“Did you find it funny, Marly?” I ask her directly, noting her wide eyes and pale complexion. We’ve gained an audience but that doesn’t bother me, may as well show them all what’ll happen if they touch things that belong to me.
“Did you?” I prompt Marly when she doesn’t answer. Zara steps up to her side, taking her hand.
“No,” She whispers.
“The lady didn’t find it funny, Benji,” I push just a little on his arm and I hear something pop, “You owe her an apology.”
“You’re gonna break my arm!”
“I’ll do worse than that if you don’t apologize,” I warn him.
“Get fucked,” He snaps.
I twist and his cry silences the crowd, the snapping of his bone so damn loud it’s as if the noise itself has come through the speakers. His body crumples to the floor when I let him go but I’m not fucking done with him. Using my foot, I force him onto his front and then my boot is on the back of his neck. “Apologize for touching her without her consent.”
His words are muffled by the dirt beneath his mouth. I ease a fraction, “What was that? I can’t hear you.”
“I’m sorry!” He spits out, “Fuck!”
“Louder,” I demand, “So they can all hear.”
The crowd continues to watch and does nothing to stop me, not even Benji’s friends are helping him. They know better. They all know fucking better.
You don’t come onto my turf and treat my people like shit. You don’t come to this fucking track and touch what doesn’t belong to you. It’s the fucking rules and I’ve no problem teaching people a damn lesson when I need to.
“I’m sorry!”
I lift my foot, releasing him, “Good job. Now leave.”
I jerk my head to his friends, giving them silent instruction to get his ass off my property and they move to pick him up, dragging him away as snot and drool drip down his face. I turn back to Marly who doesn’t seem to have moved an inch.
“Get in the car,” I tell her gently.
“I – you broke his arm,” She stutters out.
“Yes,” I place a hand on the base of her spine, “You getting in?”
She appears to move as if she’s in some kind of trance and allows me to guide her into the passenger seat. Once she’s in, I leanacross her, her body so close, I feel her skin whisper against mine and reach for the spare helmet I have in the back.
“Put this on, princess,” I tell her, lifting it.
“Why?”
“Track rules,” I explain.
With a frown, she leans forward as I slip the helmet over her head and then hand her the belt to buckle herself in. After I’ve closed her door I walk around the hood, still feeling everyone’s eyes on me.
“The fuck are you all looking at?” I yell, “Either race or get out the way.”
I lift my helmet off the seat and slip it on before I climb into the driver’s seat, locking us both inside.
“What are we doing?” Marly’s voice is muffled beneath the visor.
“We’re going to race, princess,” The engine roars to life and I press on the gas, revving it up, “You ready?”
“What!?”
“Hold on tight,” I’m grinning even though she can’t see me, the adrenaline in my blood making my heart thump like a thousand galloping horses and then I peel the car down the track, throwing Marly back in her seat.
