Page 97 of Bad Boy
I fucking lose my mind and escape my body.
There’s no other way to explain what happens next as a warrior cry pours from my lips. I take a running leap at the trash cans and dumpster, climbing them like fucking stairs to heaven before I jump to the fence.
Carl moves to grab Lincoln again, and in a split second that feels like twenty, I leap from the top and onto Carl’s back, taking him down with the force of my weight. He crashes to the ground with a sickening thud, cushioning my fall. I hop up, but Carl doesn’t move. He’s out cold on the dirty fucking cement where he belongs.
“Remi! Watch out!” Lincoln shouts in a raspy, strained voice. I spin around but don’t quite dodge the blade slashing out at me. It cuts through my hoodie, grazing my side.
Fuck!
Searing hot pain shoots through me, and I stumble back, clutching the wound. Before this asshole can come at me again, he crumbles to the ground. Lincoln stands behind him, eyes wide, hair and glasses askew, a random two-by-four in his trembling hands.
Holy fuck that’s hot.
He tosses it to the ground with a clatter. I rush to him, cradling his face with one palm.
“Preppy—”
“Did he get you? Are you okay?” he interrupts.
“I’m fine,” I lie. “Are you?”
He coughs out a wheezy breath and wipes at the blood trickling out of his nose.
Why does bad shit always follow me? This is all my fucking fault.
“Y-yeah. I’ve never been punched in the face before.” He sniffles, causing more rattling coughs.
“First and last time,” I growl. “That is never fucking happening again.”
He leans into me, resting his head on my shoulder. Short breaths puff against my neck. “Can we go back to the car now?” he whimpers. “I want to go home.”
“We can’t go back to the car. We can’t go anywhere near Wildflower’s again. We don’t know where the other two are or if there are more,” I whisper urgently, grabbing his hand and getting the fuck out of here.
We limp along the darkened edges of the sidewalk, out of the probing view of the scattered streetlights. We’re leaning on each other at this point, both of us dragging ass.
I pull my hand away from my side, and even in the dark, I can see the shine of blood on my palm. I swallow thickly and press it back. It’s not deep, but it won’t stop bleeding.
“Can you find Otto’s from here? Are we close? I think we were close if we didn’t run too far.” But he knows Asheville better than I do.
Linc squints up at the next street sign.
Marigold Avenue.
“Yes! It’s only a few blocks from here!” he wheezes out.
A sigh of relief pours from my lips as a wave of exhaustion hits me. I know Otto stays open late on Fridays. I just pray he’s still there and that we can make it that far.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONE
REMI
After what feels like five miles, we finally get to Otto’s. The giant sign is off, but the dim overhead lights are still on, illuminating the empty gym.
Please be here. Fuck, please be here.
I bang on the door with the hand not clutched to my bleeding side. If they’re in the lounge room, there’s no way they’ll hear. But I can’t stay upright any longer. Tonight’s events and the blood loss are catching up to me. I lean against the rough exterior wall, sliding down until my ass hits the pavement.
Linc does the same, leaning his head against my shoulder. It’s eerie out here, completely silent other than the annoying buzz of a flickering street light.
