Page 15 of Tell Me You Like It

I’m leaning against the railing out front, staring down at my phone, when I hear heavy footsteps on the wood planks behind me. I look up to see a guy approaching, but it’s no one I’ve seen before. He has dark hair, a strong chin, and a shit-eating grin spread across his face.

“You’re new,” he says, leaning against the railing beside me. His words are slightly slurred, and his breath smells like alcohol—so either he’s managed to get drunk in the thirty minutes he’s been here, or he was pre-gaming. I bet the latter. “I’m Tyler. What’s your name?”

“Nonya,” I answer, barely even looking up at him.

“That’s a nice name. I like it.”

I look up and laugh a little. “It meansnone of your business. I’m sorry, I thought everyone knew that.”

His whole demeanor changes, from casual and flirty to hard and angry. Just like that, in the span of a millisecond. “Oh, you think that’s funny?”

His tone is unforgiving like he’s pissed, and it sets my pulse racing. I don’t answer him. Instead, I push off the railing and move to leave. But he catches me by the arm and pulls me back.

“What the fuck, dude?” I look down at his fingers digging into my skin. “Let me go.”

Tyler crowds me, shielding me from view of anyone who could be passing by—but there’s no one out here, anyway. Everyone is inside, drinking, and now the music is playing, the deep bass drowning out this entire conversation from anyone within hearing distance.

“You don’t even fucking belong here.” He tugs me closer to him, and I yelp, because his fingers are biting into my arm painfully. Panic rises in my chest, and my entire body starts to tremble. “Maybe I should show you what happens to girls who wander onto society property alone.”

“I was invited,” I choke out, reaching for the zipper on my purse–inside is my little handheld stun gun, if I could manage to get to it.

Tyler laughs and still gripping my arm, he shoves me up against the railing, pressing his lower half against mine. I’m pinned against the wood, my breath coming in shallow pants. My purse is unzipped, and the stun gun is in my hand. I don’t hesitate. Switching it on, I jab it into his side.

A jolt of electricity snaps and his entire body jerks violently in response, like a reflex. “Holy shit,” he hisses, holding his side. “What the fuck was that?” His gaze settleson the stun gun in my hand, and he sneers, his face contorted with rage. “Fucking bitch.”

He twists the stun gun out of my hand easily, like snatching a toy from a baby’s hand. Looking down at it, he studies it, clicking the switch on and off, on and off. “This thing packs a punch,” he says, testing the weight of it in his hand. When his eyes flick down to look at me, a cold shower trickles down my spine. “Now it’s my turn.”

Holy shit.

I suck in a breath and start pushing at his chest, struggling to get away. The front door to the house is ten feet away—if I can pry him off me just enough, then I can slip out from under him, and run to the door.

“Don’t. Please,” I beg.

But he just laughs, holding the stun gun up, like he’s going to jab it into my arm. So, while there’s still breath in my lungs, I start screaming as loud as I possibly can. I scream so hard, that my throat starts to burn. His hand immediately clamps over my mouth, cutting off my scream. His large body is pushing my lower half against the railing painfully, his knee pinching the skin on my thigh between him and the wood.

Fucking-A.

I’m not getting out of this. He’s too big and too strong. But my mind refuses to believe this is really happening.

“Fucking cunt,” he says, the hand on my mouth pushing painfully against my lips and teeth. I can taste my own blood. “I think you need to be taught a damn lesson.”

What the actual fuck? What kind of sick motherfuckers go to school here?

I struggle against him again, but he’s built like a brick wall. He doesn’t even budge, so I do the only thing I can, I bite down on the hand that’s pressed against my mouth. Idon’t get a really good bite, but it’s enough to make him reel back with a yowl, ripping his hand away from my mouth.

The second my mouth is free, I scream again—as loud, and as frantic as I possibly can. “Help! Please!”

The guy looks down at me, infuriated. His large, salty hand clamps tightly over my mouth again. “Stupid fucking bitch.” With his free hand, he grabs my arm and tries pulling me deeper into the shadows. I twist against him until my whole body feels bruised, but it’s not enough. I’m not even close to being strong enough to throw this guy off me.

Just as I begin to tire, and feel my body weaken, the guy is ripped off me. It happens so suddenly, I wonder what the fuck just happened? But a second later, survival mode kicks in and my brain goes into autopilot. I run past him, toward the front door, but the sound of bones cracking compels me to turn around.

As I turn, I catch a glimpse of Roman wailing on the guy, whose face is now coated in blood, his arms held up, trying to protect himself.

My heart is in my throat as I watch the guy get beaten. Roman’s fists come down again and again, the sickening sound of flesh being mutilated draws people from inside, including Jackson, Lucas, and Christian. Pretty soon, there’s a crowd gathered.

“Yo!” Lucas holds his hands up. “What the fuck is going on?”

Christian and Jackson pull Roman off the guy, who sinks to the floor, moaning. His head lolls to the side.

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