Page 170 of Midnights
He doesn't drop the smirk. Not for a second. If anything, his eyes gleam with something that looks far too amused or entertained. And I hate the way I want to wipe it off his face.
Adrenaline spikes like I'm about to throw down whether I want to or not.
“Pretty things break easily,” he muses. His voice is low and condescending, dripping with something dark and slimy. “You really should’ve been more careful.”
What the fuck is this guy talking about? He steps closer and I don't hesitate. I'm not going down without a fight. My fist slams into his stomach and he folds like a lawn chair.
Where’s that cocky smirk now, asshole?
Satisfaction curls through me as his eyes widen with surprise. “I looked amazing tonight.”
He recovers fast, but I'm faster. Before he can plant his feet, I slam my knee straight into his dick, hard enough to make sure he feels it tomorrow and thinks twice before harassing women. The noise that rips out of him is half gasp, half choke, and his body curls in on itself.
“And that,” I say coldly, glaring down at him as he stumbles back. “Is for trying to ruin my night.”
For a moment, all he does isbreathe. The only thing I can hear is his harsh, ragged breaths as he straightens. His eyes are dark and full of hatred.
Then his expression twists as fury bleeds into something else. Something colder.
“You’ve got no idea what you’re doing,” he growls, clutching his side. His voice is laced with warning. “None of this belongs to you.”
The words sink in, leaving no room to breathe. I don't even get a second to roll my eyes before he lunges.
He’s fast.
I move, but not fast enough. My dress catches on my foot, making me stumble, and his fist slams into my ribs.
Pain rips through my side and I stumble, my vision tunnels for a second as I fight to stay upright. This is my brutal reminder this isn't some sloppy bar fight. It's something else entirely.
My body reels as nausea and fire claw through me, but I force myself upright. Weakness here is blood in the water. My breath falters, but my hands don't drop.
“I wouldn’t if I were you.” I bite out, trying to keep my voice steady, despite the ache tearing through me.
Something flashes across his face that I almost mistake forhesitation.
“How?”
His posture shifts and just like that, his bravado shatters. His hands twitch like he’s resisting the urge to reach for something. But then, he turns and bolts. Vanishing into the shadows like a ghost.
I'm left standing here, breathless, while my ribs are screaming and my face fucking hurts like a bitch.
I press a hand against my side, wincing at the sharp throb. That’sdefinitelygoing to bruise. I'm just hoping it’s not broken. It feels like I might've broken my nose too.Great.
None of this belongs to you?What theactual fuck does that mean? Like no shit asshole, this isn’t my house.
I let out a shaky breath, still feeling the adrenaline rattling through my veins. I turn to leave, and that's when I catch my reflection in the window. The site makes me wince.
My lip is definitely split. I don't know how I'm going to hide that. The dull ache in my cheek promises I’m going to be feeling this for days. But at least my nose is still intact. That would’ve ruined my night, and been pretty hard to explain.
The faint trickle of blood near my lip makes my stomach twist, but I swallow down the feeling, straighten my shoulders, and force my mind tocalm the hell down.
I willnotcry over this.
Tonight was supposed to bemagicaland I refuse to let some deranged lunatic steal that from me.
A quiet thank you echoes in my mind to my grandfather. His words ring clear as ever.
‘Size doesn’t win fights. Strategy does.’
