Page 45 of Beg for It
“Blair…” Michelle’s nails dig into my arm. “Blair, he’s kidding right? You wouldn’t do something like that with a psycho loser like him?”
There’s too much going on. It’s like someone just threw all the puzzle pieces on the table and I’m scrambling to make the picture.
I rip out of Michelle’s hold and stumble forward, getting a clear view of the masked man I spent my entire night falling apart for.
Oh my God.
It really is Elliott Cross.
But…but when did he get all those muscles? And all those tattoos? And how did he…why did he… This isn’t the same boy I knew in high school…not by a longshot.
We lock eyes, and my body apparently doesn’t really seem to care who the face under the mask belongs to, because electricity courses through me. Every touch, lick, taste, bite, scratch from the night replays in my mind, but this time, Eli’s face is there instead of the mask.
I expect revulsion to rewrite the memories…
Instead, I’m absolutely mortified by the fresh wave of want that swirls somewhere deep.
Brett and Riley team up this time, the two of them going after Eli with no remorse. Even with his knife, he’s hard-pressed to hold his own against the two athletes who have pure hate pumping through their veins.
“Stop!” The scream leaves my lips before I can help it.
I clamp a hand over my mouth, mentally kicking myself for the outburst.
A baseball bat comes flying out of the sky and hits Brett square in the back before bouncing onto the dirt. It rolls, not stopping until it bumps against the toes of my shoes.
A tattooed hand reaches out to pick it up, and I follow the line of the muscular arm until I’m met with two faces. They’re the other masked guys from earlier, Fake Phantom and Gym Phantom. They take in the scene, and it creates a new hum of biting energy.
“Thank fuck. Now I can take this thing off.” Gym Phantom rips off his balaclava, tossing it to the ground. “Can’t fucking breathe with it on.”
Fear ripples throughout the remnants of the crowd that has gathered to watch the reality show we seem to be putting on.
I go stock still, the realization of the danger beside me freezing every muscle in my body.
Sebastian, aka Bash, aka the one dude everyone within a hundred miles knows not to fuck with. He attended the public school in town but wasn’t a stranger at Almont Prep. He is oneof Eli’s childhood friends, and he almost sent the guys to the ER junior year. There are rumors about the people he’s put in comas and left permanently damaged. Bash is a monster who lives up to his nickname.
The rest of the crowd disperses once they get a look at his face.
“Here.” Bash passes the baseball bat to Fake Phantom before charging into to the fray, landing two quick punches on Riley before I can even blink. “Shoulda stayed in the trash where you belong,” he barks. “I can’t guarantee your nap won’t be permanent this time.”
The four men begin an all-out brawl, punches and kicks flying faster than I can track. Most of the damage is being dealt by Bash, forcing Riley and Brett to give most of their attention to him. I catch the glint of the balisong fold into the mix, and the brutality of the scene brings me to my knees, the hard dirt biting into my flesh.
“You okay, little Blair?”
Fake Phantom crouches down next to me, peeling off his mask, but I already know who’s underneath it.
Felix.
With his cheeky smile, relaxed posture, and bright blond hair that sports a fresh undercut, you’d think he is a harmless tech kid. But everyone has heard the story about how he snapped and almost killed his history teacher with a baseball bat freshman year. He was expelled from Almont and ended up at the public high school with Bash.
He presses in closer, squinting his eyes. “You seem a little pale.”
Bash has Riley pinned to the ground, smashing his face into a bloody pulp. A splatter of blood flies from his knuckles through the air, and I feel the hot liquid pepper my skin. I’m numb as I touch my cheek, trying to get rid of the blood but only succeeding in smearing it. Crimson stains my fingertips andnausea rolls through me. I hastily wipe the blood on my outfit, dark red staining the baby blue.
“Fuck,” Eli grunts as Brett’s knuckles collide with his face and split his brow, blood trickling down his already bruised skin.
Brett lands another hit, and Eli drops to his knees. Worry overtakes fear as I watch him line up for another merciless hit. Just before the punch connects, the balisong blade slices out in a horizontal arc, cutting through Brett’s thigh.
“You fucking pussy,” Brett spits.
