Page 42 of Sorrow

Tristan Turner is waiting outside with five of his dumbass little friends.

“So it’s true,” he goads. “The little virgin bitch paid someone to fuck her. I almost didn’t believe it when I heard.”

God, I can’t wait to get the fuck out of this town. “I didn’t pay anyone, dipshit. Don’t you have puppies to kick or helpless girls to force feed alcohol?”

“Like... you?”

It’s a threat, and a clear one, but I’m not alone this time. I’m not trapped at a quarry too scared to defend myself.

I’ve got Hayes.

The dark, low chuckle he lets out behind me is the only warning I get before he’s tugging me backward out of the way. Tristan moves first, sensing the danger he’s in, just not quickly enough to save himself.

Hayes is... angry.

It’s written all over the lines of his body as he grabs him by the neck, lifts him up, and slams him into the dirt. Watching should turn me off, terrify me — but all I feel is a sense of pride, of glee. No one has ever protected me like this before.

The blood spraying from Tristan’s face as Hayes exacts revenge coats the ground below them, pushing his friends back. It’s clear none of them want to get involved despite having Hayes completely outnumbered, but I can’t say I blame them. Tristan isscreaming.

“Hayes,” I say, slowly and almost bored. “Let’s go home. Leave some of his face intact so he can’t blame you when he never gets laid again.”

Surprisingly, he listens. He stands up straighter and looks at Tristan’s friends like he’s challenging them, laughing when none of them take the bait. “You need better friends.”

Without another word, Hayes grabs my hand and tugs me toward the truck, ensuring I’m inside and buckled before he joins me in the cab.

His knuckles are split open and bloody, his face still pristine. Tristan didn’t manage to hit him once. “Thank you,” I say quietly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“No, I did. Little punk had it coming, and it’s obvious he’s thought about fucking youmore than once. No dude teases a girl about being a virgin unless he wants to fuck her.”

He seems to realize what he basically just admitted to me when he presses the gas even harder, so I decide to mess with him just a little.

“Do you always speed when you’re embarrassed? Once was one thing, but twice? Now it’s becoming a pattern.”

“Shhh,” he hisses, grip tightening on the steering wheel. “I speed all the time. I’m not embarrassed, you little shit. I’m still mad about that asshole.”

Only he doesn’t look so mad anymore.

He looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Things would be a lot easier if we’d just agree not to lie to each other,” I say flatly. “You’re embarrassed and that’s fine. You should be, I mean... he completely kicked your ass back there.”

This time he actually laughs. “Didn’t you just say we shouldn’t lie, Hurricane?”

“So you agree with the premise then, good. Moving forward, no lies.”

“Sound a little bossy there, but alright.” He holds his hand out for me to get a closer look. “Does this make you squeamish?”

“Do I look like Nate?” Raising my brows, I lean forward and kiss his shredded knuckles. “Blood never bothered me.”

“Fuck.”

His eyes are locked on my lips like he’s struggling not to pounce on me. I like this side of him, because it’s one I can control.

Without looking away, I dip down and lick the dripping blood from his middle finger, then swallow it and show him my tongue. At least if I die, I won’t be in Cape Frost anymore.

The second he stops at a red light, Hayes grips my chin and pulls me in for a sloppy, heated kiss, moaning from the metallic taste.

“Any more lessons you want to teach me, Hayes?” I ask between kisses. “I’m eager to learn.”

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