Page 72 of Rules

“Look, dude, I get it…” he starts with a trembling voice, but I’m not interested in listening. The guy tries to walk backward, but I follow behind him, like a cat going after his prey.

“I told you to let go,” I say calmly, but my voice is the only calm thing about me.

His back crashes into the wall behind him, his eyes popping out of their sockets with the realization that there is nowhere to go. I have him cornered and at my mercy.

“P-please…” he begs. His whole body shakes in fear, and I can’t help the crazy smile that’s curling my lips.

“She begged you to stop, too.” I look at my bruised knuckles before my eyes meet his deer-caught-in-headlights gaze. “You didn’t listen, so don’t expect mercy from me.”

Then I let loose.

He screams like the little bitch that he is as soon as my fist connects with his face, but that only makes me laugh as I beat the shit out of him.

Never in my life have I been a violent person. Hockey might be a contact sport, but even while on the ice, I try to play nice. A slightly harder shove if somebody pisses me off, or an elbow to the gut, but that’s mostly it. It’s all child’s play compared to some hockey players who thrive on the violence and causing trouble.

And while I do box occasionally, it’s usually me against the bag, not another person, so to let the rage take over…

The thrill of delivering punch after punch makes the blood rush through my veins, the sound of flesh meeting flesh, bone scraping against bone raising the fine hair at the nape of my neck. Exhilarating and crazy, two completely opposite feelings, makes electricity run through my body. It’s addictive, this rush of adrenaline and power I’m feeling, and for the first time, I understand why some people keep doing it. And although it terrifies me, I can’t stop because I can still see Brook’s trembling frame in his hands. I can still hear her low, raspy voice as she begged them to let go, but they wouldn’t listen. Her voice that was asking for help, calling my name…

“Max!”

Brook’s raspy voice breaks through the haze and madness that’s my mind. I turn around, looking for her. I get just a few seconds, a few lousy seconds when I left my guard down. The fist comes out of nowhere, connecting with my jaw and making my head swing back. My whole body jolts backward, and I stumble over the guy I knocked out that is still lying on the ground.

Enraged, I turn back to finish the guy, when small hands clasp around my neck tightly, almost to the point of choking.

“MAX!” Brook cries into my neck, her hands not letting go. “You’ll kill him if you don’t stop!”

“He touched you!” I yell, but hold in the rage that’s consuming me. The guy curls in a ball in the corner, looking at me through eyes narrowed with fear. “They cornered you in a dark alley, and if I hadn’t shown up, they would have raped you!”

My words are harsh, but there is no helping it. Rage is still burning hot in my stomach, the thoughts of “what if” assaulting my brain. The idea of something happening to Brook…

My whole body shivers as I push the dark thoughts away.

I was here. She’s fine.

“You don’t want his death on your consciousness.” Her trembling body presses against my back, so close I can feel every shiver going through her limbs. “Let him go. He’s not worth it.”

“You’re worth it,” I rasp out, but let her pull me back, although every cell in my body protests.

“You’ve done enough.” Her forehead leans against my back. “You saved me. If you’d have come just a…”

Her voice breaks, stopping her from finishing the sentence, but I understand. My Adam’s apple bobs as I swallow down, my mind going down the dark road. If I had come just a minute later, he would have raped her. Theyallwould have.

The bile rises in my throat, and it feels like I’m going to throw up.

A mere sixty seconds and everything would have been different.

My hands clench into fists and I’m all but ready to go at it again, but a soft whisper stops me.

“Please, take me home.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

BROOK

“Brook.”

A hand lands on my thigh, making me flinch back. My heart is beating wildly in my chest, and my skin crawls like somebody poured acid over it. Disgust and shame pile in the pit of my stomach, indicating there is a good possibility I’ll throw up again, although I’m not sure there is anything left in my stomach.

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