Someone else yelled, "Pulverize 'em, Cutler."

"You took down Monroe! These guys are nothing."

"Come on, Jax!"

I felt Jax growing tense, pressed up next to me. I glanced down to see his hands in fists and his biceps flexing. He was getting ready to fight.

Oh dear.

Then it got worse. Word must've gotten back to the crowd at Sally's, because a surge of people came sprinting from the parking lot down the block to us. They filled the sidewalks and started banging on the parked cars, slamming fists on hoods and slapping trunks.

"Let's go! Another win, Jax."

No one stepped out onto the street, so it was only Jax and me in the middle. Dean stood at one end, Dylan at the other and then, slowly, the rest of my brothers stepped out from the crowd to close in a circle around us.

David.

Daniel.

Derrick.

Damon.

Darren.

Darius.

I counted. Eight of them. Wait, the last one stepped out and closed the circle right next to Dylan: Deacon.

Jax grunted. "I knew you had a lot of brothers, but they're a little scary when they're all together." He paused and let out a soft laugh. "Especially with you and me being on the other side of things." He touched the back of my arm. "I'm sorry they're being dicks to you."

"I can handle myself," I growled. They were going to arrest me too? They took out a warrant on their little sister? The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. That's something we used as a threat, a ploy to get people talking-no one wanted to go to jail. But knowing they'd actually followed through and gotten a warrant on me? That was low.

I was going to bust my brothers up. "I could really use my Taser right about now . . ."

Jax cracked his knuckles. "No need, Doily. Let me handle this."

"Wha-" He wasn't going to take them all on. . . . was he?

Nope. Jax was looking past my brothers to where a set of headlights bore down on them, coming fast. When Dylan didn't seem to hear the car behind him, Jax shouted, "Watch out!"

Dylan, Deacon, and Damon all looked back at the same time, and they saw the same thing I did: my rented Camaro soaring right at them. The bass was going, and the engine revved.

Haley had really meant it about the the Dukes of Hazzard entry, and I turned to warn Jax, but I didn't need to. He wrapped an arm around my waist as my brothers scattered, and the Camaro barreled toward us. Haley slowed down just enough for us to see both side doors open and ready. Jax threw me into the backseat, and as soon as his hands left my waist, he leapt for the front seat, slamming the door shut.

"Go!" I yelled, holding on to a seatbelt, and Haley jerked the tires around. There was enough room, just barely, for her to do a complete 180. Dylan and two of my other brothers had started into the street, but when they saw the Camaro coming back, they leaped out of the way again, and we sailed right past them.

I wound my window open and yelled Dylan's name. When he looked up, I extended my middle finger. For good measure, I lifted my arm as high as I could and hollered, "Merry Christmas to you, too!"

Haley laughed as I pulled my arm back in. She slowed at the stoplight and turned right to travel to the police station. "That was the most dramatic escape ever to only go a few blocks, but it was awesome. I think your brothers are more pissed that they got outwitted by their little sister than anything else."

"Male egos."

"Hey." Jax turned around. "Why do I feel like that was an insult?"

"Because it was." I gave him a grin. "But you're exempt. For a guy who should have an ego, you don't."

He laughed, turning back around. "I've messed up too much to get a big head." He patted the dashboard. "Take us to jail, Haley. It's a good day to wear orange."

She barked out a laugh. "I don't think you'll have to wear orange. You shouldn't be in there too long."

And she was right. Once inside, Jax and I together, holding hands, found out all charges had been dropped against him. The assault on his sister's boyfriend lacked enough evidence to prosecute. Apparently, the boyfriend had come in to the station earlier, escorted by guys known to work for the Monroe family, and he'd recanted everything. It had all been a big misunderstanding. His bruises were from a fall down the stairs, and Jax had only talked to him. Never touched him.

There were no witnesses to corroborate his initial statement, so the clerk told Jax he was free to go. As for me, there was now no criminal for me to aid and abet, so that meant I hadn't broken a law either.

It happened so fast that Haley was still in the parking lot when we went back outside. She'd just started to pull out, but she saw us and hit the brakes. Turning the car off, she got out and waited for us to come to her. "What happened?"

When we told her, she burst out laughing. "That must've all happened today. God, that's going to piss off your brothers even more." She held a hand up. "Please, please, please, let me be the one to tell Dylan. I constantly want to jump him like I have ants in my pants, but he's just delicious when he's pissed off. I think I like pissing him off the most."

"Sure." I couldn't contain my smile. "Have at it."

As if on command, my brothers' black SUVs pulled into the station parking lot. There were four in total, and Haley took her time sauntering over to the one Dylan drove. She made sure to sway her hips from side to side.

I started toward Dean, but Jax drew me back.

"What?" I asked.

"Just a minute."

"For what?"

He slid a finger under my chin, lifting my head until our eyes met. "What's going to happen with us now?"

"What do you mean?"

"You and me." An unsure look flashed across his face. He tried to hide it, but I saw.

I melted. I'd been angry at my brothers, but now, with that one look, I was a mess once more. I squeezed his hand and lifted my lips to his. He frowned and asked against my mouth, "Does this mean what I think it means?"

Curling a hand up and around his neck, I grabbed hold of his hair and whispered, "You're goddamn right it does." Then I pulled him down and kissed him. I didn't care about my brothers' reactions. I didn't care about college. I just didn't care.

I was still in love with Jax, and I wasn't letting him go. Not again.

Happy holidays to me.

Fighter, the novel, will be coming 2015 www.tijansbooks.com This isn't my life.

This freckle-faced, natural redhead with the ghastly pale skin that is splotched with red from the persistent sun . . . she isn't me. I'm not that girl who doesn't wear makeup, that girl who can't remember the last time her hair wasn't sloppily pulled up into a bun on the top of her head. I don't wear cut off jean shorts and flimsy tank tops and cheap two-dollar flip flops, my feet dirty and toe nails unpainted because there's just no reason to paint them anymore.

This isn't me.

It can't be.

It can't be.

Thick, dark sunglasses cover my once lively green eyes, partially because the sun is so goddamn blinding but mostly because I just don't want anyone to look at me anymore. I stand along the side of the northbound lane of Highway 77, beside my formerly reliable late model Chevy Malibu, watching as smoke rolls out from under the hood, and think about just how much this can't be happening.

I think about just how much this life isn't mine.

Just how much this person isn't me.

Sighing, I walk around to the passenger side of the car and yank the door open, the metal hinges groaning as I do. My fist bangs against the jammed glove box in the dash, the force making it pop right open. Fishing around inside, I pull out the heavy Motorola cell phone and flip it open, pushing the button to turn the ancient thing on.

There's only one person programmed into the contacts. I press the button, dialing the number, and lean back against the side of the broken down car as it rings.

And rings.

And rings.

I'm about to hang up, to give up on finding any sort of help today, when the line clicks, the ringing stopping. "Hello."

"Hey, it's . . . uh . . ." I hesitate. "It's me . . . Grace."

The voice coming from these lips is timid. I don't like the way it sounds.

"Grace," he echoes, his tone steady and confident like mine used to be.

He doesn't ask me what I need.

He knows I'll get to it.

Eventually.

"Look, this car crapped out on me and I'm stuck out here on the highway and I . . ." I trail off, kicking at the dry ground, sending a small cloud of dust around my feet. Sweat beads along my brow and runs down my back, my clothes sticking to me. It's uncomfortable, but nowhere near as uncomfortable as the next words feel coming out of my mouth. "I need help."

"Where are you?"

I glance around, seeking out some sort of landmark I can describe for him. My eyes land on an old sign down the highway, barely close enough for me to make out. "I'm just outside of town on Highway 77. I can see the city limits sign from where I'm standing."

"You're outside of town."

"Yes."

I know what he's thinking: I left town without talking to him, without consulting him, something he's told me before is completely against the rules. But his rules are really more like wishes, and I know better than anyone that wishing is for fools. He can't scold me for something I'm not obligated to do, but the frustration in his voice is enough punishment.

I hate feeling like a disappointment.

"Got it," he says. "I'll send someone."

"Thank you," I whisper, but he's already hung up before I get the words out. Snapping the phone closed, I toss it onto the passenger seat through the open car door. My eyes drift back toward the sign down the highway, reading the white writing standing out against the grungy green paint.

Entering SNOWFLAKE.

It's an oxymoron, really, one I don't find any humor in. A town in the sweltering state of Arizona, not far from the Painted Desert, ironically named Snowflake.

This isn't my home.

Home is somewhere else, somewhere far, far away from this hellhole.

The sound of tapping glass echoed around me, rousing me from my light slumber. I blinked away the sleep, trying to adjust my eyes. The apartment was dark, the only light from the glimmer of the moon streaming in from outside, the soft glow splayed out along the wooden floor. I lay on the couch, staring straight ahead, watching as shadows dance along the living room walls.

It was quiet . . . too quiet . . . until I heard it again. The windowpane rattled behind me as the tapping once more reached my ears, sending my heart feverishly racing. Sitting up, I carefully peeked over, my eyes instantly meeting his-green eyes that shone so bright they were damn near the color of emeralds.

Instead of calming my heart, the sight of him sent my pulse racing more.

He stopped tapping when he noticed me looking, instead curving his pointer finger and beckoning me to come to him. Jumping up, I tiptoed over to the window, holding my breath as I shoved it open. It groaned, and creaked, like nails on a chalkboard, making me cringe.

He, on the other hand, just shook his head. "Way to be quiet, Gracie."

I could feel my face heating, and I knew the blush was visible thanks to my pale skin. I hoped he thought it was from the warmth and not because of him, but the twinkle in his eyes told me he was on to me.

He had always been on to me, honestly, ever since we were little kids.

"What are you doing here?" I asked incredulously as he crouched on the metal fifth floor fire escape outside my apartment window, like him being up here was the most normal thing in the world.

He shrugged. "I wanted to see you."

"You scaled a fire escape in the middle of the night because you wanted to see me?"

"Yes."

"How very West Side Story of you."

"Yeah, well, just don't expect me to start singing."

I knelt down on the floor and leaned against the old windowsill as I regarded him curiously. Cody Moran. Shaggy brown hair and fair skin and the brightest eyes I had ever seen. A scar marred the left side of his face, running from the corner of his mouth down along his chin.

It made him look a lot harsher than he ever had it in him to be.

He had the kind of smile that could knock the breath right out of you, the kind of smile that left you speechless, a weapon that could disarm even the strongest person once he unleashed it. It was a smile he rarely used, though, except for when he was alone with me.

Only me.

Slightly crooked, one dimple deeper than the other, one corner of his mouth not wanting to cooperate, like it held secrets it wasn't yet ready to spill. Some people might have called it a sinister smile, like he was somebody's conniving villain, but it brought me to my knees whenever I saw it.

Reaching through the open window, Cody grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me toward him without another word, like he could read my mind and knew I was thinking about his mouth. I leaned forward, my eyes drifting closed when his lips met mine. His were chapped but somehow still soft, his kiss sweeter than he looked capable of being. A bitter hint of alcohol lingered on his tongue, mixing with the flavor of spearmint from his gum.