Page 98 of The Demons We Hide

As he lines up with the rest of the team, however, I can’t help but remember how he looked in that hospital bed all those weeks ago. Head wrapped and covered in bruises. All because of me. Because some assholes had jumped him and warned him away from me.

Why, though? Why did it have to be about me?

The wind bites through my hoodie and jeans. I keep my gaze locked on the field, my lips curving down as a familiar number from Silverwood Prep’s side appears in the group of players. Bran.

I really wish I hadn’t come.

With a curse, I stand up. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom real quick,” I mutter as Mads jolts at my sudden movement, her head turning up as she frowns at me. “Be right back.”

I take off before Mads can offer to come with me. As much as I like her uncomplicated presence, I’d rather not have to deal with her concerned eyes on me as I fight off whatever anxiety attack is swelling in my chest.

My legs eat up the distance as I power through the crowds of late comers showing up and searching for their own seats as the game starts. Ducking my head, I swerve around groups of girls and a few dressed down teachers, chatting together. I don’t stop until I come out of the gated entryway and bypass the ticket booth. The girl inside—one of my classmates from homeroom—glares at me as I pass. I don’t pay her any attention.

Unlike Silverwood Prep’s parking lot, Silverwood Public isn’t well lit, but the darkness as I pass down the aisles towards where the Scorpion Kings had parked earlier in the day is calming. It makes me feel invisible when I’ve spent my whole life as anything but. I never realized how much I wanted to feel unseen until being seen became too much to handle.

It’s always been oppressive, the sensation of so many eyes on you, of expectations that you know you’ll never meet.

I slow my footsteps as I spy Gio’s Firebird and then I stop entirely several feet away when a shadowy figure steps out from the other side. My entire body goes on red alert as I see the cold eyes staring at me from beyond a black ski mask. I take a step back, turning my body in preparation for an attack. The man doesn’t move. His large frame just remains in place, his gaze settled on me for a split second before it moves upward, to a place over my head.

A hand touches my shoulder almost as soon as his attention diverts, and I know before I turn that they’re not here to help me. Still, I glance over anyway, finding another bulky body and cold eyes staring out from a second mask.

Fuck. Me.

38

JULIET

An arm encircles my throat just as I throw my hips back and bend over. The man at my back grunts as I thrust my ass into his groin and instead of trying to free myself from his grasp, I reach up and clutch at his forearm, holding it to me. Cory’s lessons come sprinting to the forefront of my mind as my body reacts with the instincts he’s tried to instill in me.

Self-defense is never about being stronger. It’s about being smarter.

The man’s body lifts off the ground as I push back even harder and he goes sailing over my back, tumbling to the ground. I don’t wait around to see if his friend will try to help him or come after me. I start running. Ice inflates my lungs, scraping my throat raw as my sneakers slap against the cracked pavement of the parking lot. Back towards the lights, back towards the football field.

It had taken me a solid twenty minutes from the front of the stadium to the back of the parking lot. I plan to cut that time in half if not more.

Booted footsteps stomping the ground behind me answer my earlier question of whether or not the second guy had stayed back to help his friend or not. A curse squeezes out of my lungs and I cut to the left, diving between two sedans as I hit the next aisle of cars. The sound of him working to keep up with me doesn’t cease. In fact, it sounds like he’s getting closer.

My heart hammers in my ears.Thump. Thump. Thump. It drowns out everything else even though I’m trying to listen for the man behind me.

I reach the next aisle of cars, but before I can swerve to the right, a body slams into me. To my utter horror, I scream as I hit the ground. My knees slam into the pavement, rattling me up to my damn jaw. The man on top of me spins me, hand gripping my throat. Instead of going limp, though, I grit my teeth and press one elbow back to the cold hard ground, thrusting my hips into his and shoving the two of us to the side.

The man doesn’t speak, but he does grunt, and when he lands on his side, I rear back and kick the shit out of his calf. His hand loosens its hold and for the briefest of moments, I contemplate screaming for help. We’re closer to the football field now. But what are the odds that anyone will hear me over the announcer and crowds? What are the odds that if someone realizes who’s asking for help that they’ll even bother?

No one in Silverwood gives a fuck what happens to a Donovan, after all.

I scramble up off the ground the second I can slip free from the man’s hold and take off running again. My hair flies behind my face, and I can feel something wet against the inside of my pants leg. I must have broken skin on the last fall, but I don’t have time to concern myself with a wound.

One foot in front of the other, I drag in lungfuls of air as I set my sights on the lights getting closer. Almost… fucking… there…

A black van screeches to a stop mere feet in front of me, too fast for me to actually stop, and I know that I’m going to slam into its side before I can get my feet to cooperate with my mind.

This is so going to hurt,is the only thought spiraling through my head when the side door pops open and swings down. Horror slams into me a second later and I drag my heels into the ground.

Too late. Too motherfucking late. Twin hands lift me right before I manage to stop myself from careening into the near empty van and lift me, practically throwing me into the back and against the masked man from before.

Hands latch on to me and I finally give up on any pride I might have had. Any reason to not call for help. I scream. I kick. I thrash. I punch and curse.

My arms are pinned and then I’m flipped onto my stomach. The cold snick of handcuffs sliding onto my wrists sends my mind into a whirlwind.

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