Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 108988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
I stood and motioned. “My men will give you a ride home, unless you want a trip to the hospital first. The Presbyterian, right? That’s considered ‘your hospital’?”
I didn’t wait for his answer, turning instead and motioning for my men to deal with him.
It was their turn now.
That’s how it went in wars like ours.
Chapter Eight
Blake
Seventh grade
There was a commotion up ahead in the hallway.
My gut sank because I knew. I just knew. It was a full knowing feeling that whatever was happening up ahead was right by my locker. Leaving the library, I only had a few minutes to grab my books, and then I needed to get all the way over to where my Spanish class was, which was up on the fourth floor.
I never thought I’d miss sixth grade, but I did at this moment because back then our classes were all grouped together. We went from room to room as a group, and there were teachers in the hallway. The supervision was stricter in that school, but here we were, in junior high. Everything was different.
And I hugged my books to my chest, nearing the crowd. These just weren’t the right books.
People were yelling.
Crash.
Punch.
I stopped in my tracks as one guy was shoved violently into the lockers. The crowd cleared to get out of the way, and crap. I was right. They were exchanging punches in front of my locker. Like, right there. It was my locker that they hit, and they weren’t moving away, still trading punches.
I didn’t even know these guys. Maybe they were eighth graders?
They didn’t seem to be stopping.
I couldn’t see any teachers either. No one was going to wade in to stop this anytime soon.
It looked like I was going to be late for my class. I was irritated. Why couldn’t they—“Look out!”
Hearing someone scream, I looked up.
The guys were hurtling right at me.
“Fuck!” a guy cursed behind me. “No. Not her—”
I tried to get out of the way, but it happened too fast. Too quick. A part of me froze and—crash!
Pain erupted over my face. It erupted again from the back of my head as I was slammed into the locker. The two guys crushed me, and more pain engulfed me in the middle. I felt like I’d been hit by an oncoming bus, multiple times.
My legs weren’t working. I was trying to slide away, or crawl away, but the two guys wouldn’t stop fighting. It was as if they didn’t know they’d hurt someone else, but suddenly a rough hand grabbed my arm. I was yanked to the side. At the same time, the guys were gone. They were thrown to the ground, and immediately a group of six others were kicking them.
I couldn’t make sense of what was happening, but oh my god, I was in so much pain.
A face got in front of me, a guy who was bending down to talk to me. I recognized him. He was a junior, and he was the one who’d pulled me out of the way. He was holding me upright. “Where are you hurt?”
I was dazed. “What?”
He cursed, paling a little as he was assessing my injuries. He looked down, pausing on something there. “Did they get you there too?”
“What?” I was having a hard time hearing him.
He cursed again, stepping away, and then he was speaking on a phone. His face was all rigid and pissed off, and this wasn’t good.
“. . . She’s in shock, I think.”
Shock. That would make sense.
I’d been hit before, but this interaction came at me so fast, and it had nothing to do with me.
Other hands were touching me.
The guy snapped at whoever that was, “Don’t fucking touch her! This is—do you know who this is?”
I grimaced, knowing what he was going to say. I didn’t want him to say it.
“She’s Lane’s. Those guys are dead.”
He said it.
“What’s going on here?”
I sagged back against the locker when a teacher finally showed, my knees buckling, except I couldn’t fall. That guy was still holding me upright. More of his friends came to stand around him, all grim, and all focusing on him as they were inspecting me with their eyes.
“What happened?” The same teacher’s voice got louder. More firm. “Hello. Anyone going to fill me in? I was told two boys were fighting out here. Where are they?”
“Uh . . .” Someone spoke up.
The guys by me whipped around. One took a threatening step toward the speaker. “Don’t say a word.”
The voice belonged to a girl, who gave him a nasty look. “They have cameras. It’ll be on video.”
He took another intimidating step her way. Fear flashed in her eyes, but she jerked her gaze away from him. “Will Proguesly and Hector Smith were fighting. They knocked into her.”
“And where are they now?”
She hesitated again, sinking away from completely narcing on the rest because what I found out later was that when I got hit, Creighton’s guys were notified. They were in another hallway. They tore into the fight, beating the crap out of the two guys.