Page 185 of Broken Pieces
Liam comes next, face twisted, fists flying. One punch clips my shoulder, but I don’t flinch.
I step in close, grab the front of his shirt, and drive my elbow straight into his face.
The force sends him backward, spine slamming against the wall before he drops to his knees, hands clutching his nose as blood pours through his fingers.
Bryce tries to crawl away, elbows digging into the gravel as he drags himself through the dirt, but he’s slow, way too fucking slow.
I catch his ankle and yank him back. My boot slams into his side once.
He curls in on himself with a broken sound. I hit him again, harder this time. His body jolts, then goes still.
The only sound left in the alley is the three of them groaning.
My pulse is pounding. My vision swims; my chest rises too fast, too hard.
They are done—all three of them.
I stand over Bryce, fists still clenched, blood dripping from my knuckles. My arms shake, not from fear, but from the weight of everything I’ve been holding back.
When I finally lift my head, I see her.
Skylar.
Cassie is at her side, gripping her arm, tugging, whispering something I can’t make out.
Skylar isn’t moving. Her face is pale, eyes locked on me, wide and glassy.
I take one step toward her—just one.
And she flinches.
Just the slightest jerk of her shoulders, barely a step back. And I fucking hate it.
“Sky,” I breathe.
She doesn’t speak. Just launches herself at me, as if her legs can’t hold her anymore, and then she’s in my arms.
Her face presses into my chest, her breath hitched and uneven. I wrap my arms around her, crushing her against me, holding her so fucking tight my ribs scream.
Cassie stands beside us, chest heaving, eyes wide.
Her jaw clenches when she sees Bryce on his ass with his phone out, blood smeared across his face like war paint.
“Fucking asshole,” she snaps, stepping closer. “What’s wrong, Bryce? Not so fucking tough now? You’ve been running your mouth at Skylar for months—guess it’s hard to talk shit when your teeth are loose.” Cassie tilts her head, eyes glinting. “You know, I’ve waited a long time to see one of you idiots eat shit. Guess karma’s got a mean right hook.”
Cassie turns back to us, fire still burning in her eyes. “Come on,” she says, voice low but urgent now. “We have to go. Beforesome nosy fuck calls the cops and starts asking why there are three pricks bleeding in the street.”
I nod before turning back to Skylar.
She’s trembling under my arm. I pull her in tighter, press a kiss to her hair.
Cassie moves ahead, checking the street.
I don’t look back.
When we finally reach the workshop Cassie yanks the door open, and the harsh light spills over us.
The world slams back into color—concrete floors, rusted tool chests, oil-soaked air that’s familiar.
