Veils of Rivalry Chapter 62

Blaise's POV

I smirk as I peer out the windshield at the house at the end of the dark street. The lights are out, but Jackson’s car is in the driveway.

“I don’t like this,” Ronnie says, getting on my last nerve. The guy is always nervous and goes to great lengths to avoid conflict.

I, on the other hand, like to instigate chaos. Admittedly, my methods are usually more subtle, but now I’m pissed and want to make a point.

“Relax,” I reply, squeezing his shoulder. “It’s just a friendly talk.”

Tiago snorts a laugh, and Ronnie looks unconvinced. I flash them my widest smile before exiting the vehicle and opening the trunk. The car doors open and shut, and Ronnie makes a strangled noise in his throat as they join me. “I thought you said a ‘friendly talk.’”

I hold out the baseball bat for him, and he looks at it like it’s an alien lifeform. He makes no move to take it, so I hand it to Tiago instead. “Like I said…” I reach in for the two other bats and the masks, then shut the trunk. “It’s just a friendly talk.”

Ronnie reluctantly accepts the bat, and I toss him the Scream mask. He barely manages to catch it mid-air. I hold the other one out for Tiago. “Ready to teach Jackson a lesson?”

“Nací preparado,” Tiago says and practices a swing with the bat like he’s playing golf. “That’s Spanish for ‘I was born ready.’

Chuckling, I slip my mask from my back pocket and slide it over my head. Jackson lives on a dark street with only one lamppost. The dim orange glow doesn’t reach this far, but I still pull my hood up to hide my hair. Better safe than sorry.

“C’mon,” I say, setting off down the road with the bat resting on my shoulder. I’ve got to admit that I feel like a badass vigilante with my choice of weapon and mask. The thought makes me snigger.

Tiago is right behind me, and Ronnie jogs to catch up with us.

“What if his parents are home?”

“They’re not.”

“How do you know?”

I roll my eyes behind the mask. “We didn’t come here blindly, Ronnie. I did some research first.”

“Fuck, Ron,” Tiago says, “it’s been ages since we spent quality time with our boy here.” He wraps his arm around my neck and chokes me. “He didn’t fucking tell us he is loved up. We thought he’d abandoned us for Cole’s friends.” When he releases me, I try to grab him. He dances out of the way and speeds ahead before turning around and walking backward. “Let’s have fun tonight.”

“Parties are fun. Holidays abroad are fun. Those sweets where some taste of candy and some are weird flavors, like sick and snot—that’s fun. I doubt the definition of the word fun covers threatening people with baseball bats.”

“Actually,” I reply, pointing my bat at him, “that’s the definition of fun to some.”

“Break some bones, crack some skulls,” Tiago says, and Ronnie slows to a stop.

“We’re not hurting him, right? Please tell me we’re not. My mom will kill me if she finds out about this.”

Draping my arm around his shoulder, I jostle him. “Relax. You’re overthinking it. No one is dying tonight.”

Ronnie grumbles under his breath as we near the house. I lift a finger to my lips. The lights are out, except for a lamp in the upstairs bedroom window. Jackson is home alone. His parents are away overnight at a charity event to raise money for some obscure cause.

Our shoes disturb the glistening dew on the damp grass as we cross the front lawn. Tiago raises the flag on the mailbox, making me snigger. Jackson’s brand-new black Jeep Wrangler sits in the drive, which is his pride and joy and a total showpiece.

I raise the bat and bring it down full force on the shiny hood, leaving behind a large dent. “Oops,” I chuckle before smashing the headlights. It’s a lot of fun to go psycho and a great way to dispel all that anger. My therapist—if I had one—would approve. Tiago laughs, then joins in with the chaos. Glass explodes everywhere as he slams the bat into the passenger windows. He rounds the vehicle to take out the taillights, the shattered glass crunching beneath his boots.

“What the fuck?” Jackson blurts as he exits the house. Moths flap their wings against the porch light at his back while he gapes at us like he can’t believe what he sees. “You… I… My car.”

The others snigger behind their masks. I slide mine up to smile at him, and his eyes widen. “I don’t take well to threats, Jackson.” As I step closer, he stumbles away from the door. I always knew he was all bark and no bite. Guys like Jackson are cowards with mommy issues beneath the cocky attitude. “What did you plan on doing at the party? Beat me up? Break a bone or two so that I can’t play football? Send a message to Cole?” My teeth grind together. I hate the thought of someone hurting Cole. But one thing that enrages me even more is the thought of someone using me against him.

Jackson’s throat jumps, his eyes falling to the bat in my hand. “Blaise, man…let’s talk about this.”

“Talk about what?” I ask. “How you and your friends targeted me at the party?”

Nervous laughter bubbles up from his chest. “It was just a bit of fun.”

I hum as I drag the bat through the shattered glass on the ground. Jackson’s fear is palpable in the air, like a sweet aroma I can’t help but breathe in—a crackling fire on a summer’s evening, popcorn at the movies. “I’m all for fun, too, as you can see.”

Jackson skates his gaze to his car behind me, and I jerk forward with a “Boo.”

He falls onto his ass, like the scaredy cat he is, then jumps to his feet and runs to the edge of the porch, where he leaps over the railing like Spiderman.

I fucking love a good chase.

Cracking my neck, I let out a loud holler before setting off after him. Leaping over the railing, I land with a hard thud and laugh with glee. When was the last time I felt this thrilled, well, except for when I was balls deep in Cole? I force the memory aside. Now isn’t the time to remember how he felt, smelled, or how he groaned when I pounded him.

Tiago and Ronnie are hot on my heels. We run down the side of the property and catch sight of Jackson escaping into the forest at the edge of the yard.

If he thinks I’ll let him get away, he’s got another thing coming. While the plan was never to hurt him, I’m tempted to break his skull.

Sprinting across the lawn, we enter the forest, slapping branches out of the way. We catch up to him as he climbs up a tree, like that will keep him safe.

We pace around the trunk like a pack of starved lions. Tiago turns back, leaving me with Ronnie. I jerk my chin at him. “Go get him.”

Ronnie gawks at me behind his mask before glancing up at the tree. “I can’t climb up there.”

“Why not? Jackson did it.”

“What if he kicks me, and I fall?”

“You won’t fall.”

“The likelihood is that I will,” he argues. “It’s not so easy to ‘retrieve’”—he makes quotation marks—“a six-foot football player from a tree. He’s not a baby kitten.”

Snorting, I direct my attention to the fucker quivering on a thick branch near the top of the tree. “Maybe that should be your nickname moving forward? What do you say, kitten?”

“Baby kitten,” Ronnie corrects, and I wave him off.

“Kitten. Baby kitten. Whatever. Why don’t you come down and play with us?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re sick in the head?” Jackson spits.

I screw my eyes into slits before ramming my foot into the trunk and whacking my baseball bat against it as though I’m Superman. Of course, nothing happens, but I’m sure Jackson nearly pisses himself. “Don’t make me come and get you, baby kitten.”

“Fuck you!”

“You already tried that, remember? I wasn’t interested then, and I’m certainly not interested now.”

“I’ll make you regret this,” he snarls.

“Oh?” I laugh. It starts out softly before gaining strength, like an incoming wave. I have to brace my hand on my trunk because I’m laughing so hard. “Are you threatening me, kitten?”

“You’re dead. So fucking dead!”

“You’re pretty ballsy for a guy who’s stuck up a tree. Want me to phone the fire brigade for you? I hear they rescue cats. We can get a man in uniform to help you down.”

Ronnie makes a strangled noise beside me, turns to face Tiago, and asks, “Where did you find those?”

Tiago sets a heavy plastic container on the leafy ground and holds up the saw in his hand. “I found it in their basement,” he says.

“It’ll take you hours to fell the tree with that,” says Ronnie, gawking. I roll my eyes and reach for the saw. Sometimes, he really is a fucking bore.

“Ready to come down yet?” I ask Jackson and rest the serrated blade against the trunk. “Or do we have to help you down?”

“Fuck off,” he snarls, his lips thinning over his teeth.

“Have it your way,” I reply, applying pressure to the saw. The blade cuts through the bark, and my dark smile grows until my cheeks hurt. I bet he’s trembling like the leaves surrounding him. “Scared yet, kitten?”

He curses, and I toss the saw to the ground, my muscles burning from the exertion of sawing through such a thick trunk. Ronnie was right—we would be here all night. I reach for the container and uncap the lid. Jackson shifts on the branch while I douse the trunk in gasoline. The pungent stench pricks my nose, reminding me of late afternoon trips with my dad to the garage when he needed his tires replaced. The lanky man behind the counter, with scraggly hair and yellowed teeth, used to wink at me while wiping his oil-stained hands on a dirty rag he pulled from his back pocket. I used to like those trips because I always got to pick a lolly from the jar the man kept behind the counter.

“What the fuck are you doing? Are you insane?” Jackson asks frantically. The liquid splashes against the trunk. I keep going until the container is empty, then toss it aside. Tiago throws me a small box of match sticks, which I catch mid-air. Anticipation hums in my veins. I strike a flame, watching it flicker menacingly in the darkness.

“Blaise?” Ronnie asks shakily.

“You fucked not only with me,” I tell Jackson, “but with what’s mine, too. Do you think what we did to your car is bad? Trust me, you’ve seen nothing yet.”

“Blaise,” Ronnie pleads. “Think about this… You’ll set the tree on fire. He’ll pass out from smoke inhalation and…” His unspoken words hang like whispered promises in the air. Jackson trembles visibly on the branch.

“Consider this a warning,” I say, blowing out the flame and winking at him.