Page 95 of Bad Boy
I need my boyfriend. I can’t wait until we get back to his place. The fire blazing through my veins is too hot to put out.
We silently slip out of the booth and sneak back to the bathrooms near a side exit.
“Scratch that. My car.”
I change course and tug on his good hand, steering him toward the exit. We slip into the cool night, soothing our overheated skin. I shove him against the rough brick wall in the dark alleyway between the diner and the neighboring strip of businesses and grab fistfuls of silky auburn hair. I kiss him stupid, pressing him against the wall with my body.
“Well. Well. Well. What do we have here?” a deep male voice jeers from somewhere behind me.
I immediately spin around, sheltering Linc between my body and the wall. Keeping him out of view of this sneering, voyeuristic asshole.
“Who the fuck are you?” I demand.
A man with yellow teeth and a stained white tee steps forward, staring me down while speaking to his equally disgusting friend. “Think Logan knows his boy’s a faggot?”
I growl, muscles taut and ready to defend. I don’t like this at all.
He’s getting too close.
The other guy speaks up, his greasy brown hair slicked back and his tracksuit oversized and sloppy. “Your pops sent us. Wanted to deliver a message. Let ya know he ain’t playin’ around about the money.” His thin lips turn into a victorious snarl when he sees the color drain from my face. “And it’s not just the two of us. We have backup. So don’t try anything.”
The cogs in my mind spin, clicking into place as I piece it all together.
Of course.
Of. Fucking. Course.
Dad found out we left Detroit. About Mom’s family. Our money.Everything.
He's the one who’s been harassing me. Threatening me. Threatening Lincoln.
I’m going to fucking murder him.
A humorless laugh churns in my stomach, escaping my lips on a bark and sending chills down my spine.
“You can tell him—”
I don’t even get the chance to finish my sentence. The guy with yellow teeth strikes out faster than I can process, punching me twice in quick succession. My head whips to the side, the harsh blows stunning me. I stumble back a step, bumping into Lincoln.
He’s crowded us into the wall.
Cornered us.
I need to think fast.
“Run!” I yell as I lean down and ram my shoulder into his flabby gut like a pro football player, shoving until the prick falls flat on his ass, with me on top. I punch him square in the nose, blood instantly gushing out as he wails and clutches his face. Before I can get another shot in, I dodge the boot from above, quickly rolling to my feet.
I glance behind me. Linc is stuck to the wall, eyes wide and unblinking.
Fuck! He didn’t run!
I reach back and grab his hand as I take a hard hit to the ribs, but I keep moving because I’ve had way worse. I tug Linc behind me and kick out, nailing the bastard in the kneecap with my heavy boot. He cries out, crumpling to the ground.
“You little faggot shit!” he hollers, grasping his leg. His screeching voice echoes down the alleyway like nails across a chalkboard. “Carl! Get up, ya fuckin’ pussy! Grab them!”
Carl can’t get up. He’s moaning on the ground, clutching his gusher, bright red blood seeping between his fingers as it pours from his most likely broken nose. I didn’t hold back.At all.
“Run, Preppy!” I shout, tugging him along, trying to snap him out of it. He can’t freeze up. We absolutely cannot let these homophobic pricks deliver their “message.” Irefuseto see him hurt again.
