THE TREXLERS (from Sniper 1 Security)
Parents: Bryce and Emily
Children: Ryan/RT, Colby, Clay, Marissa, Austin
BRYCE’S YOUNGER BROTHER’S FAMILY:
Parents: TJ (Bryce’s younger brother) and Stephanie
Children: Tanner, Kira, Evan, Dominic
Chapter One
Friend? Okay, if you say so.
Seventeen years ago
Seventh grade
“What the fuck’re you lookin’ at, asshole?” Leyton Matheson growled as he made his way through the hallway of his junior high school. All eyes seemed to be on him. No matter which way he moved, where he turned, they were all staring as though he were some sort of abomination.
Being the new kid sucked some serious ass.
God, he hated this place.
Really hated it.
“Dude’s got his panties in a twist,” someone mumbled from his left. Could’ve been a boy, or possibly a girl, but he doubted it was the latter. The gender of the high-pitched voice wasn’t all that discernible, though Leyton had a feeling he knew exactly who it was. The same asshole who’d been goading him since his very first day.
Leyton stopped walking and turned slightly, his eyes scanning the group of boys lining the lockers, the same boys who had been snickering and pointing when he approached. He had no idea who’d spoken up, but clearly they didn’t want him to see them, either, because no one stepped forward.
“You got somethin’ to say?” Leyton countered, watching each face, peering directly into every set of eyes. “If you do, then step up or shut up.”
He was so freaking tired of doing this same dance every day.
One of the bigger guys in the bunch took a step forward—a first this week—and Leyton smirked. The guy might’ve been taller than the others by several inches, but Leyton still had several more on him. At least four.
“What’re you gonna do?” the boy asked, glaring at Leyton from beneath his floppy red hair. “Huh?”
Leyton welcomed the adrenaline rush as he slowly advanced on the kid, causing the other boys to scatter to the side. Even as a group, they weren’t as tough as they’d wanted Leyton to believe, clearly.
“Come on, freckle face,” Leyton provoked. “You wanna piece of me?”
“Bring it on, pretty boy.” The kid’s words belied his actions, because instead of stepping forward, he moved back once again.
Leyton towered over every damn kid standing in the hallway, and he was only twelve years old. Earlier in the year, he’d skyrocketed in height, surprising most people who knew him, especially his father, who had taken Leyton’s sudden growth spurt to mean he could beat on him more than usual—which now meant sometimes twice a day. Although his father still had a good eight inches on him, Leyton was quickly gaining ground and figured it wouldn’t be long before he could meet the old man eye to eye. He was counting down the freaking minutes until that day came.
The old bastard had been knocking him around since he was little, shortly after Leyton’s loser of a mother had skipped out on them when he was only four years old. He didn’t know where she’d gone, and his father never seemed to want to answer his questions, so he’d finally given up, not caring. It was enough to put up with one fuckup for a parent; no need worrying about the other.
But Leyton had been making do until recently. If it hadn’t been for the fact his father was a no-good piece of crap, he still would be. It was his father’s fault he was here in the first place, which made Leyton hate him all the more.
Unfortunately, thanks to his drinking, Carl Matheson had gotten fired from his construction job, and in looking for something new, he’d found an opportunity in Dallas, which was how Leyton had ended up at this shitty-ass school with these shitty-ass kids. He’d been forced to leave all of his friends in Fort Worth behind, and now, based on the freckle-faced redhead moving his way, he wasn’t doing too hot in making new ones.
“Come on, chickenshit,” Leyton snarled, wanting to provoke the kid into hitting him first simply because it was a challenge.
“You got a problem?” the kid sneered, baring a mouthful of braces that glinted in the harsh fluorescent lights from above. “Or you just always an asshole?”
“Always,” Leyton confirmed. “You always that ugly? Or is it a special occasion?” Leyton snapped back, itching for a fight.
He’d been at the school for a little over a week, and he was ready to go back to Fort Worth with or without his asshole father. A surefire way to get Carl to pay attention would be by picking a fight and getting expelled, so Leyton had been doing his best for a few days, but until now, no one had stood up to him.
“Watch your mouth, asshole,” the kid advised, his fists clenching at his sides, his freckled cheeks turning redder with every breath he took.
“Or what? You gonna punch me in the knee?” Leyton glanced across the hall, noticing the door to one of the classrooms was opening.
A teacher, maybe?
Not waiting to find out, Leyton took advantage of the distraction, throwing a punch directly at the kid’s face, hitting him square in the jaw. Surprisingly, Red was resilient, returning the punches until the two of them were grappling, shoes squeaking on tile, bodies slamming into the lockers lining both walls while the other kids cheered and spurred them on. Leyton got in more punches than he took, trying to do the most damage, but unfortunately, the fight appeared as though it would be interrupted much too soon.
“Boys!” a woman yelled. “Stop that right this minute.”
A whistle sounded, but Leyton didn’t release his grip on the kid’s shirt, continuing to throw punches, some hitting their mark, some not.
Anger swelled inside him, making his hits that much harder as he thought about the way his father had slammed him against the wall that morning when Leyton had been trying to eat breakfast. Apparently he’d screwed up again, eating the last of the Cheerios and drinking the last bit of milk—both of which had come from the food pantry at the church down the street. Not that either had been enough to sustain him for a day, but he’d been starving since he’d been sent to bed without dinner last night because his father simply hadn’t wanted to look at him anymore. Or so he’d said.
Another whistle sounded, followed by another shout, this one from a different woman.
Leyton peered up, and while he was distracted, the redhead lurched again, but sensing the move, Leyton stepped out of the way, spinning quickly and helping the kid into the lockers. Headfirst.
Red’s posse didn’t seem to like the fact that their leader was now crumpled on the floor, but Leyton wasn’t too worried about them. He could take every last one of them down with his bare hands if he needed to. Defending himself had become second nature, considering he’d been dodging (and taking) punches from his alcoholic father for most of his life.
When the kid was back on his feet, Leyton beckoned him forward with his fingers. “You give up yet?”