Until You (Fall Away, #1.5)(35)

But the rest of me was hot as f*ck, my blood pumping so hard. I grappled for my helmet on the ground and slammed him over the top of the forehead with it.

Hard.

His knife fell to the ground, and he covered his bleeding hairline with shaky hands.

Damn coward.

I liked fighting, and I liked trouble, but pulling a f*cking knife?

That made me want to damage more than just his window.

Standing up and gripping my arm to stop the blood flow, I carried the helmet over to his piece of shit Honda and smashed his windshield until it was so splintered that it looked like it was crusted in a winter’s worth of frost.

I walked back, tasting the blood in my mouth and hovering over the piece of shit on the ground. “You’re not welcome at the Loop anymore.” I meant for my voice to come off strong, but my breathing was still ragged.

And the damn blood from the cut was dripping off of my fingertips now. I probably needed stitches.

Madoc had already dumped the first guy, bloodied and unconscious, over by the car and was now stepping over to get the other one off my lawn.

“Jared.” I heard him say, almost a whisper.

I turned my eyes to him, but then saw he was concentrated on something else. Following his gaze toward the Brandt’s yard, I stopped breathing.

Fucking. Hell.

Tate was standing there, on the walkway leading up to her porch.

Just standing there and staring at us. A little scared, a little confused, and in her goddamn, f*cking underwear!

What the hell?

Madoc was here. Two other guys—although unconscious—were here.

My blood boiled and heat immediately rushed to my pants.

I hardened my jaw and breathed hard.

She wore a tight, black band T-shirt and some of those cotton boy short underwear. Red ones. Fucking red.

She was covered, but just barely.

It didn’t matter, though. You could still make out everything, and she was perfect. My heart was jackhammering so hard and fast at her skimpy attire that I just wanted to peel everything off of her and sink my hands into her body here and now.

Was she trying to kill me?

Get in the f*cking house, Tate! Jesus.

Then my eyes fell to the gun in her right hand.

A gun?

No.

I narrowed my eyes, forgetting her legs and her beautiful hair spilling around her.

She wasn’t helping us. She wouldn’t do that.

She was waiting for the cops or something.

Tate didn’t give a shit, and she was just sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.

But then I blinked.

If she’d called the cops, I doubted she’d be walking around in her panties, carrying a gun.

Why the hell would she help us?

Maybe she didn’t stalk out here in her underwear to taunt me. Maybe she was just in that much of a hurry.

But before I could even sift through my thoughts, she quirked an annoyed eyebrow and stomped back up her front porch and through the door to her house, giving me a great view of her ass.

Madoc laughed, and I shoved him in the shoulder before stalking off towards my house.

I had a hard-on and a bloody arm, and I wasn’t sure what I needed first: stitches or a cold shower.





Madoc had threatened to call the cops, so Ryland and his friend sped away—broken windshield and all—while I woke up my mother.

I hated waking her—hated stressing her—but I was still technically a minor on her health insurance, so I needed her at the hospital. Madoc went home to nurse his bloody nose, and it took ten stitches and my mother bitching at me for two hours before I was able to make it to bed, too. By the time I woke up three hours later, I was in more knots than before I slept.

Tate with a f*cking gun.

What the hell was her game?

Grabbing my phone off its charger, I shook off the voice in my head that told me to slow down.

Need my help today? I texted K.C.

It only took her a second to respond. Help?

Liam, I shot back. Let’s make him jealous.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, waiting for her answer.

I heard Tate’s Bronco start up next door, and I checked the clock to see that it was still early.

The lab.

I’d seen Tate coming out of the chemistry lab in the mornings and some afternoons. She was probably competing in the Science Fair in the spring and needed research done. It would look good on her college applications.

She was probably getting ready to apply to Columbia next year. New York was always where she always wanted to go.

K.C. didn’t text back, so I dropped the phone on the bed and went to the shower.

My arm was wrapped tight, but I still needed to get clean.

After my shower, I wrapped a towel around my waist and stopped short at the bathroom mirror, glimpsing my tattoos. I couldn’t help but smile, remembering how my mother had yelled at me the night before.

Fighting! she screamed. Getting arrested! And tattoos without my permission! she’d said as if that was the worst one of all.

I’d only laughed under my breath and laid my head back in the car, trying to sleep as she drove us home from the hospital.

I loved the tats, and I was going to get more. I wanted the scars on my back—the ones my father gave me—covered.

Walking back into my room, I dried my hair and noticed that I had another text.