Page 186 of Broken Pieces
But nothing inside me settles. Not with Skylar still glued to my side, her body trembling against mine.
She hasn’t let go. Not once.
Rainer’s by the back bench.
The second he sees us, his whole face changes. Brows crash down. Jaw tightens. That calm he always wears vanishes.
“What the fuck happened?” His voice is sharp, clipped, as he strides toward us.
His eyes move fast.
He takes in Skylar’s face; the dirt smeared along her cheek, the ripped shirt, the panic still swimming in her eyes.
Without waiting for an answer, he pulls a stool over and taps it.
“Sit here.” Then, barking over his shoulder, “Get her a glass of water.”
Cassie nods once, then bolts for the sink. She grabs one of the chipped mugs sitting next to the wrench set. The tap squeals as it runs, water splashing over her hand while she mutters something sharp under her breath. Her movements are jerky and fast, fueled by adrenaline and rage. She’s barely holding it together.
Skylar lowers herself onto the stool. Her arms wrap around her middle, and she curls in on herself.
Small.
Shaking.
Trying like hell not to fall apart, even though I can see the tears building in her eyes.
“Who did this?” Rainer asks.
Cassie shoots a glare over her shoulder, her voice sharp enough to cut steel.
“Those fucking assholes with Bryce? Yeah, real tough when it’s three against two girls in an alley.”
Rainer’s jaw locks. The lines around his mouth deepen. “Bryce who?”
“Anders.”
His expression shifts
“Bryce Anders,” he says. “His father’s Bryan Anders. That lawyer who gets every drunk driver, wife beater, and rich asshole off clean.” He swears again, louder this time. “Fucking hell. Of course it’s that piece of shit’s kid.”
Cassie returns, mug in hand.
She sets it down on the bench in front of Skylar, then looks at Rainer. “What do we do?”
Rainer doesn’t answer. Not yet. His eyes are still on Skylar. On the way, she’s shaking.
Then they shift to me.
And I know what he’s thinking.
It’s the same thing as I am.
This isn’t over. Not even close.
Rainer studies me for a long second, his eyes unreadable, before dropping to my hands.
The second he sees the fresh blood on my knuckles, his expression shifts.
