The Fall

Chapter 35

Kade

Sitting next to Sage tonight, I instantly recognized the darkness under the smiles she carries and the easy going banter after dinner. It's that observation alone that has me leaning against the wall across from her bedroom, gaze fixed on her closed white bedroom door. Beyond that door exists a girl who recently became the center of my thoughts; her pain became my own and I wielded it like her dark knight.

When Sage and her parents went off to bed, Kyle and I ran down the list of suspects, which of course included jilted one night stands and overly obsessed fuckboys. One of those obsessed fuckboys happens to be none other than Holden Townsend. His mere presence at Hillcrest has been nagging at my brain. My phone pings and the text Blake Vanderbilt I've been waiting for comes through.

BV: There's a race tonight at the track. MK said it's legit and JL will be there.
Me: And the golden boy?
BV: Doubt he'll stick around, but he's tight with JL and I heard he's been in contact with HT.
Me: Now that's interesting. Keep an eye on him.
BV: With pleasure. Tell Sage an old friend says hello :)
Me: You know she still hates you, right?
BV: only because we kinda kissed and now she's in love with me.
Me: You wish, psycho.
BV: it could happen ;)

I seriously hate that girl, but she's able to get information on just about anyone. It also doesn't hurt that she's the heir to a billion dollar empire. Giving Sage's door one last look, I take off downstairs, grabbing my jacket on my way out. I'd ask Kyle to come with me, but he took off, no doubt to find some girl to spend the night with. Not that I'm judging, but I'm not sure there's a single girl in this town that's not aware of his man whorish ways.

My Jaguar drives like a dream to the track and sure enough anyone that is a car enthusiast or just lives on this side of danger finds themselves at the old Pelton Track. While professional racers don't race here anymore, anyone with a car or bike for that matter, come out and burn rubber for some fast cash.

Easing my car into a parking space, I reach into my glove box and pull out the gun I keep inside, tucking it into the back of my jeans. It's not just the rich kids who enjoy a good night on the track here, but also the gangs in the area, so it's better to be safe than dead.

"A little birdie told me a McCarthy was in the building," A voice drawled from behind me. I chuckled and casually turned to face him. Mitchell Knight has been running things down at the track for a few years and is connected to everyone from the elite to the bottom feeders clawing their way up. His green eyes shine bright in the moonlight, but there's a hardness in them that would send most men running. Me though, I just grin and embrace him in a bro hug. "How's it going MK? I heard you were booking fights down at the Cage?"

"It's a lucrative business venture," he replies, raking his fingers through his raven colored hair. It's pointless as the longer strands in the front fall back into his eyes. "So, Blake mentioned you were looking into Sage's attack?" His tone hardened and the fire in his eyes could burn a man alive. Mitchell might engage in criminal activity and violence, but one thing the man won't tolerate is violence against women and kids, something about the way he grew up makes that something he absolutely won't tolerate.

"Yeah, we've been looking into it personally since the cops can't do much without Sage's statement and she just got back home," I replied, locking my doors and walking in step with him through the large parking lot and into the arena. The roar of engines over the DJ could be heard from the moment we stepped inside until we ventured up the newly renovated arena's sky box. Two men greeted us outside Mitchell's private room with simple nods as we pass through.

Mitchell's skybox is pretty lavish with it's black walls and plush, leather couches. One wall contains three flat screen TVs, one of which is currently showcasing the current race in its final moments. Within seconds, hrs behind the bar and mixing drinks with the flair of the former bartender he used to be. "Thanks, man," I sigh as he extends a glass of whiskey to me. "Shit's been kinda crazy lately and we could use all the resources possible to catch these motherfuckers."