Page 56 of Challenge Me

Ghost’s mouth twitched into a faint smile, but concern remained half-hidden in the lines of his face. He closed the passenger door and sank into the driver’s seat, twisting the ignition as he settled. His engine turned over reluctantly; the first try ended in a rough cough beneath the hood, and I tensed, worried I might have messed up the fuses after all. The second turn produced a violent metallic rattle somewhere behind us, and on the third, the Challenger’s engine caught and settled into a deep, uneven idle.

I leaned against the rain-streaked window and closed my eyes, letting the vibration travel from the glass into my temple, down my jaw and through my chest as I indulged in every discomfort; how my wet clothes clung to my body, how mud was drying tightly across my skin, how blood was settling beneath my tongue, leaving a copper taste. My scalp stung where it had split, and my rapid pulse still hammered against my throat with the remnants of adrenaline and the smell of fuel mingling with rain.

It was all so glorious.

The Challenger shifted, balancing on its wheels as if checking if he still had the parts intact to drive with. He shuddered and shifted forward, his tires spinning when he attempted the embankment, carving deep channels through the mud before catching against something solid and dragging us up onto the road. “How are you feeling?” Ghost asked, glancing over to me as the streetlights settled into a lazy rhythm above us.

“I…” I caught my reflection in the window; for a moment, I barely recognized the man staring back at me. His lavender hair plastered to his face, his coat soaked with rain, and his mouth painted red where his lip had split. He looked deranged.

He looked happy.

The reflection blurred as I focused beyond it and found Ghost watching me from the driver’s seat. His features were little more than suggestions, but his blue eyes were unmistakably brighter, the cold light from them a little warmer.

He was smiling too.

Neither of us spoke, but I knew we were sharing the same wondrous thought; that anyone who thought revenge could never heal anything and that violence couldn’t bring peace was wrong.

Revenge felt bloody marvelous. The satisfaction sat low and warm inside me, dulling the pain in my leg and the sting along my scalp. Ghost’s engine carried the same contentment evident in his uneven, limping rumble. I knew he was pleased; there was nothing left to say.

I just hoped he wasn’t going to make me learn body work.

“Where are we going?” I finally asked, lulled by the rocking and fighting sleep.

Ghost turned back to face the road, still smiling. “Home.”

◆◆◆

Across all of my many years and countless battles, the only opponents I could never beat were my own leaden eyelids. One moment I was watching rain crawl across glass; the next, harsh white light forced me reluctantly awake.

I opened my eyes beneath the LED strips of the underground garage. Ghost’s engine had gone quiet; the absence of vibration felt wrong beneath me, and I groaned as I reached for his door handle, every muscle protesting as I dragged myself from the cabin. The interior stank of mud, blood and damp leather, but that was tomorrow’s problem. Tonight, all I required was a hot shower and a cold drink.

My bad leg nearly folded when it took my weight, forcing me to catch myself with the roof of the car; I swore, and Ghost appeared immediately, catching me by the elbow, supporting me without controlling me.

“We have company,” he cautioned me, murmuring into my ear; I turned to look, and groaned.

Al was staring at me. Fox waited behind him with headlights blazing, the beams flickering anxiously as he took in the state of us. “Where were you two? What the hell happened?” Al demanded, his gaze traveling from the blood on my face to the mud coating my clothes, his mouth tightening with worry.

Great. Interrogation hadn’t been on my list of needs tonight, but here we were.

“We’re okay,” I promised, leaning into Ghost.

“The Hell you are.” Al circled the Challenger, his concern decaying into horror as he noted each fresh scrape. One side of Ghost’s bumper hung slightly lower than the other, and long wounds stripped the white paint down to bare metal. A deep dent warped the hood where we had driven through the workshop doors. Al stopped in front of Ghost and pointed helplessly. “How?”

Ghost carefully released me and moved to sit on the damaged hood, directly above the worst of the destruction. “What can I say? Hot girls hit curbs.” He shrugged.

Fox’s engine produced a startled cough, and Al stared at us as if both of us had lost our minds. I had no doubt he was calculating the cost of replacement parts, but that didn’t worry me; I could afford to fix Ghost. The only thing I was worried about right then was the fact that Ghost and I had some unfinished business, and Al was in the way.

“We’re fine, Al. Go home,” I ordered as I followed Ghost to the hood, my hand sinking into the dent in the metal. My fingers brushed against chipping paint, and I noted with interest that Ghost shivered just a little as I touched.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Fox asked, his bright yellow eyes filled with worry.

I almost barked another dismissal before I paused to take another look at Al and Fox. Al was still shirtless beneath his leather jacket, and powdered all over with glitter, while Fox’s engine was silent and cold. They had waited for us, staying awake to make sure we came home.

Something in my chest softened.

“We’ll be fine,” I promised. “The injuries are annoying, not fatal; Ghost will need repairs, and I might need to swap my cane for crutches for a little while, which I won’t because I am far too proud for my own good, but we’ll both be okay.”

Al’s lips pressed into a thin line.