stick stuck right up her ass.
Bri is fucking pissed, and rightfully so after the way I stormed into her room and told her that she was partly at fault for Addison’s attack because she didn’t spread her legs enough. I’ve felt sick about that comment for the last three days. I couldn’t even face her today. I need to apologize. I was angry and behavior like that doesn’t fly with me. I’m a fucking ass, but yet every time I find the nerve to fall to my knees and beg for forgiveness, I remember how she defended that motherfucker. She thinks I’m blindly accusing her ex of raping my sister, as though I’m just some jealous, insecure asshole trying to alienate her from the people around her. I can’t wrap my head around it.
“Call it, Bellamy,” Logan roars, settling back into his seat, more than ready to smash his twin brother.
“Alright,” Hudson calls out. “You assholes ready?”
Both their supercharged engines rumble in response and I shake my head. The trucks are so evenly matched in power that it’s going to come down to who’s the better driver, and in this case, Logan’s got it in the bag. There’s no matching him behind the wheel unless I’m the one driving. The asshole has been sour about it for two long years. I don’t remember when he finally gave up, but he eventually did. There’s just no beating me on the track. I go in for the kill every single time, no matter what odds are against me.
“In three,” Hudson roars. “Two. One.”
The twins hit the gas, their feet slamming down flat to the ground as their engines roar, snapping the chain tight between them in an epic game of tug-of-war. The trucks jump and groan, rubber burning against the road as smoke billows beneath them.
Jax gives it his all, trying to get the upper hand but Logan is playing with him. He has a gift of reading his opponent, and with the close bond between them, he reads Jax as easily as if he were speaking the words directly into his mind.
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU IDIOTS DOING?” a high-pitched screech comes from behind us.
My head whips around to find Killjoy gaping at us, her essay locked tightly between her fingers. I immediately look back at the trucks, not because I don’t want to spend every waking minute gaping at how fucking gorgeous she is, but because every time I look at her, I remember what I said to her and I feel sick.
“Hey, babe,” Riley says, practically drooling as he moves closer, draping a heavy arm over her shoulder and pulling her into his side. Not going to lie, I thought his hard-on would have eased by now, especially after learning what we know about her relationship with Colby, but it only seems to be getting worse, and damn it, it grates on my every last nerve. “Come chill with us,” he says, dragging her forward and putting her right next to me. “Jax is about to get his ass handed to him.”