Page 40 of My Fault

It happened so quickly, no one saw it coming. His fist struck Ronnie’s jaw with such force, he laid him out over the hood of his car.

Fists started flying all around me. The two gangs were going at it, and now I was in the middle of that inferno. Someone hit me from behind, and I fell face-first on the ground, scratching my knees and hands.

“Noah!” Jenna shouted, kneeling to help me get up.

They were fighting like their lives depended on it. I was in a panic. There were more than fifty muscular, scary guys there throwing blows.

Someone grabbed my arm and pulled Jenna and me away at the same time. It was Lion. His face looked stony and determined. His lip was bleeding. He spit on the ground as he struggled to get us out.

“Get in there and lock your doors,” he said, pointing at Nick’s SUV.

Lion hopped in the driver’s seat and pulled out, coming to a stop where Nick was beating on a now-disoriented Ronnie.

“Nick!” he shouted as loudly as possible, making himself heard over the group of men fighting and falling.

Nick punched Ronnie one more time in the stomach and ran toward us. His lip was busted, his cheek bruised. He’d barely hit the passenger door when Lion turned the wheel and hit the gas.

That was when I turned around.

My heart froze. Ronnie was lifting up a handgun and pointing it at the back of the car.

“Get down!” I shouted as the rear windshield shattered into a million pieces, and then we started racing away, and I thought I’d lose my mind.

“Fuck!” Nicholas and Lion screamed. Jenna and I were shouting as well.

“Son of a,” Nicholas said while Lion pulled out onto the highway. At this hour of the night, there wasn’t a single car on the road, and I was grateful to see Lion wasn’t worried about the speed limit. I turned back and saw several other cars doing the same, but as long as I didn’t see Ronnie, I could breathe easy.

“Are you okay?” Nicholas asked, looking first at me, then at Jenna.

“Jenna, talk to me,” Lion said, looking into the rearview, face heavy with worry.

“That goddamn son of a bitch!” she shouted hysterically. I was trembling from head to toe.

“I see you’re good as ever,” Lion said, laughing despite his nerves.

“Find a gas station,” Nick said.

I was petrified, scared to even breathe too loudly. No one had ever pointed a gun at me in my life. Ronnie had looked me in the eyes before shooting. I’d have that image of his face in my head for a long time.

I couldn’t take it all in. How had things gotten so out of control?

I was on the verge of a breakdown. First there had been Dan and Beth, then the adrenaline that had run through me for the first time in years, the good and bad memories it had awakened, the weakness and guilt I’d felt when Nick had to give his car to that asshole, the pain in my knees and hands, which were bleeding from the fall. As the rush faded away, I started to grasp all that had happened.

Ten minutes later, in uncomfortable silence, we arrived at a gas station that was open all night.

Lion cut the engine and got out to open the door for Jenna and give her a long, passionate hug. Nick got out at the same time and walked inside. I didn’t move. I couldn’t watch him. I didn’t want to.

I felt guilty; everything that had happened had been my fault, and that fight could have been a thousand times worse. I had no idea what Ronnie was doing with a gun, but I’d at least figured out that those races were nothing like the ones I’d seen as a girl, and the people here were nothing like the people back there. This was dangerous, there was a lot of money on the line, and the drivers were all criminals. I’d left a gang member looking ridiculous and forced my newly acquired stepbrother into a fight.

The situation had been bad to start with, but now it was worse than I could imagine.

Nicholas emerged from the gas station with a full bag andhanded bandages, alcohol, and a bottle of pain reliever to Jenna and Lion. One of the guys fighting had split open her forehead. Lion cleaned her up and made sure she was all right.

Nicholas came around to the other side of the car. He took out alcohol and a bandage without bothering to look at me. He emptied a bottle of water on his head, shook out his hair, and then opened my door. I tried to get out. I could take care of my own wounds. But he wouldn’t let me.

“Give me your hands,” he said in an inexpressive tone. His lip was destroyed, the bruise on his cheek awful. And all of it had been my fault. I felt a knot in my stomach.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered so softly I didn’t even know whether he’d heard.