Page 110 of Blitz'd

I don’t say shit when I come up behind them, but the swing of the old practice helmet I’m holding takes Justin in the back of his head and he falls to the ground instantly. Easton starts to turn, so I drop the helmet and reach out, wrenching his arm behind his back hard enough that he can’t move.

“W-what… what the fuck do you want?” He can’t turn his head to see me, and as much as I want to whisper in his ear that I’m here to ruin him for eventhinkinghe can fuck my boyfriend up, I know I have to be careful.

I know if I screw up my football career now, Zander will never forgive me.

So I give a sharp jerk upward and hear a loudsnapas his arm breaks. The scream that tears out of his throat means I don’t have much time, so I wrap my arm around his neck and squeeze hard.

He goes limp in seconds and I toss him carelessly to the ground. By the time he opens his eyes again, I have gloved hands clenched into fists, and the first hit takes him square across the jaw.

The pained sound that escapes his chest isn’t enough—it’s anechoof the sound Zander made, and it’s not enough.

It will never be enough.

Three hits isn’t enough.

Six hitsisn’tenough.

And I realize in that moment howeasyit would be for me to kill Easton. How much Iwantto wrap my hands around his throat and strangle the life out of him.

But…

Justin groans beside him and I let out a low growl. My hand lands on Easton’s face one more time, and the satisfying spatter of blood spraying from his nose as he falls unconscious has to be enough.

Broken arm.

Broken face.

I turn on Justin as he looks up at me, his eyes wide and pleading. It’s obvious from the way he stares up at me he doesn’t know who I am.

Good.

“My wallet is in my pocket. I… you can have my car keys. You can—” I don’t even stop to listen to his pleading. I take careful aim and land a kick on his knee, hard enough that I can see when it bends in a way it’s not supposed to. The crack sends a surge of joy through me, and I take aim and land another kick, hard enough this time that the impact jolts through my thigh and up my side.

The sound that tears from his throat tells me I have to go if I don’t want to get caught. He’s retching, his body shuddering in pain and nausea.

Not enough.

It would never be enough, though.

I land one more hard stomp on the ruined limb for good measure then jump over Easton’s prone body and take off. As I run, I lower my head and yank the mask off, stuffing it into my pocket while keeping my face to the ground in case there are any cameras.

There are sirens in the distance as I hop into Asher’s car and head home.

* * *

I’m careful on the drive back—I go the speed limit and take back streets where there aren’t any traffic lights. Some part of me is pretty sure that Justin and Easton are too fucking prideful to admit they got their ass jumped byme. Not that it matters—I’m positive they didn’t recognize me. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to be careful.

Still, I park Asher’s car a few blocks over, stripping out of my hoodie and stuffing it into the black backpack along with the gloves, mask and helmet. I get out and head back to the apartment building—I’ll tell him about the clothes tomorrow. Either he can dump them for me, or I’ll do it myself.

It’s quiet when I come in, and my eyes flick to Asher’s door. It’s shut tight.

If he knew what I was going out to do, he probably knew what kind of mood I’d come back with.

I slide silently into my room, and Zander is still there on my bed, asleep like I haven’t just spent the last few hours getting revenge for someone even thinking about trying to hurt him.

It doesn’t matter that they fucked it up and he’s already feeling better.

What matters is that they thought they could touch what’s mine.

---