I cry out in frustration and pain when Brent shoves my head down, forcing my body to curl forward, immobilizing me. “Knock it off, Becca,” Brent snarls. “We ain’t here to hurt you.”
In hurting Hale, they already have. I can’t see anything, but I hear every grunt of pain and feel every fist connecting against flesh.
“Quiet, Becca,” Matthew says when I start to cry. “You’re only making it worse for yourself.”
“You don’t have to do this,” I sob. “God, just leave him alone!”
Hale is hurt. I know he is. Just as I know it’s my fault.
The sound of tires shrieking to a stop echo in the distance. I twist my head, ignoring the pain it causes my neck. “Sean,Mason!” I scream, begging to heaven and back it’s them.
I choke back a cry when I hear our friends. “The fuck!” Sean yells.
Brent releases my head, racing forward as Sean’s long, lanky body shoots toward the fray. But it’s Mason, all stocky build and muscle who reaches Hale first, punching Davey hard enough to break his jaw.
I rip free from Matthew, racing toward my friends. They’re outnumbered, but the element of surprise worked in their favor. Hale is already back to his feet, nailing Brent in the head as hard as Sean and Mason are swinging.
I’m almost to them when the blast of a rifle erupts, sending rows of nesting birds to flight. Aside from the ocean waves soaking the shore, everything quiets. Hale’s T-shirt is torn open, his chest splattered from the blood oozing from his mouth. Sully is on the ground beside Brent, who is pressing his hand against the gash above his right eye. He’s going to need stitches.
I could give a damn.
Davey blinks at the star-filled sky above from his position on his back. Otherwise, he doesn’t move. Neither does Parker, his face contorted with pain as he lays on his side holding his ribs.
Everyone is breathing hard, except for Matthew and the man I feel looming behind me.
I start to turn when I catch Hale’s bracing features. “Becca, come here.”
It’s the one thing I want to do most. But I can’t.
In my gaze, I plead with him to understand that what I do next isn’t to betray him. It’s to protect him and our friends.
I turn slowly to where my father holds the rifle pressed at an angle against his chest. Everyone tells me I resemble him. I hate it. Especially now.
“Don’t hurt them, Daddy,” I beg.
My father passes the rifle to Matthew, as a child would a toy he’s grown tired of. Like a good wannabe son, Matthew takes it without question, assuming the armed soldier’s pose Daddy had.
“Seems to me, Becca June, these boys have been roughed up enough,” Daddy says.
He doesn’t mean that. He’s only trying to save face. Hale, Mason, and Sean are as tough as any true southerner. It may have been three against five, but no way would my cousins have won that fight.
In the bright moonlight, I see it all. Mason’s cheek is swelling like Hale’s, and Sean’s lip is busted up. Mason gives me a wink, his dark skin gleaming in the moonlight, all the while his deep frown remaining in place. He’s trying to tell me I did the right thing by calling them. I feel horrible about doing so, except when it comes down to it, me and Trin, and Callahan, too, would have done the same for them.
In the south, you don’t call the police where family and friends and grudges are concerned. You handle your own.
My cousins were wrong to show up and gang up on Hale like they did. Cowards, as far as I’m concerned. Daddy, he’s wrong, too, for this and lot more. I don’t tell him. Right now, I’ll do anything so long as he leaves Hale and our friends alone.
“What happened?” Daddy asks.
He raises his hand, silencing me instantly when I try to speak. “I found the Wilder boy on top of Becca,” Kirk answers.
Daddy cocks a brow high enough to disappear into the crown of his wheat-colored hair. “He was raping her?” he asks.
“No,” I yell over Kirk’s response.
“You know damn well I’d never hurt her,” Hale counters, ire blanketing him like fire.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Daddy replies, his repulsion at Hale and Mason’s presence as tangible as my mounting fear.