Page 20 of Toxic Hope
The way I made up my mind right away about them.
“Shut up,” Easton spits. The way he’s looking at me, you would think I was in the middle of screwing this guy right here in the café. Like I’ve done something filthy, deplorable, and even though I know that’s not true, my skin burns with shame, anyway. “I’ll deal with you in a second.”
Deal with me?
My hackles rise and my jaw tightens, and all of a sudden, the idea of throwing this drink looks a lot more appealing. “Get out of my way,” I mutter, pushing my way past them before I can do anything stupid. I don’t want any part of their bullshit. I didn’t ask for any of this. Or did I, when I decided to defend somebody who, it turns out, wasn’t worth defending at all?
“Wait a second. I’m not finished with you.” Easton is behind me, but that doesn’t stop me. If anything, it makes me hurry to get out of the café, hoping I can get to the car and far away from here. So much for treating myself. I should know better by now. I should go straight home and lock the door and hide from these maniacs.
“I said wait!” He’s right behind me as we step onto the sidewalk, where he closes a hand around my upper arm and turns me around.
“Take your hand off me,” I whisper, pulling myself free. Right now, he and his brother, coming up behind him, are the symbol of everything that has gone wrong in my world lately. And they have the nerve to stand here in front of me and act like I owe them anything? Like their word is law?
“What are the two of you doing?” Preston asks, red-faced, breathing hard. “I fucking told you what he did, and you’re still meeting up with him for coffee?”
“That’s not—” Something stops me before I can defend myself. There’s nothing for me to defend. I did nothing wrong.
Maybe I shouldn’t do it, but then they shouldn’t glare down at me like I owe them shit. Like I committed a crime. “We had a very interesting conversation,” I tell them with a bright smile. “In fact, he asked for my help. I’m thinking of giving it to him.”
“Giving him help?” Easton barks, taking a menacing step toward me, scoffing when I don’t react. Bullies. That’s all they are.
“Yeah, he wants me to testify to what I saw in the parking lot. If he decides to press charges.” It’s a satisfying moment. Something almost like pleasure washes over me, starting from the top of my head and rolling down my body becausethatgot them. They are completely off-balance.
Preston’s mouth falls open. “You wouldn’t do that.”
“I wouldn’t? And you know me so well all of a sudden?” This is almost fun. Giving it right back to them. Let’s see them squirm.
“You vile little bitch,” Easton whispers, teeth gritted, shoulders rising and falling with every ragged breath.
“That’s right, go ahead,” I reply calmly, slowly. “Keep talking. Keep reminding me of every little detail of what I saw that night.And how the two of you went back to beating him up even after I stopped you. You can’t claim it was all in the moment, temporary insanity, or whatever. You made the deliberate choice to go back to beating him. Maybe the cops would want to hear about that.”
I’m talking out of my ass. There’s no way I’m helping that guy. Not even if it means these complete pigs ending up in jail. He can’t win.
But it’s kind of fun to let them think I would do it.
That is, until Preston lowers his brow and mutters, “Do you think what we’ve done to you so far is bad? You have no idea what we’re capable of, pearls.”
The thing is, I believe him, no matter how I laugh it off. “Okay. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“We can make having your wig ripped off look like nothing,” Easton mutters nastily.
“Fuck you,” I whisper, shaking at the memory. He didn’t even bring it up earlier today. He wasn’t low enough to do it. I guess all bets are off now.
I slip between them, ready to leave them behind, only that’s not good enough.
“We’re not finished with you yet.” It’s Preston who reaches out. It’s Preston who grabs for my shoulder.
It’s Preston who instead snags the pearls around my neck.
It’s Preston who breaks the string.
Everything unfolds slowly, like a slow-motion horror movie. I hear the pop. The coffee drops to the ground at my feet because now all that matters is grabbing hold of the pearls before they fall, but it’s already too late. One pearl after another drops from the string and bounces off the sidewalk, scattering in all directions.
Mom’s pearls. Her greatest treasure.
They were all I had left.
The shock drops away, and I drop to my knees, scrambling around, grabbing pearls at random and shoving them in my pocket with trembling hands. There are so many, and they’re so small, and people are walking by andwhat am I supposed to do?
