Page 70 of Fire Fight

When I get nearer to my car, I understand why. There’s a giant cricket-bat-shaped dent in the driver’s side fender and I run my hand over the damage, wincing at the raw metal exposed through the battered paintjob.

Arnold’s going to love this.

The first week I had the car, I scraped the side on an exposed branch down by the jetty. Just a surface scratch that easily buffed out, but the veins on his temple throbbed when he saw it; hands screwed into fists.

I would happily direct his anger towards Hudson, but it would come bouncing back to me soon enough.

And it is my fault. I misjudged.

I didn’t think he had the balls for retaliation.

With the door open to let out the heat, I rest in the back seat, a dull pulse beating in my temple.

It was a stupid idea to come here. An attempt to chalk up a petty victory, reminding Cadence I’ve always got eyes on her when the last thing I want to see is her and Hudson.

The run-in with Harriet topped that off with bitter icing. My ears echo with the memory of Cadence’s cry—I was trying to help—and the world feels far too big and far too close.

My parking spot is near the rear gate to school, and I hear some kids mucking around on the other side, laughing andteasing. I tug my hair to ease the tension in my scalp, shoulders tensing when I hear a brief cry. A girl.

I sit up, frowning at the metal gate and the block wall. There aren’t any handy spots to see through to the other side.

Soft voices resume but now I’m listening, there’s an undercurrent of menace.

Not your problem.

But I get to my feet, slamming the rear door forcefully, the loud noise echoing in the near empty parking lot.

Silence follows, then I hear another soft cry. A mumbling plea. “Get your hands off me.”

The recognisable voice cracks through the sounds from the game. My hairs stand on end, pulse thrumming loud in my ears.

In a second, I’ve leapt at the gate, getting my arms across the top and swinging my right leg over, straddling the metal panels.

Fury blazes through me at the sight of Cadence as she stands below me, fighting off two boys nearer my height than hers.

My rage ignites in a surge of bloodlust larger than anything I’ve felt before.

These fuckers don’t just need to be stopped.

They need topay.

The choppy sound of her breathing propels me into further action, swinging my left leg over, launching myself at the nearest attacker with a roar.

My full weight slams into him, collapsing us both to the ground. Rolling. Scrapping for an advantage. Wham and my elbow snaps into his ribs. Air huffs from his lungs.

He sags and I punch his face, smashing his nose. Cartilage creaks, blood spraying. My knuckles bruise against his eyes socket, cut open on his teeth.

I jump to my feet and his friend rushes me. A lucky swing crushes his windpipe. My heel stomps his ankle as he falls tohis knees—crack—and a scream whistles through his collapsing airway, fingers scrabbling at his throat.

“Here,” I toss the keys to Cadence, then boost her over the fence. “Parking space just behind you,” I yell before a fist crunches into my ribs. Another blow smashes my ear, drawing me back to the fight.

I elbow one attacker in the stomach, fist up to break his nose, then thrust the other against the gate, forearm crushed against his throat.

Two against one means nothing when my opponents are soft handed and soft arsed, more used to fighting on a console than in real life.

When I pull back, he sucks in a gulp of air. “Let me go, man. She’s Hudson’s pick for the bingo card. We were just trying our luck.”

I instantly grasp his meaning. “You did this for money?”

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