Page 67 of The Pact

Holding onto the metal lap bar doesn’t make me feel any safer. The bucket tips even farther forward. I distantly hear the shouts of the ride operator shouting at Damian to stop. He still doesn’t. “Damian!” This time I scream.

The terror gripped part of my brain believes this is how I’m going to die. I’ll tip right out of this seat and smack into the ground, probably hitting the metal bars on the way down. My self preservation kicks in and I’m suddenly clawing at Wesley’s arms, practically crawling into his lap.

I bury my head in his chest and close my eyes. My nails dig into his shoulder. I feel him tense against me in pain, although I can’t unhook myself. I’m lost in the fear of it all.

There’s something else there too—a tightening low… No. That’s not right. I push the feeling away.

Finally, the ride resumes and we’re coming back down. I focus on my breathing and hardly notice the weight of something pressing me hard into Wesley’s side.

The lap bar disengages with a click, signaling that we’re back on the ground. My eyes are wet from panic and my whole body is trembling. I only distantly register the ride operator’s yelling and his flailing arms.

I want to make my legs move, however, I’m cemented. It isn’t until Wesley’s arm releases from my waist that I realize he trapped me there to make me feel safe.

“What the fuck, Damian?” I find my voice once we exit the fenced area of the ride, although it’s shaky at best.

I’m seething as I follow him back to Cole and Sutton. “Are you a maniac?” I can hardly contain myself and I lash out, my palms connecting with his back. It isn’t a hard push, yet I immediately realize what I’ve done and I go still.

Damian turns and I expect anger, but he’s grinning at me devilishly.

“Not cool man,” Wesley chimes in.

He tips his chin down and gives Wesley an unimpressed glare. “You have me to thank for all those souvenirs.” Damian points to Wesley’s arms. “You got to be the hero, Captain America. You’re welcome.”

I look closely at where Damian’s staring and see scratches all down Wesley’s arm. His shirt is no longer tight on his chest, stretched from where I clawed at him. I instinctively put my hand to his deeply tanned skin. “I’m so sorry.” He pulls away at my touch like he’s repulsed by me.

Wesley must see the pain on my face because he reluctantly mumbles, “It’s fine,” as he walks past me. I assumed Wesley’s kindness would be short-lived, however, I didn’t realize it would hurt when he took it away. I’m angry at myself for letting it bother me.

“Hey man.” An older man claps Wes on the back and gets a smile from him. Apparently, everyone has his kindness except for me.

I need a minute to compose myself, physically and emotionally. “I’m going to head to the restroom if you want to grab some food. Meet me back here in a few?”

“You good?” Cole asks, brushing the back of his hand against my face. That giggling girl from five minutes ago has disappeared. In her place is an embarrassed woman.

“Yeah,” I answer with a forced smile. “I just need a second.” He nods and I watch them walk off.

Going to the restroom was a good idea. I have raccoon eyes from smudged mascara. I quickly fix it, trying to push away the humiliation.

I replay the last few minutes. Damian purposely scaring me on the ride. Him telling Wesley that he was the hero. Did Damian do that so that I would have to get close to his brother? I don’t want to believe that, but I don’t see any other reason for it.

Wesley wrapped his arm around me, to make me feel safer or so that I wouldn’t actually fall out of the seat—either way, he protected me. Yet when I touched him, he pulled away. The signals are polar opposite. I’m confused, although what I do know is that my initial gut feeling of not wanting to be on the ride alone with them was accurate.

I need to trust myself more.

I’m drying my hands and throwing away the paper towel when I hear someone talking.

“She’s here with all four of them. Can you believe that?” someone says from the stall at the end of the bathroom.

“I know,” another voice replies. My face heats, knowing they’re talking about me. “She has no shame. Keep your weird, kinky shit outta our faces.”

I pull open the door, prepared to ignore the women like I had at the grocery store, but anger clouds my judgment. “Mind your fucking business,” I yell. Their silence tells me I’ve startled them. “Better yet, find someone who can fuck you as good as they fuck me. Then maybe you’d have something interesting to talk about.”

The door slams behind me. I’m fuming as I head to the spot between the bathroom and the row of carnival games. I search the crowd for the guys, but I don’t see them.

I check my phone, no messages. The anger is still coursing through me. I want to leave.

“Hi, Thea,” a voice calls out from behind me. I spin, already knowing who it is.

Gavin stands there, arms crossed and a scowl on his face. The waves of anger rolling off of him and the knowledge that he’s broken into my truck should scare me. But I’ve had it.

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