Chapter 19

A Week Later

Landon's POV:

"Your sister is worried about you, more so than usual," Lisa tells me, doing most of the talking, as always. "You understand why, right?" When I refuse to answer, she does it for me. "It's because you've been in more fights than usual this last week. Why? What triggered it?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do."

Yes, I do.

Sarah won't pick up her damn phone. It's annoying being ignored. She's stonewalling me as if I've done something wrong. And for some stupid reason, I miss that soft-hearted blonde with the pretty smile.

"You're regressing," she adds, pulling me from my thoughts.

"I know."

And I don't even care.

"Then do something about it," Lisa surprises me with her hostile tone.

I scowl at her. "That's why I pay you," I remind her. "Don't forget that."

"Fix it, Landon Kitler," she adds fiercely, refusing to pay attention to my threats. "Only you can."

"Again, your job," I reply angrily.

"I can't act for you, Landon. Believe me, I wish I could but I can't. Every decision you make and action you take is on you. Not me," she argues, shaking her head at me while remaining completely calm. "Life is not always going to suck. People are not always going to be out to get you. Open your eyes. You're the only one keeping yourself from a happy life. The choice is yours and so is the consequence or reward."

Lisa's by far the worst psychologist of them all, and that's saying a lot considering that I hate them all.

*~*~*~**~*~*~*

"Lan, are you okay?" Em asks me for the hundredth time, following me around the garage while I'm busy working on a Ferrari.

"I'm fine," I repeat, attempting to throw the wrench into the box but missing. I groan and stare up at the ceiling when the wrench lands under the shelf I've just managed to fix. I fixed it by building it into the wall – that wrench is gone.

"You're my brother, I know when you're lying to me," she replies, refusing to leave me alone. My sister is as stubborn as I am.

"Get a job, Emma. I'm tired of you leeching off of me," I say, losing my temper. I'm not even angry at her. I'm just angry and I don't even know why. I just need her to leave before I say more things that I'll regret. "It's time you grow up. I've sheltered you enough from this world."

"What the flip, Landon?" She asks me, her face going as red as her hair – an indication that she's mad. "I pull my weight around the house by winning races."

"I meant a real job, one that you're actually good at," I reply coldly, feeling indifferent to everyone around me.

"You know why I love racing so much," she says, poking me on the chest, "so don't you dare say that it's not a real job."

Memories of my dad fill my mind against my will. He's left a gap in my life.

When I don't say anything further, Emma stares up at me as if I'm a stranger to her, as if she doesn't know who I am anymore. "You're turning out to be just like her."

Her last comment stings. I helplessly watch her walk away from me, already feeling guilty for letting her take the backlash from me. I don't want her to be my punching bag. She's my little sister, the most important person in my life.

I'm nothing like my mother. I don't want to be like her. Despite my best efforts, Emma may be right. Frustrated, I punch a hole into the wooden back door of the garage before walking out to the old car in a futile attempt to escape the past.

I lean against the rusty hood and stare up at the heavens, remembering my dad teaching me and Emma to drive in this car, and then to race in this car. He loved cars and he loved street racing. He raced when he was younger. He passed down his passion for cars and racing to both of his kids. Difference is, he never raced illegally. These days, there aren't many places that allow street racing, and the places that do are not really my scene – too many people. I prefer underground races.

"Hey, dude," Dean says as he steps outside through the back door, ignoring the hole -- he's used to it, "there's some client out front looking for you. He seems real angry, almost as angry as your sis. What you do?"

I sigh knowingly. "It's probably Colt." The guy just loves picking fights. I'd give him a fight if it meant I wouldn't get fired by Marv.

"The huge biker guy that's all muscle and about twice your size?" Dean questions, familiar with everything that goes on in this cruddy, little garage. "The one who hates you?"

I nod. "Yeah, that's the one," I say, walking back to the garage. Sure enough, it's Colt.

"Keep a lid on the temper," Dean says quietly, standing beside me. I know he's got my back in case I fail to keep the lid closed.

"Hey," I greet Colt, forcing myself to cooperate.

Why today of all days?

Colt frowns when he spots me. He steps closer to me and towers over me as if to intimidate me. "Kitler," he glares down at me, "this is the last time I'm telling you that I want my Mercedes back," he warns me in a loud voice.

The guy's still all bulk and no brains.

"Tough. This is the last time I'm telling you, you can't have it back," I reply, infuriated by his presence. I'm tired of tiptoeing around this egghead. I'll say what I damn well want to say. "I'm still waiting for you to pay the entire repair bill."

"I'm still waiting for you to fix my car!" He roars before shoving me backward, getting violent.

Someone just has to sucker punch this giant in his gut and he'll go down like a ton of bricks. The bigger you are, the harder you fall.

"It is fixed!" I stand my ground, gesturing over to Mercedes in the corner. "I fixed it again after you wrecked it again." It took a while but I fixed it.

"You never fixed it properly the first time. You should be held accountable for negligence. I'm not paying anything more until I drive her and see for myself if she's really fixed this time," he argues with me, not budging, his words irritating me to no end – I always go out of my way to fix everything properly; I don't take shortcuts.

"The car was fixed until you drove her into another car," I say quietly, restraining myself from losing it completely. "Hence you being back here."

"And how would you know that?" He sputters, taken aback by my theory. I've caught him off guard.

"Because I'm a racer too and I've seen enough cars wrecked in races to know that you rammed into another car during a race, one that I guarantee you lost," I answer him bluntly, curling my hands into fists. "So, if you're not here to pay the full amount then tough, I'm not releasing the car to you."

"It's like you're not listening, Kitler, I'm not paying the full amount," he tells me again, stepping forward and getting in my space – something that I won't tolerate. "So just give me my damn car!"

I grit my teeth and clench my jaw tightly. "No. Now get out of my face."

When he swings for me, I immediately catch his fist in my hand, having predicted his reaction. He throws another pathetic punch and I easily dodge it. He packs on power but he's incredibly slow.

Heat, pure rage, flows through me when he grabs me by the collar of my shirt with both of his hands. Unable to think straight, all I see is red and all I feel is the fury. He's going to be sorry. Before I even realize it, I have him on the floor within seconds, bloody and beaten up.

With it being out of my control, I keep punching him in the face repeatedly, barely conscious of what I'm doing.

"Dude," I vaguely hear Dean's voice while my fists keep busy, "get off the guy before you murder him in cold blood." I feel him tug me. I allow him to rip me off of Colt. "Look at the mess you've made," he lectures me.

I break from the trance-like state and glance down at the splatters of blood on the floor. My fists and my shirt are covered with bloodstains. It's a sight I'm used to seeing despite usually not remembering most of it.

"I thought the big, tattooed guy might take you but I'm not sure if you'll ever meet your match," Dean adds, managing to remain cool and collected.

I shake out my fists. "He started it," I breathe heavily, not feeling the slightest bit remorseful. He deserved it.

Colt sits up and spits out a mouthful of blood. "I want my car."

He doesn't quit.

My blood boils once again. "Then take it." I pick up the thing nearest to me, a ratchet, and throw it at the window of his Mercedes. I grin when the ratchet hurtles through the passenger window and shatters it. "Take. It." I command, beyond infuriated. "If you want it, then take it from me. I dare you."

Colt's eyes widen in panic. He winces and flinches back from me, now silent.

"You call that keeping a lid on your temper?" Dean asks me, watching the enormous guy fearfully slide away from me.

I shrug. "That was me keeping a lid on my temper."