Page 72 of Things I Wish I Said
But this is Dustin Fields. He has connections all over the county, men who work for him. He’s not the type of guy you fuck with, even when he has it coming.
Dustin shrugs. “She got out of line. Maybe you should take note with your own girl.”
I don’t correct him about Ryleigh being my girl. I’m too busy trying to find a way not to kill him.
“She’s coming with us,” Ryleigh says, holding on to Bridgette.
I place a hand in front of her, stopping her with a shake of the head.
“See. That’s not how this works.” Dustin’s mouth curls into a cruel smile.
And then he pounces, lunging at the girls like a panther before I can react. He wrenches Ryleigh’s arm back, slamming her into the island where her back meets the corner of the stone countertop.
With a cry of pain, she loses her balance and falls to the floor, gasping and wheezing for air before she spirals into a coughing fit.
Fury engulfs me, and before I can think twice, my knuckles connect with Dustin’s jaw, catching him by surprise. His head snaps back, and I take the opportunity to deliver a jab with my left, busting his mouth. “I told you not to touch her,” I hiss as he stumbles back, then catch him with a right hook, knocking him on his ass.
“Your hair,” Bridgette gasps.
My head jerks at her words, taking in her shocked expression before finding Ryleigh coughing as she crawls on the floor, scrambling on her hands and knees, red-faced as she reaches for the wig behind her.
A smear of blood covers the ground at her feet, and my stomach plummets, thinking she hit her head.
I drop to my haunches, cradling her face in my hands while she tries to catch her breath, Dustin forgotten. “Ry, are you okay?” She nods, her eyes filling with tears—from pain or humiliation, I’m not sure. All I know is I want to kill him. “Let’s go.”
She shakes her head, her voice a whisper when she says, “My hair.”
I want to tell her I don’t care about her fucking hair, when she reaches for it and hastily puts it on.
“Grayson!”
Bridgette’s warning is too late.
An arm curls around my throat from behind. I wheeze, clawing at it as Ryleigh rises to her feet, and panic skates through my chest at the thought she might do something foolish.
I use my legs and all my weight to propel us backward.
Dustin lands on the ground with a grunt, and I follow it up with an elbow to the kidney.
His grip loosens and I manage to wrangle free.
I straddle him, throwing all my weight into my fists as I punch him with my right.
Once. Twice. Three times.
His nose busts open. And his mouth is next.
Screams fill the air as Dustin struggles to land a hit, but he’s no match for my anger. The quiet rage I’ve lived with since my father died pours from my fists.
His arms fall limp at his sides.
I replay the cry of pain as Ryleigh hit the island, and I deliver another blow to the side of his face.
His head lolls, and I can hear someone calling my name, but it doesn’t register.
I picture Ryleigh on the ground, her wig missing, cheeks stained with embarrassment, and I punch him again, the sound of crunching bone my applause.
“Grayson!” Someone touches my arm, but I shrug it off.
