James Knight: Teenage Superhuman - Book Two

Eighteen

GRACE

In the heart of Mexico, near the San Diego border, Alexander, my unconscious uncle, accompanied Max, Noah, and me. My memory begins with a forceful shove into a white van, greeted by a man dressed in tiger fur.

Suddenly, three gunshots rang out outside the van. Two men held me firmly, struggling to restrain myself with my super strength to avoid causing harm, and a moment of eerie silence ensued before my heroes arrived. My two goofy brothers, wearing hoodies, jeans, and masks, stood there, arms crossed over their muscular chests, glaring at the two men.

Despite barely hitting puberty, my brothers dispatched the men effortlessly, hurling their bodies against a nearby wall. The unconscious or lifeless bodies began to pile up outside. The man in the fur panicked, drawing his gun and pointing it at us. His trembling hand held the gun to my head.

Bang.

   Bang.

Bang.

Three shots echoed in the van, but only one of us fell. Suddenly, a swarm of large vans emerged seemingly out of nowhere. In a heartbeat, Noah, Max, and I were on the run, uncertain of our pursuers.

Our hearts raced as we leaped over houses and evaded a hail of bullets fired by unmarked SUVs below. Noah took the lead, using his telekinesis to turn off the vans simultaneously, causing them to collide and burst into flames. We were in grave danger.

"What's troubling you, Grace?" Derek, stretching and yawning, wrapped his strong arms around my shoulders, bringing me back from my thoughts. Every inch of me was drenched in sweat from work. Even the hoodie he had kindly lent me was darker and stiff from overuse.

"First of all, don't call me that. Only Noah can call me Gray," I said, watching him nod as he comfortingly embraced me like a protective big brother. "I had a nightmare," I admitted. He pulled away slightly as I snuggled closer, leaning back against the couch where he had been sleeping just moments before I woke him in a panic. I thought our little moment of bonding was over until he spoke up.

"What was the nightmare about?"

"Do you remember the news story about the execution of señor de Los Tigres in Mexico?" I asked.

Derek nodded, his blue eyes fixed on me as he shifted on the couch. "Yeah, it was a major deal. He was on the FBI's most-wanted list and seemed untouchable."

Taking a deep breath, I knew this could escalate quickly. "Max, Noah, and I were in Mexico, and his escorts pursued us. One of them grabbed me and tried to force me into a van. That's when Max and Noah intervened."

Crunching sounds and gunshots flooded my mind, and I pictured my younger brother smashing the gun barrel into a man's skull.

Derek looked amused and surprised as if he found some twisted enjoyment in this. He shifted uncomfortably, his tired eyes betraying his initial excitement, and he sat up. "So, it was you who assassinated señor de Los Tigres?"

"Yeah, but it's not as big of a deal..." I trailed off.

Derek sighed, running his hand over his forehead and through his tired eyes, processing the information. "Grace, that's a huge deal. You guys assassinated the most notorious trafficker ever. I'm talking about drugs, human trafficking, and exotic animals. It's a major problem."

"We took care of a few men, so what? You're welcome, Lover boy." Derek's hand slid down his forehead, his frustration evident, and he sat back, visibly stressed.

Suddenly Noah was standing there, watching us from the doorway. "You snitch," Noah snapped.

"You guys are serious?" Derek asked, looking at me. Then Noah was fascinated again. We glanced at Derek, our eyes shifting nervously away from him momentarily.

Finally, Derek exclaimed, "You were eleven, Noah."

Noah sunk against the wall, trying to intimidate Derek with his eyes. He was such a little... "No shit, Sherlock." Noah's voice distracted me from my thoughts.

"Son of a bitch, Noah." Derek snapped again, nearly jumping from the couch.

"What's good? It's five in the fucking morning, and the first thing I hear is the three of you arguing," Mark grumbled, walking into the living room wearing plaid pants, a hoodie, and messy hair while munching on a stolen bag of Doritos.

"These two killed señor de Los Tigres," Derek exclaimed. Mark's gaze shifted to Noah, leaning against the wall, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"Oh, congratulations. My dad was working with the FBI to uncover who was responsible. It turns out my boyfriend's twin is a murderer," Mark quipped, munching on a chip, observing Noah, who rolled his eyes and mocked him.

"Shut up, Mark," I growled at him. What a jerk. He was even worse than my little brother.

"But it's fine because you killed a bad guy," he sarcastically added, glaring at Noah, a mix of secret desire and a death wish in his eyes. Take your pick. Mark didn't seem terrible, but his ego was unbearable.

"That's why I hate that you 're dating my brother."

"It's not like you cared, anyway. Bryce waited for two birthdays with nothing. Not a single text or anything from you. You're messed up, Noah.

"When did you last speak to your dad about this mess, Mark? You're the one who's messed up, mate."

"Whoa, whoa! What's happening?" Dad finally intervened. About damn time too.

"Why is Mark even here? He only causes more problems," Noah complained, eyeing Mark with a saucy look. His eyes turned crimson, displaying the same glow Max had when his emotions took control. Noah was about to pounce on Mark. I watched his anger escalate before I noticed Derek giving me an annoyed glance. He sighed, appearing on the verge of breaking—poor guy. I wanted to hug him desperately.

Suddenly, Noah was on top of Mark, his fingers wrapped around Mark's throat as he struggled to free himself. Derek rushed to help, and so did Sam, but my brother was stronger than both of them. Noah held Mark firmly, choking him and slamming his head into the floor, causing the wooden boards to break. James appeared around the corner, locking eyes with Mark, switching into rescue mode, not out of choice, but out of necessity.

James forcefully pulled Noah away from Mark, watching him catch his breath as he restrained Noah on the floor. Derek assisted, keeping Noah pinned to the carpet until he stopped thrashing and fighting.

Mark stood up with Dad's assistance, looking at Noah with fear. "Damn, Noah. I'm sorry," he mumbled, brushing himself off. Noah remained still, watching James gradually release him and lend a hand to help him stand.

"You're sorry? Is that all you have to say, tough guy?" Noah snapped. Derek and James positioned themselves in front of Noah, ready to intervene if he made another move. But Noah just stood there, emotionless and shattered for a moment.

"Yeah. I'm sorry, okay? I can't even imagine what you've been through, Noah, and I've had my fair share of hardships..." Mark responded, momentarily locking eyes with Noah. The room fell silent, but the emotions in the air spoke volumes.

"The three of you should get ready for school," Sam interjected, diverting the sensitive topic. "And Noah, if you attack Mark again, I swear..."

"What are you going to do, Dad?" Noah interrupted, glaring at our father. Dad didn't reply. Instead, he pointed toward the stairs, and the three of us fled to the second floor.

"Thanks, Derek," Sam acknowledged, looking at him. Derek remained silent, running his fingers through his wavy blonde hair, collapsing beside me on the couch. There was nothing left to say.