Feuds and Reckless Fury Page 2

  It’s called coping.

  Surviving.

  Doing whatever it takes to hold onto the life you have because the alternative really fucking sucks.

  I was ten when Dad adopted me. My home life up until that point had been harsh and scary at times. Worse than any physical pain I endured was the psychological torture I went through. I was a husk—unwanted and unloved. But then, Quinn Sommers was there with his gentle smile and big heart, saving me from everything that hurt and terrified me. It was too good to be true. I didn’t want to believe it.

  I still don’t.

  It’s the only thing I can believe in, though.

  The clock is ticking away for when he’ll inevitably give me up if I don’t prove to him that I can be the good son he took in all those years ago.

  He’ll keep me when I graduate.

  I know he will.

  Yet…doubt makes me wonder.

  He’ll be married to Ryan. What if he won’t need me anymore?

  Bitterness coils in my gut like a venomous snake ready to strike. I’d been tense and ready for a fight this morning since I received a text from an unknown number. It said: You don’t belong with him. Even though it was clearly a wrong number, it got to me. All of my insecurities about being temporary in Dad’s life came roaring to the surface. Seeing Voss was like a match thrown on my resolve to behave. He was practically thrumming with pent-up rage, and I wanted nothing more than to release a little of my own.

  “Sommers!”

  I stop in front of Mr. Garrison’s door, turning to face the source of the voice. Leon ambles my way, creating a wide berth as he walks. Leon is a big-ass dude, but he’s harmless. People don’t know that, though. All they know is he rarely smiles and follows me like a shadow, which creeps them out. Something about Leon has always brought me comfort. Not much in this life has besides him and my dad.

  “Miss me, Moore?” I flash him a flirty grin just to watch his face burn crimson.

  “Ha,” he deadpans. “You have Garrison first hour?”

  “Someone has to be valedictorian. May as well be me.” I shrug, my gaze sweeping up his massive frame. A fading bruise colors one side of his face, the yellows and greens a blatant reminder of his home life. Hard. Like mine once was. “Your old man being an asshole again?”

  His features fall, emotionless, and he nods. “Same as always.”

  “Want me to kill him?” I ask, completely serious.

  At this, he lets out a derisive snort. “What’s your goofy ass gonna do?”

  I poke his stomach, knowing I sometimes get a silly bark of laughter from him, which he hates but entertains me to no end. He swats at me, but I dodge, grinning at him. “See. I got this.”

  “Dick,” he says with complete affection.

  If Leon swung my way, I would’ve begged him to fuck me two summers ago when he whipped some kid’s ass for shoving me at the movie theater. Something about his protective nature changed how I saw him. He went from friend to someone of interest. Sure, he’s not built like Voss or any of his emptyheaded football freaks, but he’s solid and big, just like I like them.

  It’s probably for the best that he’s only got eyes for one person—a girl.

  Sad thing is, she’s taken. Poor Leon will never get the chance.

  I follow him into Garrison’s trig class, eager to get to work. And by work, I mean flying through my assignment so I can think about the project in my studio. I’m working on another sculpture that I can’t seem to get right. I know if I run it through my head a few more times, I’ll work out the kinks in my design.

  I’m so focused on Garrison’s lecture, mentally working through all the equations at rapid speed, when I feel the heat of someone’s stare. Without tuning out what Garrison says, I cut my eyes to the right, surprised to see Voss. He’s sprawled out like a Greek god at his desk, softly drawing circles with his fingertips on Naomi’s back, bright blue eyes burning a hole into me.

  How did I not notice he slipped into this class?

  And since when is Voss smart enough to be in the same classroom as Naomi?

  She’s the brains, and he’s the jock. How they ever came together is still surprising as shit.

  I look down at his notebook. Empty. No notes. Fucking idiot. Because I have a death wish, I tear off a corner of my notes. Neatly, I write out the words, “Did you get lost, bro?” I crumple the note and then toss it right at him. It bounces off his ridiculously hard chest—barely hidden by a red, stretched-out Blood Gators Football T-shirt—and rolls across his desk, undetected by Garrison.

  Voss’s chilly demeanor burns hot and violent as he tears his stare away from me to unwrap the note. His hands are massive and capable, used to deftly grabbing the football straight from the air as the school’s star receiver.

  Anticipation ripples through me as I eagerly wait for him to get my message. Seeing him lose his shit this morning before class was empowering. Now that his façade has a huge crack in it, I crave to exploit the man he has hidden beneath.

  As he reads the note, I admire his profile. I may hate the guy, but it doesn’t change the fact he’s hot as fuck. His jawline is sharp and seemingly chiseled from stone. I move my eyes from his jaw to his throat, where his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. The note gets crumpled into his fist, causing veins to pop up in his muscular forearm. I’d love to see his fist wrapped around something else, like his dick. My fantasies are often destructive ones. Thinking about your soon-to-be stepbrother whacking off is pretty fucked up.

  I’m supposed to be normal.

  He'll keep me around long after I graduate.

  Shit.

  Too late now.

  I’ve already poked the beast, and judging by the way his entire powerful body tightens with fury, I’d say I’ve done it now.

  He can’t attack me in class.

  Garrison would destroy him.

  Voss is a lot of things, but being careless isn’t usually one of them.

  Just as I assumed, his blue eyes slice my way, burning through my chest like lasers. An evil smirk tugs up one corner of his full lips. It’s filled with the promise of devious intent. He turns his attention from me and goes back to lazily drawing things on his girlfriend’s back. My breath finally rushes out after a few uneventful moments.

  That was anticlimactic.

  I expected anything but to be ignored.

  Garrison says something that grabs my attention, and my mind is back to unraveling calculations to the problems he’s explaining on the board. Canyon Voss may have gotten lost on his way to jock math and ended up in here with the brainiacs of the school, but I’ll be damned if I let him distract me from my perfect record.

  Dad loves when I make straight As.

  Everything I do is for Dad.

  Voss can go to hell.

  I’m pissed by the time I get to lunch midway through the day. That motherfucker has somehow managed to get into every damn class of mine so far. How I’m unsure, but I want to wrap my hands around his corded with muscle neck so I can choke the life out of him.

  Leon is already sitting at our usual place by the time I make it out of the lunch line. I stride over, throwing myself into the chair next to him. His lunch tray is piled high with all kinds of shit he’s steadily making his way through.

  “You notice anything weird?” I ask Leon, grimacing at the way he inhales his fries like they might walk off his plate if he doesn’t hurry.

  “That Canyon Voss has infiltrated all our classes?”

  I let out a rush of relieved breath. “Yes. Fuck. I thought I was the only one to notice.”

  Leon bristles. Of course, he would notice. Naomi is in all the classes with us—always has been—but now her boyfriend is in the way. Leon can’t openly stare at her the whole hour, fantasizing about the two of them, because now Voss meets him with a challenging glare that warns him to look away.

  “He’s just trying to get to me,” I mutter, though I’m not sure if that’s really the reason or no
t. “Guess you heard about this morning?”

  Leon grunts. “That he almost kicked your ass? Yeah.”

  “It was a mutual almost ass-kicking,” I argue. “His stupid head almost met my violin case.”

  He laughs, the sound deep and rumbly. “I would’ve paid money to see that shit.”

  “How much you got?” I waggle my brows at him.

  “You take IOUs?”

  “Yeah,” I say with a wide grin and rise to my feet as Voss enters the lunchroom with Naomi tucked against his side. “Here goes round two.”

  I grab for my violin case, but Leon’s massive hand grips my arm, dragging me back down.

  “Don’t be an idiot.” Leon sighs as though being my friend takes incredible effort. “He’ll kill you.”

  “Like my beloved would ever allow that?” I waggle my brows at him, flashing him a grin that’s been pretty successful in me getting my dick sucked whenever I want it.

  All it does is have Leon turning bright red with embarrassment. Where my relentless flirting started as hope that I’d turn a straight man gay, it’s evolved into purely for entertainment two years later. He’ll never give in, but I give him shit like I can convince him.

  “I should let you get your ass kicked,” Leon warns, shooting me a dark look. “You kind of deserve it for being such a shithead.”

  “You’re the only one who gets to see the real shithead. Consider it an honor.”

  We rib each other back and forth as we eat our lunch. I’m finishing off my grilled chicken wrap when I feel someone’s attention on me.

  Canyon Voss.

  From two tables over, his blue eyes pin me like I’m an opponent on the damn football field he can easily tackle.

  I flip him off because I don’t play his stupid games.

  I’m certainly not intimidated by him.

  His friend Damon howls in laughter, pointing my way. When Naomi’s dark eyes find what he’s entertained by, she frowns. Leon elbows me hard enough to have me rubbing the side of my arm, no longer interested in antagonizing Voss.

  “What the fuck, man?” I growl, shooting Leon a death glare.

  “Don’t.”

  “You’re joining the Canyon Cult now?”

  “Don’t be an idiot.”

  I clench my jaw, keeping cruel words locked inside my mouth. Leon’s so obsessed with Naomi that he doesn’t always think straight. Letting our argument fade because it’s pointless when she somehow threads herself into it, I rise to my feet and pat Leon on the top of his head.

  “See you in class, honey.”

  “Fuck off, Sommers.”

  “Only if we do it together,” I taunt, grinning at my friend. “Naked.”

  His once again bright red face is enough retribution for the elbow to my arm.

  I grab my violin case and bag, heading out of the lunchroom. As I pass by Voss’s table, I swing my case up and lift a brow in question at him.

  Round two?

  This time I won’t miss that big-ass head of yours.

  Canyon

  The surprise written on Alis’s face was worth all the effort to get my schedule changed to match his. Even though I’m on the outs with my dad, it doesn’t stop me from using his connections to get what I want. The school counselor, Mrs. Rawlins, is married to one of Dad’s colleagues. All it took was some name-dropping and a little begging over the phone this morning before I left to pick up Naomi and Paige to get what I wanted.

  It’s not that I can’t handle all the AP classes. Normally, my schedule is overloaded by football, and Coach has hinted that we should take the easiest load possible. Go Blood Gators. All brawn and no brains if Coach has his way. If we aren’t killing ourselves with homework, it leaves more time to practice.

  This summer, everything changed.

  Football is no longer something I live and breathe for. When Dad and I were close, it was our thing. Now that he betrayed our family, I loathe the sport. Getting revenge through whatever means necessary is my new sport.

  Seeing the shocked expression on Alis’s face in first hour was enough to make it all worth it. The surprise then transformed into irritation and finally anger once he realized we share five classes and lunch together. The only escape he got from me was orchestra since I can’t play an instrument to save my life, and the last hour of the day, which is reserved for sports.

  I text my sister on the way to the locker room to change out for football practice.

  Me: Was Sommers pissed?

  Carrie: Enough to give up first chair violin? No.

  I smirk at the thought of Carrie pouting. She’s really good at the violin, but of course, she’s nowhere near Alister’s senior-level, given that she’s only a sophomore. It gives me satisfaction, though, that he’ll have to stay on his toes to be the best because she practices endlessly and aspires to crush him when it comes to that dumb instrument.

  Me: Give me a week. He’ll be so distracted, he’ll fuck up. First chair will be yours.

  Carrie: You’re evil. He’s going to be our brother soon. Probably not smart to terrorize the poor guy.

  I roll my eyes as I set my bag down.

  Me: He’ll never be our brother. He’s just the kid of the guy Dad’s been dicking down for fuck knows how long.

  She sends me a bunch of vomit emojis. I toss my phone into my bag and then proceed to change into my gear.

  For the next hour, Coach runs our asses ragged on the field. I go through the motions, no longer burning with the desire to be the best in this sport. When I fumble on one of Damon’s passes, I get reamed by Coach and half the team.

  They’re all glowering at me, throwing barbs my way, when I feel someone else’s stare on me. As though I have a talent for finding Alis, my eyes lock on his dark brown ones. He’s standing on the track, stretching, as his teammates sprint.

  Coach bellows at me to sit my ass down on the bench. Ignoring his rage, I stalk over to the bench and stand beside it, my stare never leaving my enemy as I guzzle down some water. Alis scratches his middle finger into his bleached hair, a provoking smirk on his face. Then, his coach points for him to get into position.

  The coach blows the whistle, and five guys take off in a sprint. Alis easily outruns them all as though they’re no competition for his conceited ass. Something about his arrogance pisses me off. I toss my red helmet into the grass and strut over to the track. The track coach, Coach Davies, frowns at me.

  “Need something, Voss?”

  “One hundred meters?” I ask, nodding in the direction the sprinters just ran.

  “Yep.”

  “What’s the best time?”

  “Twelve seconds.”

  “Time me.” I crack my neck and grin at him. “I want to see if I can beat it.”

  He glances past me in confusion, where Damon is hollering at me to get back on the field. “Your team is looking for you, son.”

  “They can wait.”

  “Are you going to take off your gear?”

  I laugh, earning a few confused stares. “Nope.”

  Coach Davies rolls his eyes but motions for me to step into place. “Get in position.”

  Mimicking the way the runners started out before, I ready myself.

  “Those cleats are going to slow you down,” Davies warns.

  “Just blow the whistle, man.”

  He sighs, and the sharp, piercing sound signifies my start. Just like in football, I race as hard as I can, as though I’m going to catch the ball and carry it into the end zone. Instead of a ball, though, I lock my eyes on Alis’s stunned face. I whiz past where he’s standing and slow once I’ve crossed the finish line.

  Davis trots up to me a moment later, his eyes wide with awe. “Well, I’ll be damned, Voss. Eleven point six seconds. In full gear, no less.”

  Alis’s glare could melt glaciers. He’s pissed, and it has me feeling as though I’ve rankled him like I set out to do. I know he’s used to being number one in everything he does, but that was before I decided I wa
nted that number. I’ll enjoy tearing away every proverbial trophy from his grip and making them my own.

  “I beat Sommers?” I ask, panting as a grin spreads across my face. “Is that good?”

  “Hell yeah,” Davies crows, playfully shaking Alis by the shoulders. “This guy could run for the Olympics one day, and you just blew his time out of the water.”

  “No shit?”

  “Language,” Davies chides, but he’s still smiling like an idiot. “You thinking of quitting that useless game over there?”

  I know he’s joking, but it stirs something in my gut. Beating Alister in his sport was the highlight of my day. Football sure as fuck wasn’t.

  “Actually,” I say with a shrug. “I was thinking about it. I bet I could shave some time off without my cleats on.”

  “Go to hell, Voss,” Alis snaps, his body thrumming with rage.

  Already there, asshole.

  Our dads sent me there that night on the boat.

  “Be a good sport,” Davies chastises, misunderstanding Alis’s anger. “He’d be a good addition this year for our team. Sommers, wait—”

  Alis storms off, ignoring his coach. I shrug as though I don’t understand his fury.

  “He’ll come around,” Davies assures me with a sigh. “He’s not used to having to try too hard. This’ll give him the incentive he needs.” He gestures to the football field. “Need me to talk to your coach?”

  “Nah, I’ll tell him myself.” I lift my chin at Davies and then saunter back over to where my team is staring at me. I walk right up to Coach Healy and lean in to whisper words that feel really fucking good to say. “I quit.”

  His string of curses echoes behind me all the way to the locker room.

  I can’t wait for Dad to find out.

  After a quick shower to avoid my pissed-off teammates, I grab my black and red Blood Gators bag and exit the locker room. Naomi and our sisters are waiting for me. Ignoring the younger two, I pull Naomi to me and plant a kiss on her lips.

  “Missed you,” I murmur against her lips.

  “You can go a few hours without seeing me.”

  “Says who?”

  She rolls her eyes and pushes me away from her. “Let’s go. I have to get to work.”