Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Mark shoves me back and the guy’s fist hits Mark right in his temple, pushing him back onto the driveway.
I’m going to tear his fucking face off.
I race for the guy, but his friend tackles me from the side. He pushes me up against a car in the driveway and slams his fist into my ribs a few times.
The hoodie asshole squats down, grabs Mark by his shirt collar, forces him to his feet, and punches him again. And again.
Brody hurries to him.
Mark gets a punch in right before the guy punches him so hard that Mark hits the ground.
“Fuck!” Brody shouts, grabbing Mark’s attacker’s shoulders and pulling him back.
“Dude, it’s over. It’s fucking over!”
I deck the guy on me, and he falls back, seemingly pulled from the rage-filled attitude that possessed him.
“You fucking bastards,” I say, reaching into my pocket and retrieving my sling blade. Always keep one on me in case shit like this starts up. “Come at me again. Just fucking come at me again.”
I want to cut them so bad.
Mark isn’t getting up.
And the guys look worried. Like they’ve finally realized just how much they could have hurt him.
Wasted pieces of shit.
Brody keeps his hands on the guy in the hoodie. “Get the fuck out of here, you fucking assholes!” he shouts.
I hurry to Mark, keeping my knife aimed at them in case they try anything.
“Fuck this shit,” the guy in the hoodie says as he heads toward the street. His friend scrambles to his feet and heads after him.
I’m tempted to chase them, but I need to make sure Mark is okay.
He’s breathing, but he’s not moving.
“Mark.”
Mark stirs.
“Are they gone?” he asks.
Relief washes through me.
“Holy shit, yes, but you scared the mother-loving shit out of us, dude,” Brody says.
“I thought it would freak them out if I played dead. Plus, damn, my face hurts from that punch.”
“What just happened?” a voice comes from behind us.
A familiar voice.
Fuck.
22
MARK
Greg approaches us as I climb to my feet.
“Greg, it’s nothing,” I say.
I can tell by the way his eyebrows are coming together that he’s confused about what’s going on.
“Did he hit you?” he asks.
“What?”
“No, dude,” Brody says. “Just calm the fuck down. We’ve had enough drama tonight.”
“What happened?” Greg asks.
“Some of Brody’s friends wanted a little blow, and I can’t give it to them,” Tim explains. “They got weird about it.”
“Weird? Then why the fuck was Mark on the fucking ground?”
“One of them hit him,” Brody explains.
“Oh, that’s fucking rich. Mark,” Greg says. “What are you even doing talking to this scumbag?”
I see the moment when his confusion shifts to knowing.
He must be able to read the expression on my face because I have no desire to hide this from him. Although, I know it’s gonna get back to Keith in no time, and he’s going to be pissed as fuck when he finds out.
“So you guys are like what? An item now?”
“We’re boyfriends,” I say.
“Oh, boyfriends now. Wow. What the fuck are you doing? Is this my fault?”
“Oh, shut up.”
“Are you acting out because I screwed up? Because this isn’t worth it.”
“Fuck you. Not everything is about you, asshole.”
“You think I hurt you, but you’re running around with a guy who has a fucking knife out right now?”
Tim looks at his hand. The way he eyes it, it’s like he hadn’t even realized he still had it out. He closes his sling blade.
“Just be fucking careful, dude,” Greg says before spinning around and heading off.
“God, this is fucking insane,” Brody says and turns to us. “I am so fucking sorry, you guys.”
“You weren’t responsible for that,” I say. “Neither of you were.”
Tim avoids my gaze. I can tell he’s not letting either of them off the hook that easily, which makes me feel like crap because I don’t know how to get it through his thick skull that there wasn’t anything he could have done to stop what went down. How could he have stopped it? I threw myself in the middle of a dangerous situation. I was doing it to protect him, foolishly thinking that I could say something to calm down the guys who were obviously way too drunk and way too frustrated for me to reason with.
But knowing his temper, I figured he’d do little more than piss them off.
Regardless, at the end of the day, if anyone is to blame for what happened, it’s those assholes who went fucking apeshit on us, not him.
“You good?” Tim asks for what seems like the hundredth time as he leads me into my apartment.
“It was a punch.”
“A few of them.”
Silence.
“The hydrocodone you gave me helped,” I say because while the pressure in my face is still there, it doesn’t feel swollen as fuck.
“You just need to get in bed,” Tim says.
“I’m fine.”
“Mark, can you take it easy for me today? Please?”