Page 147 of Fakers with Benefits

“You little shit,” Malcolm sneered.

“Let go,” I croaked, pulling my collar away from my throat so I could breathe.

“Mal?” Imogen’s voice filtered down the hall.

“Get back to Emily and distract her while I deal with this,” he said, his voice soft and almost sweet.

He’d never talked to Emily like that in all the times I’d seen them together. My blood boiled for her.

“Get up.” He yanked on my shirt.

“Fuck you.” I rolled out of his grip.

He made a strangled sound and lunged at me.

“Ow!” I yelled as he snatched a handful of my hair and wrenched hard. My head snapped back and I was thrown off balance. “Evan!”

“Shut up!” Still holding my hair in a death grip, he slammed my head into the floor.

Pain and a strange cold feeling exploded at the back of my skull. My ears rang, and my brain felt like it was vibrating from the impact. My vision went hazy as the edges went black.

“Fuck,” I muttered, stuck in that weird place between passing out and being awake.

“Get the fuck up.” He yanked on my hair again.

I was too dazed, and at too much of a disadvantage, to fight. I needed to let my head clear before I made my next move. Rolling over, I scrambled to my knees as he dragged me toward a door.

He got the door open and shoved me inside. I landed on my hands and knees in what looked like an office or maybe a library.

“Stay down.” He kicked me in the side.

I’d seen it coming and managed to get my arm between my ribs and his fancy dress shoe as I’d twisted out of the way, turning a direct hit into a glancing blow.

“Fuck you,” I spit out. “What do you think you’re going to accomplish here? Do you really think smacking me around is going to make me forget you’re a cheating asshole who doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as Emily?”

He looked…deranged. His normally perfect hair was mussed and sticking out in feral cowlicks. His face was red, eyes crazed, and he was panting like he’d just run a two-minute mile and not sprinted down a twenty-foot hallway.

“I knew there was something between you and Imogen—”

“Shut up,” he seethed. “Keep her name out of your filthy whore mouth.”

“Mywhore mouth? What the fuck do you think your skank-ass bitch is—”

The slap to my cheek wasn’t nearly as hard as it could have been but was still enough to rattle my already-rattled brain. Pain spread over my skin and my cheekbone ached.

“SHUT. UP!”

I dodged his attempted backhand, another manic slap, and what could have been a right hook, but tripped over an armchair I hadn’t noticed while I’d been distracted by his Rock ’em Sock ’em Robots style of fighting.

I landed on the floor again, my ass and thigh taking the brunt of the impact.

“You ruinedeverything,” he shrieked.

“Iruined everything?” I climbed to my feet, a little slower this time as the multiple hits and falls caught up with me. “How the fuck is itmyfault that you’re a cheater who cheats?”

“It doesn’t matter what you think you saw.” He smoothed a hand over his hair, not fixing it at all. “No one will believe a word you say.”

“I think the fact that you just played slappy slap with my face will lend some credibility to my statements.” I pointed to my still-smarting cheek. “How are you going to explain this? Gonna try and convince them I walked into a door?”

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