One thing’s for sure: this chick is toast. I stare at the long brown hair draped over her face. She looked so different tonight—wearing makeup and her hair down around her shoulders. It’s the thought of her in her usual ponytail that tugs at something inside of me, though, not this club look. On strange impulse, I reach down to brush the strands back with my fingers. Even though she’s passed out cold, black liner pooling in the corners of her eyes, it’s hard to ignore that she’s pretty. I bet Tyson was thinking that, too.
Tyson.
I had pushed him to the back of my mind after leaving the club, since I was more focused on getting Liv home without her throwing up in Sam’s car. But the thought of him now makes me want to pound a hole into the wall. I look down again at Liv’s smooth face, a pang shooting through my heart at her innocence. She must be innocent to let herself get drugged at a club. Or just stupid.
I trace her cheek softly with one finger. I’ll go with innocent.
As mad as I am, I feel slightly guilty about what we’re involving her in. I shake it off and move back to the window.
First things first.
Sam takes me back to the club to get my bike. She’s unusually quiet—both of us lost in our own thoughts.
“Who do you think it was?” she asks when we get to the parking lot outside the warehouse. It’s the first time she’s asked this, the first time I realize she has no clue. She turns to me, her face serious. “I didn’t see anyone with her.”
“It was that asshole Tyson,” I tell her.
“Tyson?” Her eyebrows knit. “Oh, yeah. I saw him talking to her at the bar.”
“He was trying to do more than talk.”
She pulls on her earlobe. “Should we do something?”
“Yeah.” I stare at the exit where a few people are leaving. “We should.”
The anger simmering inside of me starts to boil as I recognize the spiky dark hair of the guy now staggering out of the club. He’s waving to a couple girls and yelling something at them.
“Well?” Sam says. “What?”
I ignore her and step out of the car.
“Wait,” she calls to me before I close the door. “Want me to screw around with his records or something?”
“No, I’ll take care of him,” I say, keeping my eyes fixed on Tyson. “I’ll see you later.”
I slam the door and hang out for a moment until she pulls away, but I don’t get on my bike. Instead, I pull my jacket close around me and walk across the street, just in time to hear Tyson call out, “Hey, come back!” to the girls who are walking away. Preying on his next target. I start for him at a run, the anger finally bursting inside me like fire.
Tyson glances my way and I catch a look of surprise that turns to fear as I barrel toward him. He turns and runs to the side of the building, near the other parking lot. I’m faster. I tackle him to the ground, into the gravel, and flip him over. His cheek is scratched and bloody from the gravel, but I don’t care. I raise a fist.
“What? What?” he squeals as he tries to push me off him.
“You know what, you asshole. Drugging girls the only way you can get your kicks?” I wrestle with his arms and let my fist fly into his face. The shock reverberates through my hand, but I raise my fist again. Before I can punch him, he grabs at my arms and flips me off of him, then shoves me away with his knee. The son of a bitch is stronger than he looks. He grabs a handful of gravel and chucks it at my face. One of the rocks hits my cheek hard, and I reach up to feel blood. I start after him again.
He scrambles to his feet, trying to run, but immediately trips on a concrete block, sending him flying to the ground, face-first. He groans in pain and rolls over, his face a gravel-beaten and bloody mess. I stare at the pathetic sight in front of me, the desire to hit him again fading. I point a finger at him. “Try that shit again and you’re screwed.”
I turn and walk back the way I came, slightly sick to my
Tyson.
I had pushed him to the back of my mind after leaving the club, since I was more focused on getting Liv home without her throwing up in Sam’s car. But the thought of him now makes me want to pound a hole into the wall. I look down again at Liv’s smooth face, a pang shooting through my heart at her innocence. She must be innocent to let herself get drugged at a club. Or just stupid.
I trace her cheek softly with one finger. I’ll go with innocent.
As mad as I am, I feel slightly guilty about what we’re involving her in. I shake it off and move back to the window.
First things first.
Sam takes me back to the club to get my bike. She’s unusually quiet—both of us lost in our own thoughts.
“Who do you think it was?” she asks when we get to the parking lot outside the warehouse. It’s the first time she’s asked this, the first time I realize she has no clue. She turns to me, her face serious. “I didn’t see anyone with her.”
“It was that asshole Tyson,” I tell her.
“Tyson?” Her eyebrows knit. “Oh, yeah. I saw him talking to her at the bar.”
“He was trying to do more than talk.”
She pulls on her earlobe. “Should we do something?”
“Yeah.” I stare at the exit where a few people are leaving. “We should.”
The anger simmering inside of me starts to boil as I recognize the spiky dark hair of the guy now staggering out of the club. He’s waving to a couple girls and yelling something at them.
“Well?” Sam says. “What?”
I ignore her and step out of the car.
“Wait,” she calls to me before I close the door. “Want me to screw around with his records or something?”
“No, I’ll take care of him,” I say, keeping my eyes fixed on Tyson. “I’ll see you later.”
I slam the door and hang out for a moment until she pulls away, but I don’t get on my bike. Instead, I pull my jacket close around me and walk across the street, just in time to hear Tyson call out, “Hey, come back!” to the girls who are walking away. Preying on his next target. I start for him at a run, the anger finally bursting inside me like fire.
Tyson glances my way and I catch a look of surprise that turns to fear as I barrel toward him. He turns and runs to the side of the building, near the other parking lot. I’m faster. I tackle him to the ground, into the gravel, and flip him over. His cheek is scratched and bloody from the gravel, but I don’t care. I raise a fist.
“What? What?” he squeals as he tries to push me off him.
“You know what, you asshole. Drugging girls the only way you can get your kicks?” I wrestle with his arms and let my fist fly into his face. The shock reverberates through my hand, but I raise my fist again. Before I can punch him, he grabs at my arms and flips me off of him, then shoves me away with his knee. The son of a bitch is stronger than he looks. He grabs a handful of gravel and chucks it at my face. One of the rocks hits my cheek hard, and I reach up to feel blood. I start after him again.
He scrambles to his feet, trying to run, but immediately trips on a concrete block, sending him flying to the ground, face-first. He groans in pain and rolls over, his face a gravel-beaten and bloody mess. I stare at the pathetic sight in front of me, the desire to hit him again fading. I point a finger at him. “Try that shit again and you’re screwed.”
I turn and walk back the way I came, slightly sick to my
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