Page 104 of Necessary Roughness
Troy staggered backward, somehow surprised that he had been punched. I winced, cradling my hand. Even though I spent most of my time trying to tackle people on the football field, I realized I had never been in a real fight before. At least, I’d never thrown a punch.
A fist hit me in the side of the neck, annoying me more than anything. I glanced up and saw it was Troy, rage twisting his weaselly little face as he prepared to strike me again.
He never had the chance.
Knox stepped between us, holding both of us apart, but I had spent the game today dodging men bigger than him. I moved under his arm and then, using my uninjured hand, I grabbed Troy by the neck and shoved him against the wall. His knee lashed up, trying to hit me in the balls, but I twisted my torso sideways. Compared to dodging opposing linemen, fighting Troy was like fighting a child.
I should have stopped. I could have tossed him down and walked out of the party. But as he stared at me, red streaks of hate in his eyes, his voice echoed in my mind.
Stupid fucking whore.
Sloane was special to me now, and I wasn’t going to let this piece of shit hurt her.
I let go of his neck, and punched him in the gut. He dropped to his knees.
Stupid fucking whore.
I drove my knee up into his jaw. His teeth made a sickcrunchingsound.
Stupid fucking whore.
I backhanded him. Knox shouted in my ear.
Stupid.
Another punch to the side of his head.
Fucking.
I grabbed the back of his head and shoved him onto his back.
Whore.
I reached back, forgetting that my hand hurt, and punched him once more in the face.
Only then, only when the white-hot pain erupted in my knuckles again, did I stop. My knuckles were bloodied, but nothing compared to the red smear that had become Troy’s face. I blinked, surprised by what I had done. Howeasyit had been.
But I didn’t feel guilt in that moment as I stood over him.
I felt the most profound sense of satisfaction of my life. It was the joy of a hundred quarterback sacks, the thrill of a thousand recovered fumbles.
“ROMAN!” Sloane screamed from across the room.
Despite his ruined face, despite the immense pain he must have been in, Troy managed to laugh. A sick, gargling sound.
And through the bloody hole in his face, he managed to say, “You’ll. Regret. That.”
45
Sloane
The smell in the waiting room at the jail was a disgusting mixture of bleach and mold. I sat forward in the plastic chair, staring at a discoloration on the floor in front of me. A raised brownish outline on the gray tiles. I imagined a fight breaking out in here, blood being spilled. An underpaid janitor halfheartedly cleaning up the blood with a mop and bucket, not caring enough to make sure the stain was completely removed.
The stain reminded me of the blood on Troy’s face, and on Roman’s knuckles. It filled me with an oppressive sense of guilt, because that fight only occurred because ofme.
Knox and Logan sat on either side of me, occasionally reaching over to stroke my back. Their touch did little to comfort me. We had all been silent since we arrived and were told to wait here, exhaustion consuming us once the adrenaline from the party had worn off.
Eventually the silence was too much, so I filled it with the sound of my voice. “He grabbed me and pushed me into the bathroom. He was angry I had shown up athisparty. He thought I was stalking him.” I shook my head. “The arrogance.”
