Page 83 of Wicked Spite
The world screeches to a halt. My arm freezes mid-swing, the tire iron hovering inches from its next target. Her eyes, those honey depths, lock onto mine. For a split second, the rage evaporates, replaced by something raw and unrecognizable.
“Hellfire?” The word slips out, almost inaudible, as ifsaying my name for her could somehow bring me back to the ground.
Her gaze doesn’t waver, even though she’s barely holding on. I see the flames in her eyes, the same fire that first drew me to her, now flickering weakly but stubbornly refusing to die.
“Fuck,” I breathe out.
She’s up, shaky but fierce, and before I can fully process it, her combat boot crashes down on the attacker’s ribs with a sickening crunch.
“Thought you could take my fucking sister, huh? Fucking coward,” she snarls, each word punctuated by another bone-jarring stomp. There’s no mercy in her eyes, just raw, unfiltered rage. The same kind of rage that’s been simmering beneath her stoic exterior since the day we met.
I can feel her wrath wrapping around me. My own fury momentarily suspended, watching Reagan unleash hell. Her words are jagged shards of glass, each one cutting through the fog in my mind.
“You think you own her?!” she screams, another stomp making the man’s body spasm like a broken puppet. “Think you can buy and sell women like cattle?” Her voice cracks with emotion, raw and trembling. Each stomp is accompanied by a confession wrapped in indignation and despair.
She grabs the tire iron out of my hand, and I let her take it. I’m curious to see what she’ll do with it. Instead of stomping on him now she lifts the metal above her head and rains hits down on the bastard below her. It’s as if every blow she lands on this scumbag is a blow against every monster from her past.
Her anger is intoxicating, almost poetic in its brutality. The rhythmic crunch of bones gives way to an eerie silence as the man beneath her finally stops moving. She drops the tireiron; it thuds against the ground, crimson stained. Reagan’s chest heaves with exertion, eyes wild and vacant.
For a split second, our eyes meet, and I see it—the same darkness that shadows my soul reflected in hers. We’re two sides of the same fucked-up coin.
The guy’s body is limp, the life having drained away in an instant with that final blow. Reagan stands over him, blood splatters her face, her hands, blending with the sweat and tears.
“Shit,” I mutter, stepping closer. My hand reaches out, brushing against her arm. She flinches but doesn’t pull away.
“You’re fucking crazy,” she whispers again, her voice softer now, almost broken.
“Yeah,” I reply, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Well, we both fucking are.”
“Fuck,” Reagan breathes, wiping a smear of blood from her cheek. The motion is almost tender, a sharp contrast to the violence we’ve just committed. Her combat boots are stained, her knuckles bruised, but there’s a fire in her eyes that can’t be extinguished.
“Welcome to the Blackwood psycho side,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Population: us.”
She shoots me a look that could melt steel, but there’s a flicker of something else there too—understanding, maybe even acceptance.
“Well,” I say, voice rough as sandpaper, “that was one hell of a date night.”
Reagan lets out a shaky laugh, wiping blood from the corner of her mouth. “You really know how to show a girl a good time, Blackwood.”
“Always aim to please.” My eyes flicker over her, taking inevery detail.
“Shut up,” she growls, biting down on my bottom lip just hard enough to draw blood. “Just shut up and kiss me.”
So I do. I kiss her like it’s the last thing I’ll ever do, pouring everything I have into that single, searing connection. It’s messy and desperate and utterly consuming, a collision of need and fury that leaves us both gasping for air.
“Goddamn it,” I pant, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
“Likewise,” she replies with a wicked grin, her fingers trailing down my chest, leaving a burning path in their wake. “But what a way to go.”
“Crazy bitch,” I mutter, but there’s no heat behind it. Just an overwhelming sense of…something. Something that scares the hell out of me even as it draws me in deeper.
Chapter 30
Reagan
Blood drips from the dead man’s neck, pooling on the gravel beneath him. It’s leaking out of his ears, nose, and eyes. The metallic scent fills my nostrils as Penn wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. His body is a solid wall of warmth and comfort that shields me from everything that’s just happened.
“I knew you’d come. I knew you’d find me. I dropped my phone. I almost didn’t make it in time before he got her,” I whisper into his chest, my voice trembling with relief. I let the earthy scent that is distinctly him fill my lungs as I inhale him in. My heart seems to pound in syncopation with his, a rhythm that steadies the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
