Page 144 of Puck Princess

“How is this piece of shit at a bar if he was stabbed?” Lance asks as we pull up.

I’m wondering the same damn thing.

“It’s like the motherfucker won’t die,” he adds.

“We’ll see about that.” I rip my seatbelt off and climb out of the car.

I’m expecting to have to sort through a crowd of drunken bargoers. I’m expecting to get inside and learn that Spencer wised up and, after donning a fake mustache and hat, fled for the border to escape me.

Instead, as Lance and I head for the front doors, we hear a commotion off to the side.

And there, bent over a metal trash can vomiting, is Spencer Santos.

He’s wearing a Scythes hoodie, but there’s a brownish red stain seeping through the dark blue fabric. He’s gripping his side, his face twisted in pain.

And he’s alone.

I don’t think as I cut across the sidewalk, snatch him up by the back of his hoodie, and yank him into the dark alley.

“Get the fuck away from m—” His sentence ends when my fist collides with his jaw.

I let him hit the ground. I watch him scrape himself off the pavement and roll over to look up at us.

“Please.” He actually has the balls to cough out the word. To beg me for mercy.

I feel nothing for him.

“Begging looks good on you, Santos.” It isn’t even rage coursing through me. It’s a bone-deep need to wipe him from existence.

“Pain looks even better,” Lance adds, kicking him in the stomach.

Spencer cries out, coiling up into the fetal position. “Fuck…” he cries. He is actually crying.

Callie must’ve cut him deep.Good girl.

Lance rears back to kick him again, but I hold my hand out.

I crouch down, my forearms resting on my knees as I stare down at him.

“Look at me,” I order.

Spencer is coughing, gripping his sides. His hoodie is soaking with blood. There’s blood running from his mouth and nose. His eyes are squeezed shut in pain.

“I said,look at me,” I grit through my teeth.

Spencer’s eyes peel open to meet mine.

And there’s nothing in them. No shame. No regret. Not even fear.

I thought once I had him pinned to the ground, begging for mercy, that I would feel better. I thought it might satiate some dark part of me that has wanted to wring his neck from the moment I met him.

But there’s nothing.

I should feelsomething, shouldn’t I?

I grab him by his hoodie and stand up, pulling me with him. I slam his spine against the brick wall and hit him again. He starts to slide down it, but I hold him back up and step aside.

It’s Lance’s turn.

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