Page 63 of Broken Pact

I lean forward at the hips, the only time I’ll willingly get closer to either one of them. “I said: Fuck. Your. Mama. And fuck you too.”

I should’ve seen it coming. But I didn’t. And even if I had, I don’t know if I could’ve done anything differently to stop it.

Chad backhands me hard enough that my head snaps back and hits the doorframe behind me. The sharp venomous peals of laughter compete with the ringing in my ears.

The world tilts, and I slump to the ground, stars flashing across my vision. The world blurs, but I hear them talking over me plain as day.

“Boss’ll get you for that one, dumbass,” Ernie snaps.

A thump, and then Chad grunts, “Nah, he said send a message. He didn’t say I couldn’t hurt her.”

“C’mon, let’s get out of here. Rosewood gives me the fuckin’ hives an’ shit,” Ernie says.

I blink a few times, my vision clearing around the edges in time to see Ernie throw his arm around Chad’s neck, and the two of them jog back into the shadows.

What the fuck just happened?

30

JASPER

It’s Monday night, and I’m in my room at the clubhouse, sprawled out on my bed, watching some old action flick on TV. A bunch of guys started a pool tournament, so they’re getting louder with each passing minute.

The lamp on my nightstand casts a soft glow, barely enough to light the room, but it’s enough for me.

Four carrot cake cupcakes taunt me from the nightstand. And since my girl likes to feed everyone but me, I gotta savor them. So I’ve been holding off on eating them.

Mrs. Marshall came in for an oil change today, and I spotted the Sugarplum Bakery boxes in her front seat immediately. Apparently, there’s a stomach bug going around the kids camp this week, so half of her kid’s birthday party won’t be able to make it. So she was driving around town, delivering them to some family and friends.

But I have this feeling that Mrs. Marshall has been talking to the power-walking trio in neon, because when I nonchalantly offered to take the cupcakes off her hands, she smirked. The kind of smile that says mm-hmm, I bet you’d like that.

And then she sold them to me for fifty bucks. For four cupcakes.

But whatever. I don’t regret it.

Someone knocks on my door, two wraps of their knuckles, before the door swings open. It’s a little thing we started doing as a way to signal each other, to ease that instinct to reach for a weapon.

Hawke stands in my doorway, grinning like a cat that caught the canary. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, giving me a pointed look.

I arch a single brow, but I don’t get up. “Hawke.”

“Jagger,” he mimics.

“Need something?”

He lifts a shoulder. “Just wondering how long you’re going to wait by your phone for your crush to call like you’re fourteen again.”

“It all makes so much sense now.” I nod a few times with a slow grin. “You speakin’ from experience, man?”

His face falls and he pushes off the doorway. “Wait, no. Don’t turn this around on me. I’m coming in here to give you shit, not the other way around.”

I laugh, dragging my hand through my hair and checking my phone for the time. “The game’s over already?”

“Yeah, Gunner got his ass kicked by Rocks so bad in this round. He’s already at Oak Barrel nursing his pride,” Hawke says, laughter thick in his voice. “The rest of us are heading out in a couple hours. You in?”

“And deal with a sullen and drunk Gunner? Nah, I’m good, man.”

Hawke raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. “You sure it has nothing to do with a certain dark-haired bombshell? I still can’t believe you snagged her again, man.” He claps his hands and rubs them together like some kind of fucked-up cartoon villain. “Don’t worry though, bro, I’ll be sure to comfort her when she eats you alive.”

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