Page 36 of Royal
Pain. Everything is pain.
What have I done?
I gasp for air, launching myself to a seated position. Holy fuck. That’d felt so fucking real. I swipe sweat from my forehead before grabbing at the back of my neck. My fingers encounter tight knots of tension. I need to put eyes on her right the fuck now. Make sure I haven’t fucking dreamed up this entire ordeal—this fucking nightmare. The fitful sleeps I’d endured throughout my stint in prison have lessened since coming here. But, fuck. That was too much. Felt too fucking real. And I know it’s because she’s here that I’m having to deal with this shit all over again. Exhaling hard, I whip the sheet from my body and stumble out of the bed to the window.
Motherfucking bag of dicks. What the fuck is Beckham doing climbing out of her goddamn window? Without thinking, I storm from my room and down the hall, shoulder checking Herschel Grossman, a broad-chested junior, in the process.
“Hey, fucker. Watch it,” he growls out, his voice low and rough. He gives me a look as I pass that says I really should probably watch myself, but I don’t have time for that right now.
Without turning around, I mutter, “Fuck off,” as I hurry down the steps.
I tear through the house to the patio door, because if I know Beckham, he’s being a sneaky shit and going to come in the back so no one is the wiser. He’ll slip in and if anyone asks, he’ll say he was always here, just hanging out listening to music or reading for one of his many psych classes.
Blood pounds a violent beat in my head, rising to the boiling point and threatening to stew my brain. An image of Beckham crawling out of Echo’s window fills my head, taunting me and making me want to howl with rage.
He halts about five feet from the door, warily watching as I throw it open. I can tell from the way his face falls, he knows that I know what he’s been up to. My chest heaves with effort as I struggle to contain the feelings roaring through my body. Fucker’s all in black, and my jaw locks as I notice two distinct bulges. One in the pocket of his hoodie, where I assume he’s stashed his mask, and the other is in his fucking pants.
Raw, untamed fury slams through me as my entire body shakes. I take several strides toward him, then without pausing, I plow my fist into his face. I catch his jaw and send him stumbling backward, but that doesn’t stop me. I keep coming, grabbing his hoodie with both hands and yanking his body to mine, practically lifting him off his feet. I stare into his eyes. “What the actual fuck do you think you’re doing?” I grind out.
“What are you talking about?” Beckham’s hands grip my wrists, ripping my hands from him. He backs up a pace, one hand going to his jaw.
I lunge forward, shoving him hard, perturbed by his question. “You know what you did,” I grit out, giving him another forceful push that has him toppling over a chair and busting it in the process.
He looks up at me from the grassy patch of lawn he’d landed on, shaking his head as if to clear it. His eyes glitter with anger. “I’m doing what you told me to do, you dickhead!”
“There is no way you thoughtthat’swhat I meant!” And before he can get up from the sprawled position, I launch myself at him. I swing wildly, some hits landing, some not. Each time my knuckles meet flesh, my blood roars, cheering me on.
There’s one thing I should have remembered about Beckham. He might not like to fight, but the fucker is more than capable. He gives as good as he gets. His fist rams into my cheekbone. Pain bursts through my face, only enraging me further.
“Get off me, asshole,” Beckham gasps out with a grunt as he struggles against me. “You’ve gone right off the deep end. I suppose it was only a matter of time, considering.”
“You know nothing about it,” I snarl in his face, delivering a punch to his ribs.
“Whoa, what the fuck?”
I must have missed the patio door opening, but all of a sudden, Wilder is charging toward us. Eyeing the determined look in his dark eyes, I bite out, “Back off, Emory. This has nothing to fucking do with you.” Beckham and I roll on the grass, grappling with each other. It’s a fight for dominance, and I’m going to win. I’m going to knock his fucking teeth out. We’ll see how many chicks and dicks he gets after that.
“Good, then I’ll make a great damn referee.” Wilder grunts, grabbing at me, but my elbow meets what I can only assume is his face. “Fuck! Are you kidding me? Stop,” he heaves out. “Beck. Fucking stop.”
“Not until he does,” comes Beckham’s labored words as he swings wildly at me.
“Oh, shit.” Someone else has joined us. And whoever it is snorts with laughter.
I glance to the side, groaning internally to see Davis step out of the house to join the party. He eyes the battle and crosses his arms, his brow raising in abject amusement.
Unable to make any headway with me, Wilder switches to Beckham, who immediately growls, “Leave us be, Wilder! If he wants to fucking fight me, let him.” He gasps as my fist drives into his stomach. “Fuck! He’s got a fucking screw loose. But I can be his damn punching bag. He’ll feel like shit about it later, and that’s fine by me.”
Beckham’s fist meets the side of my temple, making my ears ring. I shake my head to clear it, then go back after him with a vengeance.
Blood flies from Beckham’s mouth as I land a punch to his jaw. Asshole. Fucking going into her room. Who knows what he was doing in there. Was she sleeping?
From somewhere over us, Wilder roars, “Are you fucking stupid? Get your ass over here and help me.” He grabs Beckham under his arms, and for a second, I think I’m going to be able to use that to my advantage, but before I can act on the savage impulse, Davis locks an arm around my neck and pries me away until I’m kneeling upright. I claw at his arm, then let my fist fly in the direction of his face. I know I caught him at least twice from the number of grunts he expels.Good.Fucker should know better than to get in the middle of shit that isn’t his to deal with. Don’t care what Wilder told him to do.
Speaking of my friend, he bands both arms around Beckham, one wrapped around his chest, securing his arms, and the other around his waist. They fall back, sprawled together on the grass. Wilder whispers something furiously into Beckham’s ear, but I couldn’t begin to guess what. His dark eyes dart to me, watching me struggle against Davis’s hold. “You fucking done, Royal?”
I wait several beats, letting out ragged breaths as I accept this is over. I nod at Wilder as I tap Davis’s forearm so he’ll let me the fuck go.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him as he backs away, shaking his head. With a cocksure grin on his face, he chuckles menacingly. “Never should have let you out. You’re bound to hurt someone else. I’m glad my sister got away from you when she did.”
