Page 36 of Falling in Reverse

I lift a brow, because he’s about my size, maybe an inch or two taller, but has me in capacity at the whole mouth situation.

I’ve never heard a guy talk so much shit while fighting, and now I wish to break his jaw so he shuts up.

“Beat his ass, little girl,” someone shouts behind me, just as my opponent rushes me.

I barely get out of his way when his long arm wraps tightly around my waist and pulls me to him. My elbow cracks into the side of his head as I stomp down with my heeled boot onto the soft toe of his shoe.

He seethes through his clenched teeth, and I’m able to shove him off, thrusting a fist into his temple before my knee comes up next, the familiar sound of my breaking his nose imminent.

“You fucking whore!” he shouts, reaching out to grab my hair, but I quickly swat his hand away.

He’s pissed.

I’d be too.

And perhaps I wouldn’t have broken any body parts if he would’ve stopped running his disrespectful mouth.

A piece of glinting metal catches my eye, and that’s when I see the switchblade gripped tightly in his palm. His breathing is rocked, his chest heaving in pure rage as he stalks forward.

Should’ve just stuck at Levi’s side. My twenty-five minutes should be up and he’ll look for me.

A wall of black steps out in front of me, followed by a loud howl of agony and I instantly check my gut for a stabbed wound.

Damn, did he stick me because I don’t feel anything?

Blinking to gain my bearings, I connect with black eyes that are currently boring all kinds of hostility down at me.

I falter back a step, memories of being in another perilous situation with him taking hold of me.

The barrel of a gun to my temple.

The way he firmly grabbed my jaw and squeezed in warning to stop testing him.

Pretty Boy’s right-hand man.

My lips part in surprise as my brain calculates what the hell is actually going on. I don’t get any further than that, when I watch his scrutiny become suddenly seized up by something behind me. He sharply jerks his head and warm fingers wrap gingerly around my bicep.

I flinch at the contact and heave away from my captor’s arm, but to no avail. My body faithfully reminds me then that I’m hurt and will have to answer to this later from Levi.

I need a fucking jacket or a sweatshirt or he’s never going to take me anywhere else.

From the edges of my vision, the crowd parts like the Red Sea as I’m guided toward the back of the house and inside a kitchen. Stainless steel appliances, stations, and white tiled floors. It’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen while the waitstaff is bustling around with trays filled with food and appetizers for the ongoing party.

“Get me a bottled water,” the man in front of me orders loudly, receiving the full sole focus of the room. “And you sit your sexy ass here.”

He slaps the ledge of the salad station with his palm, and I catch disorderly sandy blond hair, along with a sturdy, young body.

I do what he says, too tired to argue, when he rounds some of the staff and disappears for a second. Meanwhile, my head feels as though it’s been split in two.

How many minutes has it been?

I need to get back to Levi ASAP, and I’ve sold zero pills.

A movement to my right procures my attention and, when I expect one of the waitstaff, it’s the dude who pulled me in here, wearing an easy smile.

His nose is pierced on his left side, just like mine, except he has a hooped earring and wears a mellowed-out, surfer-boy vibe without great effort. His jawline is chiseled, translucent hazel irises gleaming down at me—the exact opposite of Pretty Boy’s sidekick—and he’s glorious.

Absolutely fucking gorgeous.

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