Page 26 of Broken Pieces
Zane doesn’t flinch.
He stands over Liam, looming, chest heaving with each ragged breath. His jaw is locked tight, muscles straining beneath his skin. His fists are still raised, trembling with the urge to keepmoving. His breathing is uneven, rough, as if every inhale is dragging nails through his lungs.
He looks unstoppable, as if he could keep pounding Liam into the tile for hours if no one dragged him off.
Harvey’s voice booms again, desperate this time. “I said that’s enough! Office. Now.”
Zane shoves Liam away with a hard push, releasing him as if he is nothing but dead weight.
Liam crashes back to the ground, shoulders slamming against the tile. Blood runs from the corner of his mouth, staining his chin and collar. His chest rises unevenly, but his eyes are steady, gleaming under the fluorescent lights. They burn with smugness, as if he believes he has claimed a victory in this mess.
Zane bends down, and grabs his bag off the floor.
Then he turns, and our eyes meet.
In that single second, I see all of it.
The fury burning under his skin, the weight pressing into his shoulders. The years of rage carved into every muscle. I see the silence he has carried, the fists he has thrown in dark corners where no one bothered to watch. The battles he fought just to keep breathing. I see the boy he used to be, the one who learned to fight because no one ever fought for him. The one who has never had anyone to protect, until now.
He walks out.
The door swings shut behind him, cutting him from the room, but the storm he left behind keeps raging in my chest.
Phones are still up.
Some are pointed at Liam, still sprawled across the floor like a broken puppet.
Others are aimed at me. They’re recording my face, my reaction, my everything.
Some people are whispering, some don’t bother at all.
Their voices bleed together in waves.
“I bet she spreads her legs for him behind the gym,” someone chimes in, louder, eager to feed the crowd. “Wouldn’t take much. Bet she begged for it.”
Another voice cuts through, meaner than the rest. “Look at her. She’d open her legs for anyone who gave her a second glance. Trash never says no.”
Liam wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his jersey, smearing blood across it like war paint. He looks like hell and he looks proud of it.
Cassie leans closer, her shoulder brushing mine, her voice low but edged with steel.
“He’s a fucking dick,” she mutters, eyes locked on Liam still sprawled on the floor.
One of his asshole friends finally lowers his hand and reaches down, hauling Liam up by the arm.
Liam staggers but stays on his feet, his grin twisted and wet. Blood drips from his split lip, smeared across his chin, glistening under the harsh lights.
“Guess she’s a good fuck if Rivera’s willing to throw hands over her,” he mutters, his voice thick, lips shining red as he spits the words out for everyone to hear.
I turn toward him before I can stop myself, my body betraying me. My gaze lands hard on his face, sharp enough to cut, but instead of shrinking, he feeds on it. That’s what this is for him—provocation, power, proof that he can still get a rise out of me even with blood dripping from his mouth.
“Didn’t think street rats cared who they fucked,” he adds.
His eyes glint with challenge, daring me to break my silence, daring me to let him win.
I hold his stare, locking onto it until the rest of the room fades away.
Heat pulses through me, demanding an outlet. I want to grab the edge of my chair and hurl it into his smug face. I want toscream until my throat is raw. Scream that I am not what they think.
