Whisky Throttle (Throttle Series, #1)

forty

Maddox

Lindsay and Calla have retired to the trailer for the rest of the evening, leaving Vance and I to sit around the campfire. I haven't spoken since they left. Although Calla appears to be okay, I'm not convinced. Losing her dirt bike has broken her heart—any rider can understand the fathomless pain that follows losing your dirt bike. The fear that my father has inflicted upon her is worse, though. Throughout dinner (which she didn't touch), she kept looking over her shoulder every time gravel crunched beneath someone's boot or a dirt bike ripped through the campground.

The events of today piss me off.

My father can take away my freedom. He can beat me until I'm a pile of blood and bruises. But he's not allowed to take away Calla's passion. She will not be afraid of a dirt bike engine, and nor will she be afraid of rounding a fucking corner on the trail.

Deciding I've had enough, I get to my feet; the force knocking my chair over. I've been sitting here for three hours doing nothing. It makes me sick!

"What the hell are you doing?" Vance asks, looking up from the fire.

I remove my hat and fist my hair, giving it a tug as I kick a rock. "Sitting here and doing nothing is ridiculous! He wants something from me, and I'm going to figure out what that is." Tossing my hat to the ground, I spin on my boot and head for my truck. He's taken this too far. Way too fucking far. I don't care what he does to me. But when he threatens the people I love? I kick the tire of my dirt bike, hating the sight of it. Its pristine condition reminds me too much of what Calla's lost.

Before I can shove my dirt bike over, Vance's hands are on my shoulders and he's pinning me against a nearby tree. It's dark, but there's just enough light coming from the fire to read the burning look in his eyes. He's pissed, too. "Are you fucking stupid?" he demands. Vance pulls me forward and then shoves me against the tree. The impact stings a little; my anger is too potent for me to feel anything in full effect. "This is what he wants, Maddox! If you storm into your house, you're going to end up dead."

I shove my cousin away, fire burning in my veins and chest. I'm so mad I'm shaking. "What the fuck am I supposed to do, Vance? I can't let him get away with hurting Calla. She could've died today!"

Vance crosses his arms and stares me down. "You're supposed to rein in your emotions and think. You could end up dying tonight if you're not careful. It's easy to see Roman's pissed at you for fighting back. He wants to hurt you in order to make you submissive. The problem is, we don't know how far he'll go. That's why it's best for all of us to take a step back and plan."

"Stop doing that," I say, shaking my head. "Stop making it sound like you're involved in this, too. This is between me and my dad. You and Calla can't get involved."

Vance rests his hand on my shoulders and then presses his forehead against mine. "You're my brother, Maddox. You didn't drag me into this. I aided you because you are family and I love you. It was my decision. If you think I'm going to let you face him on your own, you need to find your brain and use it. That's not happening." 

Jerking away from Vance, I turn around and stare up at the starry sky. How the hell did we get here? How did I succumb to this anger? To violence? Resorting to anger doesn't bode well with me, yet here I am. He's hurt someone I love, and I know he plans to do it again. He'll keep doing it until she's dead or I've come crawling back to him. In order to protect Calla, I need to go home and talk to him. Fuck the consequences. If I give him what he wants, he won't be able to hurt Calla or Vance anymore.

In the distance, the fire cracks, sending sparks shooting up into the sky. I tighten my sweater around my body. Nights like these are my favourite. It's cool enough for a sweater and jeans, but it still smells like summer and campfire smoke. I can still feel the dissipating heat from the rocks beneath my feet. Right now, though, I can't find joy in my surroundings. All I can see is Calla's twisted dirt bike. The burns and bruises on her body. I tended to the burn as best I could, but she will not come out of it without a scar.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Allowing myself to fall in love with Calla was a mistake. No. That's wrong. I don't regret falling in love with her—I'd do it over again. Thinking we could keep this a secret was our mistake. We knew we were living on borrowed time. Panic, anger, and resentment flood my veins, burning through them as my heart operates. I need to protect her. And Vance. And Allison. Lindsay. Isaiah. Their kids.

"Maddox," Vance says, resting a hand on my shoulder. "Talk. If you don't, the misery and pain will eat you alive."

I turn to face my cousin. He looks as exhausted as I feel. "I can't let him hurt Calla." My voice cracks, and as soon as the first tear slips down my cheek, I can't stop the rest from pouring. "If-If he harms her... Vance... I can't put up with this much longer. When does it end? With a bullet?"

Vance shakes his head. "I don't have the answers to your questions. I'm sorry."

Before I can respond to Vance, the door to the trailer opens. We both turn and watch as Lindsay and Calla step out of the trailer. I have to squint because of the bright lighting, but it isn't hard to tell they're going somewhere. Calla has a heavier sweater on, but she hasn't changed from her leggings or socks; she's still wearing the clothes that were under her motocross gear. 

Vance and I stay silent until they're standing in front of us.

"We're going to Kelowna General Hospital," Lindsay says. "With input from Calla, I've made the executive decision for her to have some tests done."

Vance stiffens beside me.

My lips part, but no words come out.

Although Calla looks exhausted, there's no shame in her eyes when she says, "I was unconscious for a while. Just to be safe, I'm having an assessment and treatment of injuries done, forensic sample collections, and, depending on the results, a medical report for police." She pauses and takes a deep breath. "Can I count on you guys to look after the campsite?"

"Of course," Vance replies.

I tear my gaze away from Calla's, another wave of tears wanting to break free. I didn't need the clarification. I'd already inferred what Lindsay was talking about. Closing my eyes, I take several deep breaths and try to regain my composure. There's nothing wrong with crying—everyone needs a good cry now and then. Letting my emotions get the best of me will not help. Staying strong and supporting Calla is what I need to do.

"I'll go warm up the vehicle," Lindsay says, stepping away to give Calla, Vance, and I some privacy. I'm sure Isaiah has kept her updated on the situation which is why she's not sticking around to hear our conversation.

When the sound of gravel crunching beneath Lindsay's feet has dissipated, Calla whispers my name.

Despite my unstable emotions, I look at her. How can I not? I'd spend hours staring at her and picking out every physical characteristic I love.

"I doubt it happened," she continues, toeing a rock. "My gear was in perfect condition when I woke up. And—"

I have to shut her up.

Pulling Calla into my arms, I kiss her with desperation. I want her to know nothing changes. My perception of her is the same. She's the most badass, independent woman I've ever met. Tangling my fingers in her hair, I tilt her head up and deepen the kiss. I'm sure Vance is rolling his eyes, but I don't care.

However, before I take this too far, I tear my lips from hers and press our foreheads together, a tear slipping down my cheek. "Nothing changes, Calla. Nothing. No matter the outcome of these tests, I'm here. I love you."

Calla pulls me into a quick hug, burying her face in my neck for a split second before she turns away and jogs to Lindsay's truck. I press my fist against my mouth and try to talk myself down. Although I hate to admit it, Vance is right. There's nothing I can do. Besides, retribution isn't what's important. What's important is Calla.

And I hope like hell she comes out of this unscarred.