Page 117 of Xavier

I pull my hand back and swing it toward him again before he can react. This time it rams into his chin and he barely stumbles to the side before I feel a giant fist slam into my diaphragm. Every ounce of air in my body leaves me, and I feel the bile push up into my esophagus.

Before I can steady myself, I feel my arms pulled backward, two hands around each wrist, like vices.

Fuck. He wasn’t alone.

"What? You can't handle me on your own, you gotta bring your goons in on this?" I taunt him, trying to struggle against them, but there's no point. It's three giants against me now.

He just grins, nostrils flaring at the pheromones seeping from his own sweaty skin as he pushes the sleeves of his shirt up as far as they can up his baked ham forearms. He walks up to me, his rough sausage fingers gripping my chin as he bares his teeth.

"It's going to be such a shame to fuck up this pretty face. Your little blonde isn't going to recognize you once I'm done with you,” he pants.

"Still going to be prettier than that overcooked meatloaf you've got on top of your shoulders.” And this time it’s my turn to spit straight at him.

His eyes narrow and his lips tighten against his top row of yellow teeth. It'd be almost comical if I wasn't thinking about how it's going to be the last thing I ever see. He draws his fist back and slams it into my stomach, and it feels like a truck driving into my guts.

I try to double over, but they hold my broken body up.

I'm wrong, the last thing I'm going to see is stars.

And the last thing I'll say is her name.