Chapter 63 CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
Blue’s POV
I was pushing through my tenth set of bench presses, the iron bar loaded with enough weight to snap a normal man’s collarbones. My muscles were screaming, but I welcomed the burn.
Stan was standing over me, his hands hovering near the bar. He’d been quiet for the last twenty minutes, but I could feel his eyes on me. "Everything okay, Blue?" he asked. "You’re pushing it pretty hard."
"Okay," I grunted, the word strained as I shoved the bar back up.
I wasn't okay. My mind was a crowded room. The meeting with Jax and Mark last night had been exhausting. It had dragged on until nearly 1:00 AM, and the tension had been thick enough to choke on. Jax was still acting like a sullen child, probably because he hated the idea of playing double agent, while Mark wouldn't stop talking.
Mark had spent twenty minutes describing Derek’s party in painful detail. Apparently, my cousin had fully bought into the lie that I’d "lost favor" with my father. He’d welcomed my guys with open arms and a lot of cheap vodka.
"How long do we have to do this?" Jax had asked, leaning against the wall of my room like he was ready to snap.
"Not long," I’d told him. "I’m working on something. I just don't want Derek doing anything that catches me off guard while I'm focused on the bigger picture."
Back in the gym, the weight suddenly felt ten times heavier. My grip—slick with sweat and fueled by distraction—slipped. The bar dipped sharply toward my throat. For a split second, I saw the jagged edges of the iron plates descending like a guillotine. It was a scary sight, the kind that usually makes a man’s life flash before his eyes.
Stan’s hands clamped onto the bar just inches from my neck, his own biceps bulging and veins popping as he caught the dead weight. He heaved it back onto the rack with a loud, metallic clack.
I didn't even blink. I’d come close to death too many times to be scared of a piece of gym equipment. I sat up, wiping my forehead with a towel.
"Watch yourself boss," Stan said, his voice a bit rougher than usual. "I can't catch it every time."
"You did your job, Stan. Good eye," I said, standing up. I clapped him on the shoulder, a rare gesture of familiarity. "Keep an eye on the other guys today. Let me know if anything comes up."
Stan nodded. "Got it, boss."
I left the gym, skipping my afternoon classes. I wasn't in the mood to sit through any lecture. My mind kept drifting to a certain red-haired female. Scarlett was supposed to be doing her first vent exploration today. I knew she’d probably come to my room when she was done, but I had this nagging urge to be there when she finished.
I strode along the hallways, my boots clicking against the tile. People moved out of my way as usual, pressing themselves against the lockers to avoid my path. I paid them no mind until a guy I’d seen around intentionally bumped into my shoulder.
I stopped dead in my tracks. I turned, a snarl already forming on my lips, ready to move past the idiot, but he reached out and gripped my shoulder firmly.
I looked down at his hand, then slowly up to his face. I was stumped. What was he trying to pull? I took a deep breath, trying to keep my temper in check. I wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone. I took another step forward, but another guy stepped into my path, blocking the hallway.
By now, a crowd was starting to form. Students were lingering, sensing a fight.
Oh, fuck. I could feel the red painting my vision. My pulse was hammering in my ears. Part of me wanted to just kill them—snap their necks and be done with it. But then I thought of Scarlett. She’d be scared of me. She’d be upset if she saw what I was really capable of when I lost it.
"Move out of my way," I said, my voice low and punctuated.
The fucker who had grabbed me first grinned. "Derek says we should just say hi. Thought you might be lonely now that your old man might have turned his back on you."
I realized then that Derek was hoping I’d lose control. He wanted me to act recklessly, to give the administration a reason to throw me in the hole. I wondered what Derek had promised these two idiots for them to stick their necks out like this.
"Alright," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "Go ahead. Say hi."
The second guy took the bait. He threw a punch, but it was so slow it felt like it was moving in slow motion. I didn't even have to try. I bent to the side, letting the fist whistle past my ear. Before he could pull back, I grabbed him by the throat, moving faster than he could blink. I shoved him against the lockers and growled lowly in his face.
I could see the pansy turning pale. His eyes went wide, and his breath hitched.
"Tell Derek to leave me the fuck alone," I hissed. "Do not take my inaction for weakness. Do not appear in front of me ever again, or I swear to God, I will send you to hell myself."
I didn't wait for an answer. I threw him at the first guy with everything I had. They knocked into each other hard, then hit the wall with a sickening thud before sliding down like a couple of empty sacks of potatoes.
I was positively fuming. My chest was heaving, and my blood was boiling. I looked around at the crowd of onlookers. "Scram!"
Everyone dispersed immediately, scattering like roaches when a light is turned on. I turned to the locker beside me and punched it. The metal caved in with a satisfying crash, leaving a deep dent. My knuckles started to bleed slightly, the sharp sting of the skin breaking finally clearing some of the fog in my brain.
I couldn't remember the last time I was this angry. Scarlett had changed so much in my life. She’d made me softer in some ways, but she’d made my fuse a lot shorter in others.
Scarlett.
The thought of her snapped me back to reality. I quickly made my way to the north side of the building, toward the broom closet.
I reached the door just in time to hear a frantic scuffling sound coming from inside the vents. Then, the grate flew open, and Scarlett came sliding out. Her face was petrified, her eyes wide and glassy. She wasn't even trying to find her footing; she was just heading straight for the floor, not caring about the landing.
I moved instinctively, lunging forward to catch her before she hit the tile. She went limp in my arms the second her skin touched mine.
I looked up at the open vent, feeling the rage starting to simmer again. Her skin was flushed, and she smelled of some kind of chemical repellent.
What the fuck happened up there?