I found myself two riders behind the lead. The finish line was tantalizingly close, beckoning me to push harder. With every twist of the throttle, an insatiable desire to drive back bone-deep feelings of worthlessness grew.
It wasn’t rational. The prize money was a drop in the bucket for us, but I wanted to win. I didn’t care if it made sense. So. Much. Failure. I seemed to ruin things all the time now. Breaking parts. Botching easy repairs. Letting my bond with my brothers fall apart.
And what was supposed to fix me?
An Omega so damn broken she had to be delivered wearing protective gear.
But here, right now, I could achieve something.
I was so close.
The vibrations of the engine seemed to synch with my heartbeat. They both said:Faster. Beat faster. Ride. Ride quicker.
Things would make sense on the other side. I just had to get there first. No one was going to steal my victory. A smile began to spread my mouth. I was far enough ahead now. No competition.
In a split second, Nitro veered in front of me, emerging from an unsanctioned side street. Rage ignited inside of me like a lightning bolt—quick, bright, and blinding.
“Fucker!” I yelled at the top of my lungs; the word lost in the wind and din of engines.
I tightened my grip around the throttle, pushing the bike harder, hitting max speed, despite how my face burned fromthe cold. Buildings and parked cars passed in a blur of shapes and colors. I zipped after Nitro, knowing that if I crashed at this speed, I’d probably not survive. But that mattered less than beating him.
Reckless.
Stupid.
And it was impossible to curb my overwhelming appetite to win. I couldn’t check myself. I couldn’t fight my way back to sanity when the feelings crashed down on me like this.
I watched as Nitro’s front tire crossed the finish line.
Impulsively, I ripped off my helmet. As it flew from my grip, crashing against the pavement in a stunning explosion of plastic, resignation washed over me.
Nothing was right in my life, and the stupid Omega arriving today was no exception.
33
XANDER, ASHER, NITRO, FALLON, & KANE
XANDER.
I stood in the entrance of our house, door open at my back, cold air bleeding inward. The place was quickly becoming unrecognizable. With the exception of certain mornings after certain devious deeds involving drugs, liquor, brawls, and bitches, my pack usually kept things uncluttered. We may be complete fucking messes—our bodies, our brains, our souls—but the compound’s main building never reflected the madness.Now, though?A chaotic carnival stretched out before me, a museum to reckless living.
We’d already stripped the Omega’s room bare, leaving nothing but a stained mattress on the floor. She wouldn’t even get the luxury of a fitted sheet. But that had only been the beginning, the first alteration.
The scent of engine oil lingered in the air, unmistakable and potent. I was pretty sure Asher had brought a few cans into the house and removed the safety caps. Wasn’t sure where the hell he put them, or what he intended to do with them. If he lit a match, then I’d start worrying.
As I took a step forward, turning to face the right wall and admire my handiwork, the absolute fucking nerve of Eros sending some fragile Omega to us hit me again.What were they thinking? How could they justify that?Even if we were difficult clients, even if they wanted to get rid of us finally, sending someone broken and sick woman into a den of misery was morally twisted, even to me… and that was saying something. It wouldn’t matter though; in a few days, she’d be gone. We’d still be under contract, and the fucking Institute would have to live up to their damn guarantee.
I refocused on the task at hand. Gone were the stock images of vintage bikes and muscle cars, replaced with photographs we kept in our memorabilia room. This was our legacy: Asher' s face split open like raw meat, eyes wild with victory as the ref counted down a knockout; Kane splayed out on a track after a brutal crash, his body as mangled as the bike’s metal frame; Fallon with his arms around two Beta woman who’d been absolutely feral for him after a SkidMarkzzz show; me after my first hundred yard stunt jump over a line of semi-trucks. I’d landed it by the skin of my teeth.
My gaze fell on the most recent memory I’d hung. It made me smile every time I saw it.
Nitro' s shoulder with my knife buried to the hilt, his deranged grin daring me to twist the blade. We’d drank our body weights in vodka that night. Buzzed beyond belief, I’d told Nitro his knife throwing was bullshit, anyone could do it. He’d dared me to prove it. I'd missed the fucking wall by a mile that night. His scream when I yanked the blade free still echoed in my head. He’d screamed almost as loud recently, when I’d started blunting the edges of his blades one by one against the slate porch steps. He should have punctured my bike tire.
But humor faded quickly.
She’d be here soon. She’d walk through the door and face our reality. There was no way someone delicate could survive us. A weak Omega thrust into the maelstrom of DemonX, where blood, sweat, and a general disregard for life were the very essence of our lives? It was a disaster waiting to happen.
“What the fuck are they thinking?” I growled lowly, looking down at my boots and scuffing them against the hardwood floors.
