Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 151765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
“She’s not a friend.”
I heard Gabby mutter, “Excuse me?”
And Cohen hissed, “Don’t. You really want to tangle with her right now?”
“I’m just saying.”
“She looks ready to murder you. He’s gifting this for you, taking her on.” Cohen made some disgruntled sound before saying, “Let’s go.”
He hurried her out, going back out of the kitchen through the front door.
There were others in the living room.
They’d been in there the whole time, at first chattering in the background when I came in and was talking to Gabby, but the second Scout showed, they went silent.
They were all watching, listening.
The patio door opened behind me, and I could feel more people coming in.
“What’s going on in here?” That was Kira, coming to stand to the side, somewhat between us.
“Shit. Fight. Hell yeah.” A guy said that, hopping up on the kitchen counter. He was sat back, feet swinging. The crunch of a chip bag was crinkled next. Someone was eating them.
People were getting snacks.
“Why are you protecting her?” I ignored them, my stomach still churning.
I needed to get back to whatever I was feeling before.
“Because, what the fuck were you going to do? Punch down, metaphorically speaking?”
I came alive again. “Metaphorically? That’s a big word.”
“You want to fight?” He took a step closer. Now looking down at me. “Is that what you want?” His eyes grew mocking, still so cold. “Take me on, Ramsay. I can handle your shit. You tired of hurting? Want to spread some of that pain around so you don’t hurt so much?”
He got closer.
His head bent, almost breathing on me.
His eyes were so cold, like a snake waiting to strike. “Like you’re the only person hurting around here? Like no one else has baggage? Trauma? Is that what you think? You get a free card to hurt someone ‘less’ than you because you got more than your fair share of something shitty that happened to you?”
I was loving this.
I wanted more.
I taunted right back, my eyes almost in slits, “Less than? That’s how you think of her?”
“She is, and you know it. She can’t handle you.”
“That shows how wrong you are because that girl can end someone’s world just by typing some words on her phone screen and clicking share. You think she has less power than me? You’re wrong if you don’t see how powerful she can be, all because she can hide behind her phone, her computer, using others to do her bidding, sharing the bullshit gossip she wants to spread because she knows it’s going to hurt someone. And what’s worse? She didn’t know me when she clicked post. You want to come at me because I was having one conversation, one, in person, face to face, where I was pointing out how it felt with the situation reversed. That’s all you interrupted. I hadn’t said shit to her.”
“That wasn’t the vibe I was getting. I was getting the vibe you were about to tear into her carotid.”
I wished I had. He took that away from me. “You were getting how I wanted to, but I hadn’t said shit.” I took a step back from him. “You jumped to conclusions and came to her defense, not waiting to see what I was actually saying. It’s nice to know that’s how you think of me. As someone who’d so easily bully someone else.”
“Like you weren’t going to,” he shot back at me.
Fuck this.
I surged back at him, my head back, my teeth showing. “Because I wanted to! I wanted to. That was it! She was vulnerable. She felt it. I felt it. I was pointing it out. That was it.” I reached up, intending to shove at him, but he moved.
He caught my hands.
An electrical charge seared through us.
My eyes latched to his.
He felt it too. He was affected too.
Then Trenton growled behind me, “What the fuck is going on here?”
51
SCOUT
Shit.
Trenton’s eyes were feral, trained on my hands on Ramsay.
“Trent—”
He launched himself, ripping through two guys in front of him and shoving me back. “Get your hands off her!”
“Trenton.” Ramsay tried to get between us.
It was useless. He was too gone.
He was either just that drunk or on something. Either way, he wasn’t rational, and I needed to handle this before it got out of hand.
“Trenton!” Ramsay was yelling.
He had shoved me against the kitchen island, his hands on my shirt. I was holding him in place. So far.
I looked over his head at Ramsay, and she was scared. I saw the agony she’d been enduring when I first came into the kitchen, but it was swimming under the surface. She’d let something out, something ugly, something that my gut told me was going to end with her hurting someone.
Trenton reared back.
He was going to punch me.
I twisted, an arm locking around his, keeping him immobile and I slammed him to the side, my foot wedging in between his. I was using my body to hold him in place. The fucker could bite me, but I didn’t think Trenton was that kind of fighter.