Shifting Gears

12. An Unlikely Savior

I realized that when I noticed a good chunk of the party-goers weren't from Raven Heights, that meant they also likely did not know me. Or, more importantly, didn't know my brother. As mentioned before, riders from Raven Heights tended to respect me more. It was that, or get hit with a shovel by Clay Lawson for messing with his sister.

So my stomach dropped slowly as I rushed to recognize any of the five racers who had surrounded me, but found no familiarity. All haziness that floated in my brain from the drinks I had been consuming this evening seemed to fade, and my senses sharpened as goosebumps started sliding up my arms.

"Excuse me," I said shortly, trying to get across their thick heads that I had no intention of stopping to talk to them. In the dark, I couldn't see much of their features. I had wandered far out of the reach of most of the lights on the field, and now it was uncomfortably dark. I fought off the urge to hug myself, and instead crossed my arms with a glare as I tried to ignore their eyes raking over me.

One of them, a tall skinny guy with short blond hair and a scar on his cheek sneered at me. "Not so fast, sweetheart. You belong to anyone here?"

I scowled at him, but he took a step closer. "I don't 'belong' to anyone."

"Well, I could treat you nicely, if you wanted."

"No thanks," I snapped, then tried to step forward and around him. But he chuckled. I saw something glint on his face—a ring, on his lip. I inwardly cursed when I realized he saw my eyes drop to his mouth.

"What're you thinking, sweetheart?" he said, a smirk curving his lips. He took a step closer, making me step back, but his cronies had come in closer around me.

My heart started beating a little faster. I glanced over his shoulder and around the others, hoping I'd see someone familiar close by. But there was almost no one left standing in the field, and it was too dark where I was standing for them to even see what was going on. Glen and Becka were likely waiting around the corner. Clay and Reid were my next thought—maybe intentionally avoiding them hadn't been the greatest of ideas.

"Let me go," I said lowly. "My brother would not be a fan if he found out what you were doing."

"Oh, dear me," the head honcho said, feigning terror, causing his buddies to chuckle and my emotions to rise even more. "Who's your brother, sweetheart?"

"Don't call me that," I spat at him, staring up at his face defiantly. "My brother is Clay Lawson."

My fear grew as their laughter did.

"Lawson," he said, and the ounce of hope I had that they'd back off from that faded away at his amused tone. "He's good at racing, yeah. But he doesn't scare us. Riders from Omayle are tougher than the wimps down here, he wouldn't make it far with us."

I was trying to control my breathing, but my anger and anxiety from the situation was throwing it askew. I heard the crowd, almost all of them at the grandstands now, their chatting and shouting muffled. It was eerily quiet behind the stands.

"So what do you say? Want to have some fun at this party?" the blond racer said, his teeth white against the darkness of the night and his black shirt. A redhead to the left of me also stepped closer.

The ghostly smiles of the group as they peered at me like vultures made me feel like I was listening to someone run their fingernails on a chalkboard.

The blond took another step closer, his hand coming up to grab my arm. I tried to jerk away, and my sight went dizzy at the sudden movement. I stumbled backward, and fell against one of the guys behind me. I jumped forward, away from him, but then the blond was mere inches from me.