Page 85 of Vicious Games

Lucky:Five minutes late. Don’t move.

But then I hear it again, a muffled broken sob, that kicks my instinct into gear. I hesitate to move, feeling torn between finding out what that sound is all about and staying put like Lucky asked. He’ll be here any second, and if he doesn’t see me, he’ll think I ditched him again.

But would he really leave without checking up on me? Probably not. Besides, that’s what he gave me the phone for, so he could find me if needed. A few minutes to investigate whatever that sound is won’t hurt.

I push up from my seat, my heart ticking faster, and start toward the foreboding sounds. The soft sobs twist into malicious laughter, each step pulling the noise into sharper focus. A knot forms in my stomach, but I keep walking in its direction.

“Let me go!” the voice cries, louder now, and I immediately know who it belongs to. That sweet, melodic voice could only belong to Annamaria.

I don’t think. I just run. I sprint past the oak trees hidden behind the chapel, the sound leading me straight to her.

There, I find Annamaria in her school uniform, her blazer ripped at the sleeve, every button in her cardigan torn from its bindings, and her books spilled out across the grass.

However, that’s not the worst of it. Two boys—freshmen, by the looks of them—have her pinned against a tree.

“Come on, Blondie. One kiss won’t kill you,” one sneers while the other picks up a stick, poking at her legs, tugging her skirt higher up her thigh.

“Kiss? The only thing I want her mouth to touch is my junk.”

“I have a better plan. Let’s see if her virgin pussy and ass can take us both in.”

They both cackle in laughter as if it were a game to them while Annamaria clenches her fists and squeezes her eyes shut, her entire body trembling with fear.

Most people believe when danger is at your door, you’ll react in two ways—fight or flee. However, few acknowledge the third, most common, and often overlooked response. When fear becomes so paralyzing, so crippling, the only thing you do is freeze.

Annamaria isn’t running. She isn’t fighting. She’s just frozen in place, completely petrified.

Lucky for her, my blinding rage floods my veins, burning through whatever fear I might have and readying me for a fight.

“The hell’s going on here!” I shout, smacking the stick out of the boy’s hand as I get closer.

At the sound of my voice, Annamaria’s eyes snap open, fear and gratitude stitched across her pretty face.

“You wanna play too?” the other boy jeers. “Just wait your turn. We’ll gladly make room for you next.”

This fucker.

“Actually,” I say, voice tight with fury, “I’d like my turn now.”

Before he can even process it, I swing my hand into his throat. As he clutches onto it, gasping for air, my fist lands smack into his jaw, hard enough that the skin on my knuckles splits wide open.

As that asshole falls to the ground, the other lunges at me, but I’m faster, kicking him square in the balls before he has a chance to put his hands on me. When he crumples, groaning and clutching himself beside his prick of a friend, I don’t stand idly by to wait and see if they recover. Instead, I grab Annamaria’s hand and pull her toward open ground, away from the cover of the trees, leaving all her belongings behind at the crime scene.

We don’t have to go far before a familiar face comes into view, his expression wary, scanning the area for what can only be his sister.

Damn it. Out of all the Romano siblings who could have come to pick up Annamaria, why did it have to be him?

I release Annamaria’s hand just as she bursts into tears and runs straight into Marcello’s arms, sobbing as he pulls her close.

“What happened? Why are you crying?” Marcello asks, running a gentle hand over her back while his eyes find mine—cold, hard, and merciless. “Did you do something to her?” he demands, his voice thick with dangerous malice.

Panic prickles through me, his stare more frightening than dealing with those boys trying to assault Annamaria. I want to tell him no. I want to tell him that I helped her, but my throat locks up under the weight of his glare. All I see in his eyes is death. The promise of pain and retribution. And now I’m the one who becomes frozen in place.

“She… rescued me,” Annamaria croaks out, lifting her tear-streaked face from his chest. “I don’t know whattheywould’ve done if she hadn’t.” She breaks down into sobs again, clutching Marcello’s shirt tighter.

Marcello’s arms wrap around her protectively, as if shielding her from the entire world. He looks back at me, the rage in his eyes dimming somewhat and replaced by utter focus.

“Names,” he says flatly.

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