Other Side of Beautiful (A Beautifully Disturbed #1) by Sarah Zolton Arthur Page B

spin on that shithead Callum. “Touch her again and I will end you.”
    “Starting to lose those cred points there, Hayes. She got something on you, or do you really just like fucking fatties?” He turns on Elle again. “It ain’t his talent you’re swallowing.”
    Son of a bitch!
    Then it’s like I lose total control of myself. My fist connects with Callum’s jaw over and over. His buddy Tim jumps me from behind, but Collin is at my side before I ever see him run up. A loud shout rips through the bar over the music like a battle cry, and Errol charges at full speed into the melee. Sabrina shrieks. Callum has a mouth that his body can’t back up. Tim stands a little taller than his friend, but me and my friends tower over both of them. Blood spatters on the stools, the bar, and the floor. I raise my arm again, bringing it down with so much force. Callum tries to shield his face, but my fist punches right through it and there’s an audible crack when it hits Callum’s nose. More blood flies through the air, splattering Elle’s blouse. Fuck if I don’t know whose it is, either. Could be his. Could be mine. I hope it’s his.
    How could such a good night deteriorate so quickly? With all the commotion going on, I don’t see her leave the bar. But it’s like I feel her absence. Collin shoots me a ‘go after her’ look. That’s all the encouragement I need. Sweat freezes against my skin when the brisk night air smacks me hard. If I wasn’t sober before, I sure as hell am now. The rub is that she’s never had any kind of confrontation with Callum or Tim. They just decided they didn’t like her and made it their mission to ruin her life. Elle can handle those kinds of taunts; she’s a strong woman. But when he brought me into it, suggesting that she and I had a relationship, from the look on her face, his comment embarrassed the crap out of her. Swear to all things holy, if he ruined my chances with her, the idiot will spend the rest of his life as a vegetable.
    She left her car behind at the bar. What is she thinking walking, especially at night? It’s winter. In Michigan. She could freeze to death, be hit by a car, abducted, or hit by a car. Yeah, I know I said that already, but I’m kind of freaking out here. The Elle I know wouldn’t be so irresponsible. She’s about a block down from Rounder’s, moving off the side of the road when I flash the headlights behind her. Elle keeps walking. I flash the headlights again. Snot and tears. She’s a mess of frozen snot and tears and sexy arms wrapped tightly around herself, trudging ahead without looking back. Those arms need to be wrapped around me. Fuck this. I speed around her, spinning so the broadside of my Jeep blocks her from going any further, taking up both lanes of road, and I fling the door open.
    “Brontë, it’s cold. Where are you going?”
    “I don’t know. Anywhere but here.”
    “Get in, I’ll take you home.”
    “Just go Benton. I don’t need your pity.”
    “ Pity? ” The light from the cab shines too bright right now. I find myself squinting, my mouth hanging open like a god damn fool. What the hell is she talking about? After everything, she has the nerve to say that to me? I can’t even look at her right now. “I’m wearing that dickwad’s blood. Do you think I’d do that for pity?”
    “I don’t know why you did it,” she says to me, attempting to sidestep the Jeep. No. No way. I grab her arm, not thinking about which hand I grab at her with. The knuckles on that hand are split open. Deep blue and purple bruising encircles the cuts and the whole thing looks really swollen. Really, really swollen. “You should go to the E.R. It might be broken.”
    “Just get in.” It’s a conscious effort to soften my words, because she’s so damn stubborn that she won’t get in if she thinks I’m pissed. Her will is one of the things that attracts me so much, but it also has the capacity to piss me off like nothing else. Why