Page 86 of Boots & Scars

The driver didn't respond. He kept driving, eyes fixed on the road ahead. My heart began to race.

"Excuse me," I tried again, a bit louder this time. "You need to take a left back there to get to my mom's house."

"I know where I'm going," he barked, his voice harsh and impatient.

I clenched my teeth, a wave of unease washing over me. Cooper's voice echoed in my mind, his words about the real world and how people would treat me if I didn't stand up for myself. But surely, I could be polite and still get my point across.

"Look," I said, more firmly this time, "I need to get to 57 Maple Street. You're heading in the wrong direction."

The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable. The car continued down the wrong street.

"57 Maple Street," I repeated, enunciating each word clearly. "Please turn around and go back."

The car veered away from the route to Mom's house and took an unfamiliar turn. My heart pounded harder with each passing second.

"Where are we going?" I demanded, my voice trembling.

"Shut up," he snapped, eyes cold and unyielding in the rearview mirror.

Panic surged through me as the surroundings grew increasingly unfamiliar. The car pulled up in front of a frat house, one I recognized from the campus tours. He parked, yanked open my door, and grabbed my arm with bruising force.

"What's going on?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice steady as he dragged me toward the building.

He slapped me hard across the face. Pain exploded in my cheek, tears springing to my eyes.

"I said, shut up," he snarled. "You got Zach into trouble because you ran and told Sinclaire. Now, you're going to pay."

Inside, the air was thick with the smell of stale beer and sweat. Dim light barely illuminated the dingy room. Shadowsof men loomed closer. One of them pushed me down onto a grimy couch, straddling me with an expression that turned my stomach.

"Please," I said, my voice cracking. "Please, don't."

My mind went numb, memories of Zach's attack crashing over me like a relentless wave. Back then, I hadn't understood what was happening until it was too late. But now, there was no mistaking the danger I was in. The threat loomed over me, tangible and immediate.

I had two choices—lie there and take it or fight back.

Fuck this.

There's my little killer.

The words ignited a spark within me. I knew I wouldn't win; the odds were stacked too high. But I wasn't going down without a fight.

As the guy straddled me, I twisted my body violently, using every ounce of strength to throw him off balance. He grunted in surprise, momentarily losing his grip. I took advantage of the opening and kneed him hard in the stomach. He doubled over, gasping for air.

"Get off me!" I screamed, my voice raw with desperation.

He reached for me again, but I lashed out with my fists, hitting him wherever I could. His face twisted with anger as he caught my wrists, pinning them above my head.

"You little?—"

I didn't let him finish. Summoning all my strength, I brought my knee up again, this time aiming lower. His eyes widened in pain and fury as he released my wrists to clutch at himself.

I scrambled off the couch, adrenaline coursing through me. My vision blurred with tears and fear, but I couldn't stop now.

Another guy lunged at me from the shadows, and I grabbed an empty beer bottle from a nearby table. With a desperate cry, Ismashed it against his head. The glass shattered, sending shards flying.

"Help!" I yelled as loud as I could manage.

More figures closed in around me, but their movements seemed sluggish compared to the frantic pace of my heartbeat. One grabbed at my arm; I swung the broken bottle wildly in response. He recoiled, a deep cut opening on his forearm.

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