Page 80 of Craving

Pain exploded over Marlon’s face as her heel connected with the bridge of his nose. He yelped, stumbling back, and blood began to pour out of his nose and into his mouth. The legs kicked and flailed like the tentacles of an evil octopus, jabbing at the air, trying to attack.

Gathering himself, Marlon snarled—and lunged.

He ignored the agony that spread over his face as he clenched his jaw. Ignored the tears streaming down his eyes and the blood gushing out of his nose. He jumped and grabbed Camilla by the ankles and yanked.

She didn’t budge, fighting him with renewed intensity. Her legs bent and bucked against his hold, but he tightened his grip, braced one foot on the wall, and pulled again. And again. And again.

The pressure released all at once. Camilla came falling out of the window with a frantic shriek, and they both tumbled to the ground in a heap.

Marlon, dazed, tried to cling onto her, either to stop her from attacking him again or to check she was okay. He wasn’t sure which. But Camilla sprang up from his body, her hands batting and scratching at him.

“Get off get off get—” The pelting hits stopped. “Marlon?”

“Hey!” A dark-haired head poked out of the window. “I knew that period cup stuff was bullshit! There’s no way that’s real! Get back here! Frankie!”

“Oh, crap,” Camilla said, falling to her knees. She put her hands on Marlon’s cheeks, on his chest. “Oh no! Are you alive? Are you okay? Oh no, oh, no, oh no—”

“We need to get out of here,” Marlon rasped, sitting up. His head swam. He tasted blood.

Camilla moaned, sounding half-relieved, half-horrified. “Oh my God. What—how—why didn’t you say—oh!”

Marlon stood, stumbling slightly, then turned to help Camilla up. But she was already on her feet, pawing at him, guiding him to the car.

“I’ll drive,” she said. “Your face. I’m so sorry, Marlon. What are you doing here? How did you find me? Never mind. Get in the car.”

“I think you broke my nose.”

Camilla moaned in distress.

“Stop!” a voice called out from the end of the strip mall. Three figures came around the corner, sprinting, their leather jackets flapping in the wind.

Camilla yelped, shoving Marlon toward the car. He tripped, landed in a heap, and accidentally hit his nose on his hand, and pain momentarily blinded him. But when he blinked, he saw the men gaining, and he knew Camilla wouldn’t make it to the driver’s side of the car in time.

He jumped to his feet with a snarl, rushing to get in front of her. His arm caught Camilla around the waist as he tucked her behind him, keeping a hand on her thigh to make sure she stayed put.

The three men stopped in front of them, breathing heavily. One of them carried a baseball bat. The man in the middle curled his lips, and Marlon recognized him as Frankie Smith. Vermin.

“Give her back,” he said.

“Not a chance.” Marlon set his jaw.

He must’ve looked like a victim in a horror movie, with his nose smashed and blood dripping down his chin. Adrenaline dumped in his blood as he held Camilla safe behind him, puffed his chest out, and bared his teeth. Maybe he looked like the villain. He hoped he looked like the villain.

“Ms. Fox owes us a large sum of money,” Smith said, his tone aiming for reasonableness and landing somewhere in the realm of very, very threatening.

“That’s a lie!” Camilla cried. “I paid you everything, Frankie, and you know it. I don’t owe you a cent. If you have a problem with my father, you take it up with him!”

A debt? Marlon tilted his head. “Your father?”

Frankie bared his teeth. “You know what, Fox, I think I will. I think I’ll call him right now and tell him what his daughter’s been up to this past decade. How do you think he’d react, knowing you took money from me to start your precious business? You think he’ll still invite you to Christmas dinner?”

Camilla’s breath came in pants, her hand tightening on Marlon’s bicep. He kept one eye on the men and watched her in his peripheral vision, pride burning in his chest as her spine straightened.

“Go right ahead,” she told Frankie. “In fact, give me the phone. I’ll call him myself.”

“You think he’ll want anything to do with you once he knows?” Frankie goaded. “You think you’ll be able to walk around like Dean Fox’s favorite daughter after he disowns you?”

Camilla trembled, but her expression changed. Her eyes softened, and a small, peaceful smile tugged at her lips. When she spoke, her voice was calm. “I was never his favorite,” she said. “And I’m tired of fighting for a title that’ll never be mine. You can drag my name through the mud and try to make my family hate me. I don’t need them to feel good about myself and my life anymore.”

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