Page 40 of Picture Perfect

They're going to give me back to this prick. He's paid and they're just going to hand me over. I can see the look in Preston's eyes. I won't survive what comes next.

"Easy, Snowflake," Dre tries again, his words brushing hot against the shell of my ear, "I've got you."

"You don't 'got' anything," I snarl, finally wrenching myself free from his grasp. My chest heaves, my vision blurs with tears of rage or fear—I can't tell which.

"Damn it, Adelaide!" Dre's curse is lost to the wind, his expression torn between fury and concern.

The air is electric, the taste of freedom and fury mingling on my tongue. I spin on my heel, facing Dre with fire in my veins. His ice-blue eyes widen just a fraction before my palm connected with his cheek—a resounding slap that echoes through the tension-thick lot.

"Snowflake..." he warns, but it's too late for words.

In an instant, his expression morphs from shock to something much, much darker. His hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around my throat like iron bands, shoving me back until my spine meets cold metal—the hood of a car by the feel of it. The chill seeps through my shirt, a stark contrast to the heat of his body looming over me.

"You bitch," he growls, pressing the blade to my skin delicately enough to promise danger without drawing blood. Yet.

"Draven!" Chess's voice cuts through the standoff, sharp with urgency. "Mano, put the knife down. You don't want to do this."

"Stay out of it, Chess," Dre hisses, not taking his gaze off me.

"Please, Dre, she’s scared. We can sort this out," Chess pleads, stepping closer.

"Like hell I'm scared," I lie, my mind racing.

"Scared or not, she needs to learn." Dre's arm tenses, the threat in his grasp tightening.

Suddenly, the world erupts into chaos as Preston came barrels towards us, wielding a baseball bat with reckless abandon. Dre's head snaps to the side just in time to catch sight of the incoming threat.

"Watch out!" Chess shouts, but it's too late.

The world warps into a blur of motion and malice, my breath catches in a sharp hitch as the bat swings wide. Dre shoves me aside and rolls away, narrowly avoiding the strike meant for his skull. Before I can register the intention behind his dark eyes, pain explodes across my ribs.

The weapon slices through the space where he was and slams into my ribs with a crack. I stagger back, gasping for breath.

“Oh my God!” Gen cries.

I cry out, the air knocked from my lungs by the force of the blow. The ground beneath me seems to tilt as I fight to remain upright, my hand instinctively clutching at the agony that blossoms like a cruel flower along my side.

"Addy!" Dre's voice lances through the haze, tight with panic. "Damn it, did he hit you?"

What does he even care? The man had a knife to my throat literal seconds before Preston came in swinging.

I try to speak, but only manage a choked gasp, my mind reeling. Preston just fucking hit me with a bat. The thought is a poisonous whisper, and my pulse quickens with a mix of fear and fury.

Dre's eyes darken considerably. All humanity drains from him as he squares his shoulders and turns toward Preston, teeth bared. With a feral growl, he lunges at Preston, his knife glinting in the dim light. His eyes are wild and frenzied, like a cornered animal.

“What the hell happened?” he demands of his friends. “How the fuck did he even get that close to her?”

To me, not him.

"Chess, get them out of here!" Saint barks, entering the fray, his eyes never leaving Preston's crazed form.

"Enough!" Chess screams, lunging between me and Preston. He shoves me further behind him where Gen is waiting.

"Easy," Gen soothes, her voice a lifeline. She wraps an arm around my waist, steadying me as Chess pushes us further back.

"Look after her," Chess says, glancing between Gen and me, his expression fierce. "I need to help them."

"Be careful," I manage, the words raspy against my bruised ribs. I watch, heart in my throat, as Chess turns back toward the fray.

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