Page 42 of Beautiful Ascension

Before I can ponder the question longer, Samantha’s screech pulls my focus back on her.

“What is it with this girl? Does she have a magic pussy? I don’t know why anyone would try to claim her. She’s nothing, a nobody that thinks?—”

I move with a level of speed my pregnant ass probably shouldn’t be able to. It’s fast enough that Samantha doesn’t see it coming until she’s on the floor grabbing her bleeding nose. Her skirt’s flipped up, and everyone has a prime view of her pussy spread wide open.

The cafe is silent. The only noise is the pounding in my ears and the devil on my shoulder telling me to stomp on her face.

I ignore that messy bitch. She’s always trying to get me locked up.

Tilting my head, I scrutinize her, wondering once again how they could choose someone so vapid.

“That was my nose, you dumb bitch?—”

I don’t allow her to finish. I snatch my smoothie from the table and dump it on her face, relishing in her screams.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” I tap my chin, pretending to think. “Oh yes, it’s because you tried this last year, and I rocked your shit then, too.”

Samantha attempts to get to her feet three times and falls before one of the cheerleaders sitting next to us helps her.

“You’ll pay for this,” she snarls and begins to storm away, only to slip and hit her elbow as she braces herself. Bet she wishes she didn’t wear heels today. I try to hold in my laugh when she slips her stilettos off and stands on the first try. She glares before she screams and leaves the lunch room.

“Tell your plastic surgeon I said hello,” I shout at her retreating form.

20

WES

“Holy shit, that was fucking hot,” Wyatt groans, and I don’t have to look to know he’s squeezing his dick. The fucker is always turned on when Ariah puts Samantha in her place.

“What the fuck is he doing?” Owen growls.

I follow Owen’s line of sight and see Reign has Ariah in his lap and his fucking palm resting on her stomach where our kids reside. Our eyes connect as he leans to whisper something in her ear. Then he winks. He fucking winks at me! My hands grip the table until the wood feels like it will splinter.

This motherfucker is dead!

Whatever he’s saying has our girl blushing and laughing as she turns to push his shoulder before he lifts her, depositing her safely in between him and Elias.

“He’s goading us,” Sebastian calmly states. His steady lilt pulls my attention away from the men who continue to test the limits of our patience. “Ignore them,” he continues, feigning disinterest—his aloof demeanor giving nothing away except the imperceptible twitch that makes the vein on his right temple pulsate. He’s here to meet with one of the professors in the sociology department. He said something about student teaching or being a teaching assistant.

“I’m going to use a cheese grater on Elias’s face,” Lev hisses.

My head snaps back to Ariah’s table at Lev’s venomous tone in time to see Elias pick up a strawberry from his plate and brush the loose strands of Ariah’s hair out of her face.

I forget to breathe as he brings the fruit to her mouth and nestles it between her waiting lips. Elias’s thumb catches the excess juice trickling down her face as she bites down. Then he lifts his stoney gaze to mine in challenge as he licks his thumb.

Death would be too easy for them. At least one hundred ways to prolong these arrogant fucks’ suffering. They’re supposed to be guarding her, not seducing her.

“What the fuck?” I spit.

Owen whips out a switchblade and hops up. His intentions are written all over his face. Before he can even take a step in their direction, Sebastian’s hand shoots out and grips his forearm.

“Don’t,” is Sebastian’s only command.

Blazing hazel eyes that would terrify even the most fearless man sneer at Seb’s hold as if his touch offends him before leveling him with a glare. “Let. The. Fuck. Go,” Owen snarls. His lips curl, exposing his teeth and the tightness of his jaw. “Or I’ll slice you into a jigsaw puzzle.”

“O. You gotta sit down,” Lev reasons. “We can’t risk it. There are too many eyes in here.”

Owen’s face contorts, his eyes close as if an internal battle rages within. His nostrils flare—sucking in air before mumbling something unintelligible. Then, the tightness in his body slowly relaxes—the rigidity in his posture uncoils, allowing him to finally relent and take his seat.

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