Page 55 of Brazen Criminals

Jansen’s cheeks flush red. “And um…the other assault…um,” he stammers. Walker jumps in and saves him. “Sexual assault,” he says, keeping his hands to himself like I’m an antique teapot in a rich-person store.

I shake my head, trying to act like this hasn’t gotten super awkward. I’m chatting about whether I’ve been sexually assaulted to not one, not two, but three guys I’m crushing on, in a room with four hot guys, and if that isn’t awkward, I’m not sure what is. “Nope. None of that,” I choke out.

We sit in silence again. “So where does that leave us, RJ?” Walker asks.

RJ sighs. “Fucked.”

I stare at the table. “We can’t get Bryce kicked out of med school.” I clear my throat, then get up off the couch. “Last question—should I file a restraining order?”

Trips locks eyes with me. “Fuck yeah. At least then the cops will have you on record as a victim if all this goes to shit.”

I break eye contact with him, glancing at the rest of the guys to see if they all agree. Everyone is nodding. “Okay then.” I clear my throat, not wanting to feel like I’m telling these guys what to do. This is their world, after all. I’m just visiting. “I’m pretty sure I need time to think about all this before I can help you guys come up with a plan. I know Bryce well, but I haven’t ever thought about how to make him fail at things, so this is pretty new.”

As I go to leave the living room, my shoulder pulses. I bite my lip to redirect the pain, and RJ sees me as I pass him. “We need to get her to campus medical. She needs an x-ray or CT scan, in case there’s soft tissue damage or something.”

“I’ve got her,” Trips says, pulling himself out of his chair. “I’ll meet you at the truck in five minutes,” he adds, before disappearing up the stairs.

I let out a huff, but Walker gently takes my good hand, forcing me to look down at him, still lounging on the couch. “Let him do this. He needs to know you’re okay.”

I’m not sure why I’m worried about what Trips needs, but a small part of me is, probably the same part that likes to tell me how beautifully built he is, even if heisa jackass. I now have a tiny insight into this guy, hearing this big secret. He brutally beat someone. But he did it to save a girl he didn’t know. He lost it on Bryce, but he did it for me.

I’m not exactly sure I owe him anything, but taking me to be checked out seems like a small ask for whatever additional trauma last night caused him. I block out the thought of Bryce’s trauma. I’m done with him. I can’t worry about him anymore—he’s gone off the deep end and I have no intention of joining him there. I don’t even want to be at the same pool party anymore.

My head fuzzy with weird analogies, I duck into my room to shimmy out of my pajama shorts and into some loose sweats. I’ll probably be sweaty by the time I get to the clinic, but at least whichever nurse practitioner gets stuck with the Sunday morning drunks won’t have to see my ass hanging out of my shorts. Why I didn’t worry about my ass hanging out with the guys is another thing I’m going to worry about later. I probably need a list of things that I don’t want to think about right now, but will have to figure out at some undetermined point in the future.

I sling my purse over my shoulder, slip on sandals, and head out the back door. As expected, Trips is already in the truck. When I get to the door and open it, I realize that climbing into the beast is going to be a nightmare with only one arm. Trips turns to me, his blue eyes steely, and I decide to just make it happen.

I half hop onto the runner, snatching onto the “oh-shit” handle right before I lose my balance, my bad arm trying to steady me but stuck in the sling. I topple, my good hand holding on, but one of my sandals flies off, and as I dangle half in and half out of the vehicle, I realize I’m going to have to start over again.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Trips grumbles, flinging open his door.

I hop back down on one foot, the bounce making me yelp in pain. Trips’ hands grip my waist, and I turn just in time to see him glare as he hoists me into the truck. He’s almost slammed the door when I cry out, “Wait! My shoe!”

“Good God,” he says.

It takes a minute, but he finds my shoe halfway under the truck, and after crawling back out, instead of flinging the shoe at me like I expect, he ducks his head into the footwell and carefully slides the sandal back onto my naked foot. The soft grip he has on my heel makes me forget how to breathe, but he ruins it by talking. “Anything else, Crash?”

His lips are drawn, and his eyes are just as unyielding as ever. “Nope. I’m good,” I say, wanting to yell about my new nickname, but not wanting to push Trips any further. I don’t know at what point he breaks.

Without another word, he slams the door in my face.

Chapter 30

Trips

Isitinthetruck like a fucking idiot, driving Clara to the campus health center without saying a damn thing. What the fuck am I supposed to say? Oh, damn, I’m sorry I fucking lost it and put your ex in the hospital? Oh yeah, sorry about crippling a guy a few years ago and dropping that shit on you when you’re already down? Whoops, the cops are everywhere now, and you’re guilty by association? Fuck.

I sneak a glance at her, and she’s staring out the window, her good hand idly rubbing her bad shoulder. Shit.

Glaring at the road, I try not to let my anger spike again. When that douche grabbed her last night, I fucking lost it. I hardly remember what happened. All I know is my hands are bruised and my knuckles are busted, and Clara was dumb enough to get between me and that stalker, and the other guys were dumb enough to let her. I can’t even decide who I’m still mad at, her or the guys. And me. Always me.

She couldn’t even get in my truck. I wish I’d seen him reach for her a second sooner. I wish I could have tossed him down before anyone got seriously hurt. But wishes don’t get you fuck-all. I’ve had nearly two years of borrowed time, I felt like I was gaining some damn control over myself. And one fucking night ruined it. Wishes are just hopes waiting to be dashed.

I must have let out a sigh, because I feel Clara looking at me. “Are you okay?” she asks.

I work at not grinding my teeth. The girl is asking me ifI’mokay? Seriously? “I’ll be fine,” I croak.

Instead of turning back to the window like I expect, she keeps watching me. “How about your hands?”

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