Page 188 of Bad Blood

He knows he has me under lock and key. There’s no way I can say anything else without implicating myself.

I clench my jaw, squeezing a hand over my ribs as it gets harder to pull in air. I wipe my thumb across my lower lip when I taste blood. I’m always being forced to do shit I’m not qualified for—like be nice to fucking assholes. I thrash against him, but he doesn’t budge.

He leans in, whispering into my ear, “Just a reminder—I know where you work. And live.”

Taunting him was a mistake. Trying to play detective and get him to confess was a mistake. Not only did I piss him off—but now he’s taken things too far. He grabs my face and tries to get me to look at him, to confirm that I understand what he’s saying, when the sudden release of his weight from my body gets me to open my eyes.

“Dax?”

53

Clash of Titans

Brighton

Monday, June 12 th

12:03 p.m.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Kline lands beside me, the loud crack of his head connecting with the floor. Dax towers over us. He extends a hand and pulls me to my feet.

“Dax, how did you…” Tears spring to my eyes.

“Are you okay?” He pulls me to his chest, wrapping his arms around me.

“Yeah, I think so.”

He brushes his thumb over my cheek, wiping away a tear, and turns, letting me go. He lunges for Kline, landing on top of him.

I try to stop him and scream.

Dax ignores me and yanks Kline up by the front of his shirt, plowing his fist into his jaw.

I grab him around the arm, begging him to stop, but he swats me away like a fly. Their movements blur, fists flying in every direction.

“Please, Dax! It’s my fault.”

The sound of grunts and the dull thud of flesh meeting flesh fills the air, my pleas going ignored. I continue to watch, unable to look away. Every punch stretches through time until Dax scans the room, eyes landing on me.

“Don’t make excuses for him,” he growls, his body shuddering. He pushes off a limp Kline and stands, popping his neck from side to side.

“Is that all you got?” Kline laughs, rolling to his side as he wipes the blood dripping from his nose. He stands, wavering and unsteady, as he gets up in Dax’s face.

Dax rears back, his fist connecting with Kline’s cheek. Kline’s head flies back, and his glasses get struck off his face as he sails over the table, landing between the knocked-over chairs.

“Thanks, fucker. I’ve been needing to hit something since yesterday.” Dax opens and closes his hand, shaking away the apparent pain.

“Fucking cunt. You messed everything up.” A splash of red spatters across the floor and photos where Kline spits. He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth and pulls himself to his knees, using the back of a chair to balance himself.

Dax stalks toward him, his heels digging in, ready to slam his fist into Kline’s face again. He rears back and socks him, knocking him to the ground.

I scream out, but Dax doesn’t turn. He lunges straight for Kline again, grabs him by the shirt, and slams him against the cabinets. Every muscle in Dax’s body is tight and shaking.

Kline groans and tries to twist out of Dax’s grip, but Dax tightens his hold, bringing his fist back and landing a punch to the side of Kline’s head.

If the detectives show up in the middle of this, I don’t know how we’re going to explain it. Dax wasn’t supposed to be here. I don’t know what will happen now that he’s involved.

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