Page 177 of Twisted Trails
Fuck,that hurts.
Raine stumbles back a step, crashing into Isla, who shrieks like this was somehowhertrauma. He wipes at his mouth, his eyes wide and stunned like he can’t believe someone actually dared shut him up with something as primitive as consequences.
Then his eyes darken, and something savage flickers there.
Shit.
He’s taller than me, way stronger, and now he’s pissed.
I couldn’t even reach his nose—what Iwantedto hit—and now he’s going to kick my ass.
Worth it.
“You little—” Raine surges forward, but Luc jumps in front of me, Toulouse clinging to his shoulder, ready to take a piece of Raine, too, and Mason is right there beside him.
“Please,” Luc grins, tilting his head. “Comment dit-on?Ah, yes,fucking try me.”
Finn’s arm glides across my chest softly before he shoves me behind him, his other hand shaking at his side like he’s one breath from knocking Raine out himself.
“What, rookie?” Raine sneers, blood smeared on his chin as he cranes his neck to see me behind the wall of muscle. “Can dish it out but can’t take it? Pathetic.”
“Oh, I’ll show you pathetic,” I start as I try to pushforward again, but Finn holds me back, knowing if I move again, I’ll lose more than just my temper.
“That’s what I thought,” Raine mocks, then turns to Mason, spitting blood at his feet. “You really think they’ll still stand by your side when they finally figure out what you really are?”
I lift my chin. “Oh, and what’s that, Raine? Faster than you?”
Luc’s laugh is full of delight, but Mason doesn’t even blink.
“Walk away, Raine,” Finn says in a deadly tone I have never heard from him before.
“Or what?” Isaac goads.
“Or you’ll find out what it looks like when someone actually doesn’t take no for an answer.”
“Crews! Raine!” a voice yells from farther up the track. The thudding of boots on dirt follows, and then a UCI official barrels down the track, red-faced and winded. “Both of you, with me.Now.”
Fuck.
Ten minutes later, I’m sitting on a plastic chair inside the officials’ tent, the air thick with the scent of plastic and stress sweat. Mine, probably.
Raine huffs beside me, arms folded and legs sprawled, doing a damn good impression of a rock with anger management issues.
I’m trying not to bounce my knee, but it’s twitching anyway, and every second we sit here waiting, my jaw tightens more.
Behind the canvas wall, the officials are deep in murmured discussion, and I’m sure they want us to squirm. They dumped us in here—their petty detention pen—and left us to marinate in muggy air thick enough to chew.
It’s a power play.
And I fucking hate power plays.
Raine huffs again and swipes his tongue across his busted lip. He’s been doing it every thirty goddamn seconds, and when he does it again, I finally snap.
“Say what you need to say, Raine.”
“WhatIneed to say?” He turns to me, eyes hard. “I’m probably getting disqualified because of you. Seriously, are you brain dead? You don’t throw punches on official time. We could’ve handled this after the damn track walk, you dipshit.”
“Oh yeah?” I shoot back, heat crawling up my throat. “Then maybe don’t talk shitduringthe damn track walk, asshole.”
