four
Harper Apple
Colt turns into the small faculty lot and stops beside the bike rack, whistling “Back to Life” under his breath. The rain has let up for the moment, but fat little drops still sprinkle down at random. “Well, this was fun,” he says, shutting off the wipers. “Next time you want to make a dude cum in his pants, remember, I’m your guy.”
I laugh and grab my backpack off the floorboards. “Thanks for the clothes. And smoking me out, and the sandwich… Damn, I’m starting to think I really do owe you a BJ. At least a hand job.”
“I mean… I’m not gonna argue with that logic,” he says with a grin.
A car engine roars behind us, and his smile vanishes, replaced with a flash of fear.
I twist around to see a black Range Rover barreling toward us.
“Get out,” I yell, yanking the handle and literally diving out the door of the car. My backpack spills from my lap, tumbling to a stop against the bars of the bike rack as I somersault across the concrete walkway and I roll up to my feet. I throw my hair out of my eyes just as the Rover slams into the back of Colt’s truck without slowing.
A sound escapes me, but it’s drowned in the grinding of metal and shattering of glass. The back of Colt’s Denali caves in, the wheels askew so he can’t drive away. They must have busted the rear axel. Black smoke billows up from the tires, and for one second, I’m reminded of the drag race. But this isn’t a race. It’s an attack.
I started bringing a knife to school the past few days, but my fists are still my best weapon, so I don’t reach for it. I’m more worried about Colt than myself, anyway. I run for the cab of his truck, yanking the passenger door open just as Royal yanks the driver’s door open. For one second, our eyes meet, and I see not the dark, dead eyes that meet mine when he’s hurting me, but a rage so deep and raw it makes my soul quake.
“Did you fucking touch her?” Royal asks, his voice low and lethal. “Because if you did, I will cut every single one of your fucking fingers off this time.”
“She was on her own all week,” Colt protests, fighting to free himself from his seatbelt and the airbag, which deployed when he was hit. “I thought you were done with her.”
“I decide when I’m done,” Royal snarls, ripping Colt out of the car by the front of his shirt and throwing him down. For a second, I can’t see anything but the fucking airbag. Heart racing frantically in my chest, I race around the front of Colt’s vehicle, cursing these guys with their big-ass trucks that make it so hard to see. When I reach the other side, Colt’s on his back, and Royal’s on top of him, punching him in the face while Duke and Baron stand back and watch.
“Did you fucking touch her?” Royal demands, his fists landing in quick succession.
“Leave him alone,” I scream, diving for them. But Duke cuts me off, grabbing me around the middle and pinning my arms. I stomp his foot, thrashing to free myself. Under Royal, Colt shouts something, but his words are cut short by a chilling crunch as the bones in his face give way. Blood sprays from his nose, flying up to splatter Royal’s arms.
Baron strolls over, rocking back on his heels as he watches his brother demolish Colt’s face. “See, Cherry Pie,” he says, his voice a condescending taunt, as if he’s completely unaffected by the brutality unfolding in front of us. “This is what happens when you keep pushing. Eventually, something’s gotta give. You don’t get to pick what that something is.”
“Are you fucking crazy?” I scream. “You’re killing him!” I throw my head back, slamming it into Duke’s chin. I hear teeth snapping together, and he curses savagely and shoves me forward so hard I fall to my knees.
“Did you fucking touch my girl?” Royal asks Colt, his voice coming in short burst between blows, as if Colt can answer. All I can see where his face used to be is blood. Baron steps in and kicks him while Royal straddles him, his knees trapping Colt’s body, his fists raining down on his face. They’re going to kill him.
They’re going to fucking kill him because I went to his house, because I dared talk to him after they told me not to. And he doesn’t deserve any of it.
Baron said something’s gotta give, and that something is me. I have no chill. No plan. Only desperation and pure, raw hate. I scramble up from my knees, and this time it’s my rage that makes my insides quake. A scream burns up through my chest like a fireball, and I dive forward, putting everything I have behind it. My fist connects with the side of Royal’s head so hard that blindness sweeps over my vision, and for a second, I don’t know what happened. For a second, I think someone hit me.
I fall back, and Royal falls back, and no one moves.
Pain races up my arm, hitting my brain like a brick wall. No one hit me. I just hit him so hard the pain stunned me senseless. My fist is a throbbing bundle of agony.
“Come on,” Duke says, grabbing my arm and dragging me to my feet. I start to fight him, but Baron comes up on my other side, and they lift me off my feet and shove me in the back of the Range Rover. I’d have thought they loved their car too much to let trash like me grace the seats, but that seems forgotten. Baron hops up next to me and grabs my knee in a death grip.
“Keep fighting this, and you know what’s going to happen to Colt,” he says. That’s all he has to say. I don’t want to lie down and roll over for these assholes, whatever they have in mind. But I also don’t want to get my friend murdered, and right now, fighting back looks like a good way to make that happen. At least I can get them away from here, and if he’s still alive and his skull isn’t crushed into a pulp, he can call for help. I pat my pockets, thinking I can dial 911 on the sly when they drive away, only to realize my phone is still in my backpack, where it’s been all day.
Fuck.
I didn’t KO Royal, but he must have the headache from hell right now. He doesn’t show it, though. He slides into the driver’s seat, and Duke runs around the far side and hops in the passenger side.
“Get my bag,” I say, lunging for the door. I can’t just leave Colt there without even calling for help.
“Don’t worry about your bag,” Duke says as Royal backs up, metal grinding on metal as the Rover separates from the truck.
“It has my laptop,” I say, yanking frantically at the door handle. “It’ll get wet.”
Baron grabs me around the middle and reaches past me to slam the door, almost smashing my hands when I throw them out to block it. Royal engages the lock, and the handle won’t budge. I can’t tell them what I’m really after is my phone. They’ll think I’m trying call the cops on them instead of an ambulance for Colt.