He goes to take out his phone, but I immediately smack it out of his hand. “I wouldn't do that if I were you.”
“Oh no? And what are you going to do, Zaynie-boy?”
I get up in his face. “What kind of scumbag lets his girlfriend take the fall for him, huh?”
He tries to shove me away, but I don't budge.
“Come on, tell me,” I press. “No, better yet. What kind of scumbag throws a fucking bomb into someone's dorm room because they broke up with you?” I smirk, looking him up and down. “A little insecure, are we?”
The corner of his mouth raises in a snarl. “It was a Molotov cocktail, and I'm just disappointed she wasn't in it. I would've loved being responsible for taking Donovan's little sister away. Just like I almost took away his little girlfriend.”
It could be the mention of Tessa on top of the threat to hurt Amelia, or it could be the adrenaline coursing through my body. Regardless of the cause, the moment my fist plows into his face, there's no turning back for me.
The two of us fall into a jumble of punches being thrown and blood spattering with rough impacts. I can feel as my lip splits open, and he's getting a few good hits in, but I'm stronger. I straddle his waist and continue to pound into any part of him I can get.
Blade manages to reach behind him for a second, and as his arm comes back around, I can see it out of the corner of my eye.
His switchblade.
In an unexpected move, I hit him directly in the ribs to knock the wind out of him, and manage to get the knife away from him. I lean over and press it to his neck. Judging by the way he doesn't fucking move, he knows I've got him beat. A little trail of blood trickles down as I press the sharp blade into his skin.
“Not so tough now, are you, Marcus?” I sneer.
He grunts, with a look on his face that says he wants nothing more than to kill me right now, but he says nothing.
“Here's what's going to happen, asshole,” I tell him. “You're going to leave me alone, and you're going to stay far as fuck away from Easton and Amelia. The only reason I'm not slitting your fucking throat right now is because I know Amelia wouldn't want blood on her name. But if I find out you came anywhere near either of them, I swear on every person I love, I'll come back and finish the job without a single goddamn ounce of guilt. Do I make myself clear?”
It takes a minute, but he moves his head in a reluctant nod. I pull a tight-lipped smile as I stand up and slip his notorious knife into my back pocket. Before he has the chance to get up, however, I swing my leg back and get him directly in the ribs with my steel-toed boot—breaking multiple ribs in one shot.
Blade curls up in pain and spits some blood from his mouth, but he says nothing as I walk away and leave him there.
With no phone.
No knife.
And no fucking dignity.
WALKING BACK INTO THE house, I don't know what I expected, but if definitely wasn't this. Amelia is sitting on the couch, and the second I step inside, she's glaring at me. As soon as she catches sight of the blood, though, her eyes widen.
“What the fuck did you do?” she demands.
I pull my shirt over my head and walk into the kitchen, throwing it directly into the trash. “Do you really want to know?”
She stops to take a breath and shakes her head before holding out her hand. My brows furrow as I wonder what the hell she's doing.
“My phone,” she clarifies.
Ah. I pull it out of my back pocket and hand it to her. She immediately goes into her text messages and cringes in disgust at the ones I never deleted between Blade and me. Then, she re-blocks his number and sets it on the counter.
“Just tell me one thing.”
I nod. “Anything.”
Her gaze locks with mine, like she wants to read the answer in my eyes. “Did you kill him?”
“No,” I answer honestly. “But if he ever hurts you again, I can't promise I won't.”
A part of me expected her to be afraid. I mean, I'm standing in front of her, with someone else's blood all over me, admitting that I'd literally murder someone. Instead, she surprises me by nodding. She says nothing as she grabs my wrist and pulls me into the downstairs bathroom.