Page 3 of Wild Fury (Fallen Royals 6)

My heart gives a weird lurch. “No…” I cast around for an excuse, but I have none. I raise my drink and swallow it all in one swig, letting the tequila pour down my throat. It burns for a moment, but I ignore the fire. “Sorry, I should refresh my drink.”

“You don’t want to make a scene.” He steps closer. “What would your parents think? Or Amelie, ruining her night?”

I wince. “Jeez. Hit a girl where it hurts.”

He shrugs. “I’ve heard what they say about the younger Page girl. You’re frivolous.”

“Well, thanks.” I step past him.

“Stop.” He grabs my arm, his grip loose. “I only say that to help you. It’s their engagement party, and all they want are photos.”

I scoff. “Fine,” I snap.

He guides me away, down a gravel path, framed in by larger stones, that cuts through the back of the DeSantis estate. There are little lights staked on each side of it, every few feet. They illuminate the ground in rings, helping us see where we’re going without breaking an ankle. But it doesn’t do much to take away from the creeping feeling of dread. It washes over me in waves.

“I don’t see them.” The darkness seems to have stolen the loudness of my voice.

He yanks me off the path and shoves me against a tree, so fast it knocks the wind from my lungs. I gape at him. Shock would be the only reason I haven’t moved yet.

“If you scream, I’ll kill you.”

I stare at him. He runs his hand down my side, over my hip.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I shove at his hands. “Don’t touch me.”

Violence overtakes his features. “I don’t see what’s so special about your family.” He shakes his head like he’s trying to dislodge those thoughts.

“I—”

He slaps me.

The sound rattles around my brain. He just hit me, and I can’t seem to make sense of it. The pain registers a moment later. The coppery warmth of blood on my tongue. I’m still against the tree when cool air touches my legs.

He pushes my skirt up. He wants—oh god. My lungs constrict until I can barely breathe.

Adrenaline floods my system, and my fingers tighten on the glass in my hand. The stupid one I never set down. I smash it into the side of his head, and he stumbles away. The glass doesn’t break, not like in the movies, but it does get him off me for a moment. It falls to the ground and cracks.

“You fucking bitch.” He grunts, then comes back at me.

He pins my wrists against my stomach, trying to subdue me, but something animalistic unlocks inside me. It’s like my body realizes this is it. I have exactly one chance to get out of this before something awful happens. I fight with everything I have, using the tree at my back as leverage. He can’t contain me—the surprise of it pops his eyes open wide.

“You—” I swing at his face, scratching his cheek. “Cannot—”

He grapples for me, growling under his breath.

“Rape—”

I kick him in the chest, and he stumbles backward. His heel catches on something, and he falls. His arms pinwheel, but there’s nothing to grab. He hits the ground, barely making a noise. I spring forward, ready to run, but he doesn’t move.

“Me,” I finish quietly, nudging him with my foot.

He’s so still.

I fumble for my phone in my dress pocket. It’s still recording. Horror slams into me. It might’ve recorded all of that. And if he’s hurt, he might blame me. I quickly end the video and flip on the flashlight. I crouch beside the DeSantis man and pause.

He could be just… knocked unconscious.

Right?

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