Page 157 of Craving Consequences

Another scream leaves my throat, louder, shredded in agony as both my arms are twisted over my head, reigniting the raw fury of my shoulder.

He’s saying something I can’t hear over the heavy weight of darkness threatening to swallow me. It promises such peace from clawing waves of pain rippling through me. I’m almost certain I am about to throw up.

“Stop...” I wheeze, I think.

“Consider this a partial payment for what you owe me,” he pants, free hand tugging and ripping at the front of his sweats. “Might have to turn you over. Can’t stand your face.”

Dirt, twigs and rocks scrape across exposed flesh as I’m wrenched off my back and onto my stomach.

The gravity of the situation skewers through me as his hands curl into the waistline of my shorts.

Crack!

The sound is like a gunshot going off in the silence. It detonates through the roar of blood between my ears.

And I start to scream, praying someone is nearby when Bron jerks violently. His entire body swings to one side and off with the second crack.

I roll in the opposite direction and crawl the rest of the way before turning to face the second figure in the clearing.

Lauren.

Like some Amazonian goddess in torn cutoffs, a bright red tank and flip flops, she stands over my ex-boyfriend’s writhing form wielding a branch as big and thick as a club.

“Get the fuck off her!” she seethes, followed by a swing of her weapon across Bron’s kneecaps.

The howl is nothing to the crack of bones. Bron’s entire body bows off the dirt. He folds to grab his injury and Lauren swings again. Whole body, full weight. She goes into full baseball swinger mode with the perfect follow through.

The club cracks across his face. Throws the whole thing back with the weight of his body following suit.

He lands in a heap of broken, bloody limbs. Immobile across the forest floor with Lauren standing over him, face a mask of hard, bitter rage.

“Who’s the weak bitch now?” she spits.

Bron doesn’t answer. I almost think he’s dead, but Lauren kicks him in the crotch with the full weight of her entire body and he groans weakly.

“Shoot. He lives.” She grumbles before turning to me. The transformation is immediate. The fury dissolves into concern. “Hey.” She scrambles to me and drops to her knees. “You okay? Did he hurt you?”

Her soft, warm hands are at my face, wiping my eyes, cleaning the dirt off my skin. She’s brushing my hair back.

Maybe it’s the sight of her, maybe it’s the fact that I was nearly attacked and assaulted, but I break and she’s there. Arms closing around me, fingers fisting me close. Her familiar warmth and scent envelop me, cocooning me in their security.

But it’s more than that.

It’s having her there. It’s finally seeing her again when I missed her so much. It’s the hurt of what she did and the still fresh wound of that betrayal.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers into my shoulder like she could read my thoughts.

But rather than calm my tumble of emotions, it heightens my anger.

“Why?” I snap at her, shoving her back with my good arm. “Why would you do that?”

I don’t expect denial. Lauren was never someone who covered her mistakes, but I don’t expect rage.

“Because you were dying, Everly!” she snaps back. “Because you were letting that piece of shit carve the soul out of you.” She’s breathing hard, but there are tears in her eyes that punch me in the gut. “I begged you to leave him for years.”

“That wasn’t your call,” I shoot back. “You don’t sleep with your friend’s boyfriend just to get your way.”

“Get my way?” her razor-sharp laugh makes me frown. “You think I did it for myself? You think I enjoyed having him on me ... in me ... for hours...” her voice breaks and she turns her face away, but I don’t miss the quiver in her chin. I don’t miss the shallowness of her breaths. “You have no idea...”

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