Bully(32)

He had won over K.C.

K.C. had lied about working late.

She had her arms around him.

I wasn’t sure which one I was most upset about.





Chapter 14


After sitting in my car for more minutes than I cared to admit, I was calm enough to drive.

The entire time it took me to get home and stalk up my front porch I had several versions of internal conversations with K.C. and choice monologues directed at Jared, including all of my favorite expletives. The more I talked to myself, the more pissed I got. Screaming, crying, stomping on some bubble wrap—they all sounded good right now.

What was she thinking? Even if Jared had smooth-talked her, was it worth hurting her best friend over?

I now guessed what Jared’s move was. He was trying to turn my friend against me. K.C. was very aware of what Jared had done to me, but he had gotten to her. He brought it to her attention that her boyfriend was cheating and then swooped in to pick up the pieces. How else could she be so weak-minded?

She needed to know Jared was using her. But how the hell could I tell her that?

Keeping myself busy so I wouldn’t do anything stupid, I finished my Calculus homework, completed the assigned reading for Government, and cleaned out the refrigerator and cabinets of expired food. After I’d exhausted myself with enough chores so that I’d finally stopped talking to myself, I walked upstairs to take a bath.

About an hour after I’d gotten out of the tub, the whir of Jared’s motorcycle sounded down our street. I leapt out of bed to spy through the window. Noticing that the clock read midnight, I calculated that it’d been three hours since I’d seen him with K.C.

Three fucking hours! What’d they been doing?

He arrived home alone. That was good, at least.

As he pulled into his driveway, I noticed the headlights of another vehicle coming to an abrupt stop in front of his house. Jared hopped off his bike and removed his helmet but kept it secured in his hand. He raced to the curb to meet the car’s occupants. The driver and his passenger had already vacated the car and met up with Jared toe to toe.

What’s this?

Jared towered over them, not only in height but in build. He had been tall at fourteen, and by now he had to exceed six feet. Judging by the way he got in their faces, these guys were not his friends.

I opened the double doors to get a better view. Jared waved the helmet in the space between them, and the other guys were yelling and trying to advance in his face. I caught the words “fuck you” and “get over it.” They continued to bark at each other, loudly and intrusively.

It was hard to catch my breath all of a sudden. Their argument seemed to be getting out of control. Should I call the cops?

As much as they pushed into his space, Jared didn’t retreat. The odds were against him though. Shit, Jared. Just get out of there.

One of the men pushed him, and I flinched. Reacting, Jared got in the guy’s face and pushed into him with his body until the guy was forced to back up.

At that moment, Madoc’s GTO sped down the street to a screeching halt. As soon as the strangers saw him hop out of his car and run in their direction, they started throwing punches at Jared. He lost hold of his helmet, and it slammed to the ground.

Jared charged one of the guys, and they dropped to ground level looking like an MMA fight. Each boy rolled on the lawn, jabbing and belting.

Snatching my phone off the bed, I raced out of my room and down the stairs. Pulling open the drawer to the entryway table, I grabbed the Glock-17 my father instructed I keep there when I was home alone.

I clutched the door knob. Call the cops or go outside? This would be over before the cops got here. Screw it.

I swung open the door and stepped onto the porch. The boys were all on Jared’s front lawn, with Madoc and Jared straddling their opponents, punching them into oblivion. My heart pounded at the display, but I couldn’t look away. The sense of urgency that made me run outside lessened when I realized Jared was winning.

Mesmerized by the fight happening in front of me, I blinked when I heard Jared’s disgusted howl. His opponent, an older, tattooed guy, had pulled out a knife and sliced his arm. I ran down the stairs, gun in hand, in time to see Jared dive for his helmet and hit the guy over the head with it. The other guy crumpled to the ground, moaning and blood dripping off his forehead. The knife lay on the grass at his side. Jared stood up, hovering over the nearly-unconscious guy.

Madoc pounded his fist one more time into his opponent’s gut, and swinging him over his shoulder, he dumped him onto the ground near his Honda.

Jared left his opponent bloody and barely moving on the ground, while he squeezed his left bicep. The arm of his black hoodie was blood-soaked and glistened where he’d been cut. My worried eyes shot to the hand on that arm. A steady red stream dripped off his fingertips. I had a brief impulse to go and help him but resisted. The kindness would only be thrown back in my face. He and Madoc would need trips to the ER, but as it was a school night, Jared’s mom should be home.