Page 25 of Broken Pieces
I have played it too many times in too many rooms that reeked of sweat and cheap power. I know exactly what they want. They want the reaction, the spark that turns into fire. They want the snap, the flinch, the proof they can get under my skin.
“Aw, don’t be bitter, foster girl,” one of the other assholes says as he steps closer. “You can sit with us if you want. Rivera doesn’t need to hog all the broken toys.”
Zane shifts in his chair, the movement small but enough to drag the air tighter around us. He doesn’t bother to look at them. His posture doesn’t change, still loose, still lazy, but there is a coil beneath it, a wire pulled taut and ready to snap.
His voice cuts through the noise, stripped of anything human. Deadly in its calm.
“Go sit the fuck somewhere else.”
They ignore him.
That is how this game always plays out. Guys like Liam are built to push, their grins plastered on as if mockery is oxygen. They never stop. They prod, they taunt, because they believe no one can touch them. They believe their jerseys are armor and their fathers’ names are shields.
And Zane is a loaded gun sitting right in front of them, safety long gone, trigger begging to be pulled. They are too stupid, too cocky, too entitled to see it.
“You sharing this one, Rivera?” Liam says, his voice rising, feeding off the audience that has begun to form. He is louder now, braver under the weight of attention, mistaking their silence for approval. He leans into it, letting the words drip filth into the air. “Or keeping her to yourself? Bit greedy, don’t you think? Thought your type liked to pass it around.”
Laughter bursts out from a few desks away.
Zane’s chair scrapes back against the tile. He rises in one smooth motion, every inch of him a threat.
The whole room goes still.
Conversations die mid-sentence.
Liam’s shoulders stiffen, but his shit eating grin doesn’t falter. His mouth keeps moving, desperate to prove he isn’t rattled.
“What, you fucking her already, Rivera? I hear she’s easy. Figured we’d have our fun.”
That is all it takes.
One sentence too far and Zane lunges forward, the calm stripped away in an instant. His fist arcs through the air and slams into Liam’s jaw with brutal precision. The crack rings out, echoing through the room with a sound that is equal parts violence and satisfaction.
For a heartbeat, it is the only noise that exists.
Liam stumbles back, head snapping to the side, his body crashing into the desk behind him. The impact rattles through the room as chairs topple, clattering against the floor. Hisfriends scatter, all that swagger leaking out of them as they scramble, nearly tripping over each other in their rush to get out of the way. Their bravado dissolves into panic the second fists turn real.
One girl shrieks.
Someone knocks their water bottle off the table and it rolls across the floor, unnoticed.
Cassie shoots to her feet, wide-eyed, but I don’t move.
I sit there.
Frozen.
My hands stay clenched around the edge of the desk, nails biting into the wood, but I don’t move. I can’t. My body won’t let me. All I can do is watch.
Zane doesn’t stop. He hauls Liam up by the collar, fisting the front of his jersey.
Liam tries to fight back, arms flailing, legs kicking against the floor, but he isn’t fast enough. Zane has been waiting for this. You can see it in the way his movements are sharp, in the way his fists land with precision.
A split lip blooms red across Liam’s mouth. A bruise darkens over his left cheekbone, swelling beneath Zane’s knuckles. Blood splatters the floor, tiny drops scattering across the white tile.The sight roots itself in my chest.
Mr. Harvey rushes forward, his face already flushed, his tie swinging loose as he shoves past desks and bodies.
“Rivera!” he roars, pushing through the wall of students as though the crowd itself is an enemy he has to fight through. He looks less like a teacher and more like a man barely holding himself together.
