At this point, I don’t give a crap if it was used by Babe fucking Ruth.
I swing the bat up to one shoulder and take three long, quick steps closer to the brunette. “Youdon’twant to play games with me, bitch. Trust me, I’ll break your shins and crack that dense skull of yours before anyone notices…or maybe I’ll come find you in your sleep.”
The woman’s eyes go wide. I have her full attention now.
“Fine,” the clubhouse twat bares her teeth and trots away with all the fuss of a dwindling tornado. After that show, I stand in the middle of the corridor, clutching the bat and waiting for other unseen threats. This place has more surprises than a Halloween house of horrors. If there’s one thing that remains constant throughout the craziness, it’s that I need to Get. The Hell. Out of here. It’s way easier to face what’s waiting for me at home than put more people in the crossfire while having to sleep with one eye open for however long Silas thinks he can keep me here.
Wait a second.
Silas.
Where in the hell did he disappear after leaving the room?
If he had anything at all to do with the catty brunette attacking me, I’ll take a fucking swing at him with the damned baseball bat too, next time I see his smug, domineering face.
There are only three reasons he’d be a part of letting someone jump me like that. Maybe he wants to warn me against falling hard for him because he’s the bad boy I can’t have. It can also be that he found out that my skeleton closet is full to overflowing. Hell, it may be as simple as the brunette bitch believes she has some kind of claim to him. No matter which one is true, none of them can end well for me if I stick around. Come hell or high water, I’m finding a way home the second I can steal away.
