Page 20 of Ruthless Deliverance

He casually drops the menu on the table, then looks over to me. There’s a mischievous smirk on his face as he looks to me, but it quickly morphs into something else. Maybe a little bit of surprise and definitely some fury. “What happened to your eye?”

Shit. That is a question I don’t want to answer. “None of your concern. Now get out of my way.”

Beau leans forward, cackling as he stares a little harder at me than necessary. “Damn. I didn’t even notice it at first. Pick a fight you couldn’t handle?”

Motherfucker. I wave my hand in front of my face, motioning around my nose intact unlike his still bandaged one. “You should know all about that.”

A string of curses leave his mouth but Creed swiftly cuts him off. His words stern and flat. Too calm for what I see on his face. “Who was it?”

I thought for sure the bruising would be hidden well enough with makeup, and it worked in the faint light at the Den, but the brightly lit diner revealed the accidental elbow I took to the eye while sparring at the gym with Thibaut. He’d profusely apologized, but it wasn’t intentional. Besides, I’ve received more than a few bumps and bruises while sparring, just usually not from my calculus teacher who was a better opponent than he first let on to be. Or maybe I’m that out of practice.

“Calm down, Creed.” I turn my face away from him, not ready to give in but knowing he isn’t going to let me off the hook that easy. And I don’t like the feeling. If I answer, he’s gonna flip his lid. And why the hell does he think he has any right to sit here and question me about an injury?

“I asked you a question.”

“Yes. And you always get exactly what you want, right?” I should stop, I should bite my tongue, because the words leaving my mouth feel way too real and bitter and have nothing to do with why I’m sitting in this damn diner to begin with. “Well, you should get used to disappointment because I don’t give a shit what question you asked. It’s none of your business what happened to me. Your self-appointed power doesn’t influence everyone simply because you think people should bow down to you, dickhead. Now, get the hell out of my way.”

He doesn’t make a move. And I’m aware of the three people at our table and some others near us staring at our situation. The way our interaction has morphed into something so unnecessary makes me question what the hell I’m doing and if I’ll ever be able to get what I need done if I’m focused on fighting this asshole at every turn. And I can’t do it. I can’t participate in his little game and keep my headspace clear. It’s evident by the rage filling my core and the need I feel to escape this situation any way necessary.

“Fine. Don’t move.” I reach into my pocket, pull out a few dollar bills, and toss them on the table for the damn sweet tea I didn’t even get to take a sip of. Tucking my phone in my pocket, I look to Luna. “I’ll call you later.”

Swiftly, I stand on the bench seat and step over the back to the booth behind me. The girl occupying it slides over when she gets that I need to make a quick exit. Climbing out of a damn booth like a crazy person was not supposed to happen, but I need out of here. Now. Or more like away from Creed. Because I feel cornered, trapped, and out of control.

And I’m almost free and clear when I go to step off the bench and onto the floor. Only, my foot doesn’t hit the linoleum. Instead, Creed catches me at the waist with both hands and throws me over his shoulder. I know he has a good size advantage on me, but manhandling was sure as fuck not part of the plan.

Squirming against him, my hands hit his back as one of his arms clasps my legs against his chest and a firm slap hits my ass.

As if climbing out of a booth wasn’t ridiculous enough, he has to create a bigger spectacle. “That. Is. It.”

He’s walking across the diner towards the exit as I tighten my legs, stiffen my back, and thrust myself back. His arm remains locked in a vise grip around my knees, so I don’t get loose completely, but it’s enough to throw him off balance as I jab an elbow to his ear.

“Son of a bitch.” His hold releases then drops me to my feet. As I steady myself, my hands automatically come up, ready to shield my face. But he doesn’t make a move to grab me again, just stands there, fury morphing across his face. “Tell me.”

“Why? So, you can act like a caveman because you’re pissed at something that was an accident while you constantly cross the freakin’ line? But that’s permitted, right? Because everyone is beneath you.”

He takes a calculated step forward as I remain in place, but thankfully he doesn’t advance any closer. He’s near enough to bring his hand up and rub his thumb along my cheekbone that is still tender, but I won’t show it. Not in front of him.

I move back as I slap his hand away. The anger on his face has been replaced by concern, and it’s harder to deal with than his rage. “I can’t do this.” Turning, I push the door open and hurry into the parking lot. Luckily, he doesn’t follow. Because I can’t do it. I can’t fight him as Danica Graham and remain intact as Ava Dani Saunders, because the lines aren’t just being crossed, they’re blurring from every direction.

19

CREED

It’s been days since I noticed the bruises around her eye. But my anger is still boiling over to the point where I don’t know what to do. I don’t buy that the shit was accidental. She knows how to fight, and there’s a reason why she learned how to defend herself. And I want to know who exactly she’s running from. Even if she doesn’t want or need my help, I want nothing more than to put my fist in whoever’s face did it. From what I’ve learned, her home life isn’t bad, but I couldn’t find enough to really clear that it’s not her father. When she said her father taught her, was it because she was battling him? No matter who it is, they will deal with me. She can take care of herself, but she shouldn’t have to. And every time I spot her across the café, my rage rises as she hangs her head slightly forward, just enough for her hair to cover her cheek, shielding what the makeup isn’t able to conceal.

“Dude, you missed practice yesterday.” Beau drops in the seat next to me, gives an annoyed glare in Dani’s direction, then huffs. “Just fuck her and get it over with.”

I plan to. But it’s not about getting a quick nut and moving along.

“Creed, bro, the game is Friday. We don’t have time to play around with the bitch or worry about who roughed her up. We know she asked for it anyway.”

“Shut your mouth,” I tell him without taking my eyes off her. “I can handle her and the game. Worry about your own shit.”

“Yeah. Well, Coach accepted my note and said I’m clear to play. But that won’t make a difference if I’m the only one on the field wanting to capture the title.”

“No one wants it more than I do.” Her or the title. And I will have both. One feels obtainable. The other feels impossible. Both are essential.

“Whatever. I just need you to show up.” He continues bitching as we head to calculus and zips it when we take a seat because he’s shifted focus to the pussy beside him.