Page 125 of All In Good Time
But Derek wasn’t blocking them. He wasn’t even fighting it. Instead, he stared defiantly into his father’s eyes—with blood running from a cut brow and lip—and screamed as loud as he could, cursing into Mark’s face. “Fuck you.”
Her body moved on autopilot, and she took an uneasy step toward them, unsure of what to do, but unable to just stand still and watch.
The subtle movement caught Derek’s eyes as Mark retracted his fist.
His eyes widened, and the anger and defiance guarding them shattered to reveal surprise.
The change in energy caught Mark’s attention, and his head snapped to her, arm still held ready for a blow.
The rage in his eyes cut clean through her, and his grip on Derek let go. The sudden shift didn’t give Derek a chance to catch his footing, and he stumbled to the ground, barely catching himself on his hands and knees.
Becca gasped.
Mark stepped toward Becca, distracted from Derek.
Derek had told her that, one day, Mark would snap, and it would all come out. That every bit of that anger and rage would crash to the world like a meteorite, and he knew he would be at the center of it all.
Now, here she was. Standing in the debris as the flames approached. She could run. She could hide.
But she couldn’t, not when Derek was struggling to get back to his feet behind Mark. Not when Mal had called for help.
A hot rush of terror sent a burst of energy through Becca’s veins, and she stepped backward. Her knuckles brushed against something cool and metal—Derek’s lamp.
“You bitch,” Mark spat, advancing toward her.
Her fingers wrapped around the lamp, and with a small cry, she picked it up and swung it in front of her.
There was a loud crash as the glass of the light bulb broke on impact with Mark’s head. Mark grunted and grasped the side of his face, stumbling a step to the side.
She didn’t know shit about fighting, but she knew enough to hurt someone.
Mark hissed as he straightened and looked at the red coating his hand. Becca held the lamp between them like a sword, creating a barrier and a threat to dissuade him from advancing.
“You’re going to fucking regret that,” he said, dropping his hand to charge at her.
She swung again, but this time he was ready. His left arm took the blow, enough to probably bruise him, but not enough to stop him. Her defense was too slow, and his right hand raised and came down on her face.
She couldn’t tell if it was a slap or a punch, but it sent her flying into Derek’s dresser with a crash.
A deafening ring and pain exploded in her ears and head. For several moments, her body couldn’t move at all. When she managed to open her eyes, the world was dark around the edges, and white specs floated through the air in her vision.
Panic ate at her, and she tried to push herself up, while her hands searched for the fallen lamp, but Mark was faster.
He dragged her back to her unsteady feet, and she cried out as a flashing aftermath of pain rang out in her head. He shoved her against the wall behind her, and the corner of the windowsill dug into her lower back. She winced and tears fell down her face.
“Fucking useless whore.” His tongue clicked with disapproval, like he was disciplining a small child.
Becca whimpered.
“I told you to mind your own fucking business.”
She expected a second blow, maybe even a third. She shut her eyes and braced herself, but it never came.
There was a loud thunk from behind Mark. Immediately, his grasp loosened on her, and he crumpled to the floor.
Becca stared at Mark on the ground with wide eyes. He moaned and grabbed the back of his head, writhing from some blow she hadn’t witnessed. Around him, dark ash scattered on the ground.
Derek stood on uneasy legs behind his father—in his hand was a thick glass ashtray.
