CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

-•NATHAN•-

Raymond glared at me from across the table. I maintained my impassive composure, knowing that would irritate him to no end. He gritted his teeth and looked away, getting no reaction from me.

My father, Raymond's father, Greg's father and Harlen—the leader of the Watts—were discussing the renewal of the gang rules. The gang rules were renewed every three years to insure that the policies were up to date. It helped maintain order, just how it was supposed to be.

Each gang leader was allowed to bring two gang members to the meetings, except if you were the hosting gang, if you were the one hosting then you were allowed to bring four.

Tonight's meeting caught me by surprise, which didn't happen often. I wish I would've had time to consult with my dad about substituting Kevin for Ally at the table. Ally always had a level head, but even if I tried to persuade my dad, he would repeat what he always said to me: that girls weren't meant to have a place at the gang table.

Some of my father's ideas were stubborn and outdated. When I was leader of the Creeds, I would run things an entirely different way and there was nothing he would do to stop me.

Kyle nudged me harshly, grabbing my attention. I looked up hastily and saw that my father's face was contorted in anger while Raymond's father, Tristin, mirrored the same expression.

"Do something," Kyle hushed hurriedly. "They're arguing about car selection for the gang race."

The car selection for the gang race was where each racer got to pick their car before they raced. A racer could never bring their own car to race with. This rule kept the sabotage to a minimum. If someone from another gang wanted to tamper with another racer's car, they'd have to tamper with all of them just to make sure. Nobody was that stupid, at least not so far.

"You picked first last time, Tristin," my dad growled.

"Don't be a child," Tristin said.

"I'm being a child-," My dad began angrily.

"I say the Tyrants pick first this year," I interjected with ease.

Greg's head shot up and he grinned. His dad, Neil gave an approving look.

"The Watts can pick after. It's only fair," I shrugged.

Kevin studied me peculiarly then focused his attention in front of him.

"That just leaves us," Raymond said challengingly.

The room was silent, awaiting the next sound.

"Coin toss?," Red offered.

All heads turned to him and Red smirked. He pulled out a coin from his pocket and set it on the table where everyone could view it.

"Tails," I announced without much thought.

"Heads," Raymond said, sounding anxious.

Red raised the coin and flipped it in the air. When it landed on the back of his hand, I didn't bother looking. Raymond didn't know that I practiced racing with every single type of engine and model type there was. It didn't matter if I lost the coin toss, because in the end, I would win.

Raymond shot me a smug expression when the coin landed on heads. My dad shot me an angry look but I

brushed it off.

"It's settled then," Tristian announced, his spirits seemed to be lifted. "The Creeds will be last."

••••••••••••••••

The next morning, news traveled fast. The whole gang knew that we would be picking last. Some didn't seem happy. If I could care less, I would.

They thought that just by picking the fastest car, you automatically won. It didn't work like that and it never would. Winning the race was about being alert of the racers in front of you and behind you, it was about learning when to lurch the car left or right, and sometimes, it was about learning to lose.

My mother always told me that if you knew how to lose, then you would always win. It took me a awhile to fully understand that, but when I finally did, winning came easy.

I felt a light tap on my shoulder and I whirled around to find Presley looking shyly up at me. He had a light blue sweater on with his usual blue jeans.

"You okay?," I asked.

His cheeks flushed a faint shade of pink as he nodded. "I wanted to ask you something."

We stood in the middle of the dining hall where the majority of the gang ate breakfast. It was crowded.

"Not here," I said lowly, gesturing for him to follow me down the hall.

When we were at a more secluded area, I stopped and turned to him. He fiddled nervously with a loose strand from his sweater. The small boy in front of me seemed to be in distress.

"What's up, kid?," I asked, growing more and more curious by the second. "Is this about the carnival?"

He looked up at me and shook his head. "I don't want to talk about that," he whispered.

"That's fine. We don't have to."

He seemed to gather his courage before he spoke again. "Nathan," he took a deep breath.

"I'm listening, kid."

He gulped. "Could you-," he began but shook his head. "Never mind," he whispered and turned to leave.

Before my mind caught up with my body, I reached out and grabbed his small hand to keep him from leaving. "Ask me," I demanded, looking into his stunning hazel eyes.

I retracted my hand hastily when I finally realized what I was doing. I held my gaze with him still.

"Today was supposed to be my mom's forty-second birthday," he said quietly, lip wobbling slightly. "Every year since she...died, I walked to her grave to visit her, but this year the cemetery is too far and-."

"I'll take you," I confirmed, not letting him finish.

Hope filled his eyes. "Really?," he asked softly.

"Did you think I was going to say no?," I asked incredulously.

His look of hope turned guilty as he nodded his head. I scoffed.

"I don't know how many more times I have to prove that I'm not actually an asshole, I just like to get things done. There's a difference," I said, sighing.

"I'm sorry," he said weakly.

Now it was my turn to feel guilty. I ran a hand through my hair and huffed out a breath. "There's nothing to apologize for, kid."

"Can we stop on the way to buy her flowers?," he questioned, peering up at me with wide eyes.

I nodded. "Whatever you want."

He smiled slightly. "Thank you."

"Don't you have school today?," I asked suddenly, reviewing his form.

He blushed. "Can you write me a note?," he asked sweetly.

I barked out a laugh. "The purest saint Presley wants me to write him a fake note of excusal for school?," I asked with my eyebrows raised.

He giggled briefly then looked down at his feet. "You're probably right, I-."

I shook my head with a smirk. "Relax, little one. I'll send someone to deliver the note later today, you worry too much."

He nodded and blushed deeper.

"We're going to have to sneak out, alright? I'm supposed to be in a meeting with my dad right now, but turns out I don't want to anymore," I smirked.

Presley laughed sweetly. "Won't you get in trouble?," he asked.

"Maybe," I shrugged, before leading him cautiously to the garage. "But what are they going to do? Fire me?," I scoffed.

Seeing that no one was in sight, I quickly pulled Presley into a gray Range Rover. The engine was the most inaudible which meant we wouldn't alert the rest of the gang that we were leaving for a while.

When I excited the facility, I noticed a light drizzle start to sprinkle. I looked over at Presley and saw that he looked longingly out of his window, his expression was far off, and unmistakably sad.

"Where's she buried, Presley?," I asked with as much gentleness as I could form.

He turned to me with sad eyes and told me the directions. That now familiar ache in my chest resurfaced as I skimmed my eyes over his downcast mood. His thin form was curled up in the seat as he laid his head against the cool glass of the window.

I shook my head and refocused my attention on the road ahead of me. When we arrived at the cemetery, I pulled the hood of my jacket up and instructed Presley to do the same.

The drizzle wasn't unbearable, it was almost welcome.

I pointed ahead at a flower shop. "Still want the flowers?," I asked.

He looked from the cemetery to the flower shop, then shook his head, his caramel locks dampening from the light rain.

"No," he said softly. "Flowers wither away and get ruined, but what I have to say to her will be forever."

I nodded in understanding. I walked with him through the cemetery until he suddenly stopped at a small gray stone. For a moment, he just stood there, shivering.

My mother was buried three hours away from here. Unlike Presley, I haven't visited her grave since I was fifteen. If I was really being honest, I didn't see the point in visiting a dull stone. That dull stone was nothing but a searing reminder that she was dead. Whether I visited her or not, I knew she would always be apart of me. It didn't matter where I was or who I became, that much was unchanging.

"I'll give you a moment, kid," I whispered in Presley's ear.

He turned to me with the beginning of tears in his eyes. The small, quivering boy shook his head.

"No," he sniffled. "Stay."

It took everything in me to keep my feet planted, but somehow I did it. Once I nodded, Presley knelt down in front of his mother's grave, he gestured for me to do the same.

I found myself following his request and read the gravestone. His mothers name was Penelope Anne Flint. He traced his fingers over the letters engraved into the stone and smiled faintly.

"Hi, mom," he said softly. I looked away, it felt like I was intruding on something that I shouldn't have been.

"Happy birthday," he said weakly. "Sorry I didn't bring you any flowers, I didn't think you deserved something that would die so easily. Anyway, I'm eating more, I'm sure you'd be happy about that," he chuckled slightly. "And I've made new friends, you'd be even more happy about that."

I smiled faintly at that, turning my attention back to Presley. He was completely engrossed with his conversation he was having with a one sided stone.

"And this is Nathan," he said sweetly, pointing to me. "I'm sure you'd like him too, sometimes he's a little moody, but that's okay because he's my friend."

I scoffed. "I'm not that moody," I muttered.

Presley giggled. "You're being moody right now!," he exclaimed.

I looked sideways at him then smiled slightly. "Fair point."

Presley sighed and turned back to the gray stone. "I joined a gang, mom. It's dangerous sometimes but don't worry, it's better than...," he paused for a moment, swallowing hard. He whispered this time. "It's better than Robert."

The rain started to come down harder.

"Your stepfather. That's his name?," my voice came out rougher then I intended.

Presley didn't look at me when he nodded his head.

A loud crack of thunder halted my words that came next. I looked around out of instinct, and I immediately hauled Presley up.

There were three K Blades approaching the cemetery, they didn't seem to spot us yet, and I didn't intend them to.

Presley looked at me in alarm. "What's happening?," he asked, voice slightly raised over the rain.

I kept an eye on the approaching threat as I pressed my lips near Presley's ear. "We need to leave, okay? We'll come back later if you want, just get in the car."

Before he could begin to ask more questions, I pulled his hood further up to hide most of his face. Without thinking, I grabbed hold of his now trembling hand and steered him in the direction of the Range Rover. Once he was safely in the passengers seat, I quickly got into the drivers seat and locked the doors.

I surveyed the road in front of me before starting the engine. With a drop of my heart, the K Blades were nowhere in sight. I cursed softly.

"K Blades?," Presley offered tentatively.

I didn't answer him as I looked around through the pouring rain, searching for the three figures I saw before. When I looked into my rearview mirror, a car was speeding at us at full speed.

I didn't have time to panic, there was no time for that. I instantly pressed on the gas petal and swerved left, just at the right time. The car behind us didn't have time to press the break with my sudden lurch to the left, the slippery gravel skidded the car into a nearby tree. The sound was explosive and the car burst into flames. The rain did nothing to calm the fire.

Presley screamed. Without a second thought, I sped us past the accident and away from the cemetery.

Shit, shit, shit.

"Nathan," Presley whimpered.

"You're okay, kid. Everything is going to be just fine," I reassured him, speeding through streets and maintaining my focus.

"But-but, those people," he cried. "Are they going to be okay?"

I huffed out a breath. "You better hope not. Because if they are, you and I are dead."

Presley looked at the road ahead of us and wrapped his arms around himself. "Are we going to be in trouble?," Presley sniffed.

I sighed. "No," I stated, then added,"....we might, but all that matters is that we're alive, that you're alive. When we get back to the facility, don't say a word to anyone, got it?"

Presley's innocent face looked up at me. "I promise."

The entire car ride back was filled with only the sound of rain pattering on the windows.