Page 91 of Waiting Forever
A squeal sounds.Isa.
Fuck this.I barrel into the room. Ace has Isa in his arms.
“Who the fuck are you?” Prescott glares at me.
I answer with my fist—in his face.
Prescott goes down. He wipes blood from the corner of his mouth and uses the bed to hoist himself up. “Mother fucker, you’ll pay for that.”
He swings but I duck and punch him in the ribs, earning a groan from him.
He stumbles backward, holding his side. “You piece of shit.” He stares over my shoulder and yells, “Marco!”
I glance behind me to see if someone is there. My mistake. Prescott uses my distraction to get a punch on me. A fairly good right hook from the way my eye explodes with pain. My mask shifts, blocking my vision. I tug it into place. No other guy is in the room.
Ace steps through the open door and gives me a firm nod.
I turn to find Prescott reaching under the ledge of his nightstand. Trying to push an alarm button?
I dive for him, tackling him onto the bed and pinning him under me. Alternating my fists, I punch his ribs over and over again until the guy is spitting blood.
Prescott holds up his hands. “Stop. I’ll fucking pay you to stop. Just stop.” He coughs and spits more blood.
My mind recalls Kensi’s ashen face and the glazed look in her eyes when she finally trusted me with the truth of what happened to her. She never mentioned begging for the guys to stop. If she had, it wouldn’t have mattered. They wouldn’t have listened. They wouldn’t have been attacking her if it weren’t for this piece of shit.
More rage engulfs me. “Fuck you.” I spit on him and resume my punching, crushing his face.
My knuckles will pay for this later, but right now all I feel is vindication. Sweat and blood makes my punches slippery. Prescott barely struggles against me anymore.
Faint beeping sounds. It means something, but I’m too caught up in the moment to comprehend it.
A hand grabs my shoulder.
I turn with a roar and swing.
Ace blocks my punch. “Let’s go.”
My lungs burn with my racing breath. Sweat drips into my eyes, stinging what I assume is a cut. Clarity slowly returns as Ace stares at me from behind his clown mask and raises his beeping watch.
From the bed, Prescott moans.
I catch him crawling toward the nightstand and the alarm button. Shoving the furniture aside, I yank the wires from the wall, cutting the power to the alarm system, and follow Ace from the room.
“You okay?” he asks as we take the stairs two at a time to the first floor.
“Fine.” I wipe warm liquid from the corner of my eye. My mask is torn.Shit.
“Follow me,” Ace says, and I work to keep my head down and my focus on where he’s leading me. It’s hard with the adrenaline still pumping through me. All I want to do is go back upstairs and finish off Prescott.
“This way.” Ace turns down a hallway. It’s fairly crowded. “Be cool,” he murmurs.
A few girls eye us with interest. One winks at me. “Nice shiner.”
Shit.Identifying me in any way is bad. Hopefully, she’s too drunk to repeat what she saw and Prescott too beat up to remember anything.
We enter a laundry room. “Take off the costume,” Ace instructs.
Once we’re both down to our black under-gear, he stuffs the costumes into the washer, pours in a bottle of bleach, and presses start.
