Page 140 of Freshmeet
“Stay away!” I yelled, shaking my pledge paddle at him.
Lightning flashed, illuminating his deranged stare. Blood trickled from a wound on his forehead down to his busted lipped smile. Tight in his grip was that scary-ass knife.
The wind whipped the rain around us, threatening to knock us down, but I steadied myself, ready to swing.
“I never thought it would come to this,” he said, almost sounding sad.
“It doesn’t have to end like this. You could drop the knife, and we could go back inside.”
Movement between Carter’s legs caught my eye.
“Then you’d tell everyone. No.” He shook his head, his expression becoming thoughtful. “I think I’ll tell everyone I was too late to save you from Connor. I’ll be a hero.”
An arm inched out from the window, followed by a shoulder, and then Connor’s head.
He’s alive!
“No one will believe you,” I said, buying Connor time.
Carter’s laugh was cut short by Connor grabbing his ankle and yanking him toward the window. Unfortunately, Carter stayed standing.
Turning, Carter stomped on Connor’s bloodied arm. Connor howled in pain but didn’t let go.
With Carter’s attention diverted, I stepped closer, raising the paddle in the air.
The tornado sirens finally quieted, leaving us with just the rumble of thunder and pouring rain as a backdrop.
When I was an arm’s length away, I said, “Carter?”
He turned toward me, and I swung my pledge paddle with every ounce of strength in me. It cracked against his cheek, splintering into two pieces. Carter’s head flew to the side, his body following as he stumbled right off the roof.
I rushed to the edge just in time to see him land on his back in the grass next to my car. He was so still that I assumed he was dead.
Good fucking riddance.
“You okay?” Connor said from the window, wincing as he held an injured hand out to me.
Always the gentleman.
“Better than you.” I sat on my ass, holding my face up to the pouring rain. Blood pounded in my ears as I tried to catch my breath.
“What the fuck?” Kat’s husky voice cut through the rain. “Sarah?” she shouted, and there was a stampede of feet on the shitty steps.
“Who broke the door down?” Mona asked as Oliva screamed my name.
Leaning my head over the gutter, I yelled, “Up here.”
Soaked to the bone, I couldn’t find the energy to crawl back inside. So, I sat there, being pelted by icy rain, praying that this was the end.
THIRTY-TWO
HOMICIDAL ASSHOLES DON’T GET CHAPTERS
SPLAT.
THIRTY-THREE
PARENTS ARE COMPLICATED
