Page 40 of Chasing Wildflowers
I flinch, the words hitting like a slap. Luke is drunk and angry, not a great combination.
He slowly stalks toward me, shoving stools aside, each one landing with a loud thud against the floor until he’s blocking my exit.
His jaw tightens, his eyes holding an anger I’ve only ever seen in my old life. “You think I haven’t heard about all the dates you two have been on? It’s all anyone can talk about,” he spits in disgust.
Fear creeps up my body, lodging in my throat. Luke’s face morphs into Byron’s. Panic threatens to take over but I push it down.
Luke isn’t Byron, and this isn’t a nightmare.
He takes a menacing step forward, his boots echoing across the floor. “You don’t get to decide that we are done.”
My pulse beats loudly in my ears. I don’t move, my mind racing through ways to escape.
He closes the distance, stopping a foot away. Close enough that his rancid breath wafts across my face, causing bile to rise in my throat. “I say when we’re done.” His hand snaps out, gripping my chin, fingers digging in. “After I’m finished with you, you can go back to being a whore.”
He crashes his lips to mine.
I jerk back, ripping my mouth from his, and slap him as hard as I can across the face, the sting radiating up my arm.
He stumbles back, hand flying to his redding cheek. “You want to play rough, Lane?”
His hand shoots out, grabbing me by the throat. “Let’s play rough.” He walks me back until my back slams against the wall. I fight back a groan against the pain radiating down my spine.
“I decide when we are finished,” he seethes.
Before I can react his mouth is on mine again, his tongue pushing against the seam of my mouth. I keep my mouth shut tight, my lips firmly trapped between my teeth and push at his chest with all my strength, but he isn’t budging.
The front door crashes open, slamming against the wall loudly. Luke rips his mouth from mine, whipping his head toward the noise.
It’s all the distraction I need. My knee comes up, hitting him directly between the legs. He doubles over, gasping. I bring my knee up again, this time connecting with his nose. He crumples to the ground, hands coming up to cup his face.
He groans, curled up in the fetal position, blood already slick on his fingers. “You broke my nose, bitch,” he grunts, the words muffled.
I draw my leg back, ready to kick him again, when I hear my name. His name for me.
“Wildflower.”
Jameson.
A strangled cry rips from my throat as I run into his outstretched arms.
Seventeen
Jameson
Lane’s face is buried in my chest, fingers knotted in the cotton of my t-shirt like they’re clutching a lifeline. Her body trembles against me; each ragged breath she takes feels fragile, like porcelain. Luke is curled in the fetal position a few feet away, cradling his bloody nose, pained groans leaving his throat with every exhale.
I smooth a hand down Lane’s hair, the soft strands slipping through my fingers, and press her closer. “It’s okay, Wildflower,” I murmur against her hair, low enough that only she can hear it. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”
I hadn’t planned on coming, she told me not to, but I had a surprise for her. When I pulled into the lot and saw Luke’s truck, a hot, animalistic rage ripped through me so intensely that it left me shaking.
That anger doubled when I walked in and saw him; his hands on her, her back against the wall, his mouth against hers as she pushed at his chest, trying to escape him.
I wanted to kill him.
I would have if Lane hadn’t run into my arms, needing me.
I guide Lane onto a nearby stool, one of the few that isn’t laying on its side, and gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, my palm lingering on her cheek. “I need to deal with him. Stay right here.” A small nod is the only indication that she heard me.
