AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Especially not with Emily Morgan.
But he kept thinking of the feel of her hands under his, of the way her shoulders fit perfectly within the circle of his arms, of the smell of her skin.
He found himself wondering what other things would feel like. Holding her hand. Touching her hair.
Kissing her?
Stop it. You’re an idiot.
But the curve of her neck had been right there. She hadn’t flinched from his touch. Really, if you took away the baseball bat, the way he’d been holding her had been pretty damn intimate.
When he inhaled, he could almost still smell her.
Stop it!
He’d already told her too much. How baseball let him clear his mind and focus on something not related to his element. How he worried every day would end with a loss of control—like Friday.
How badly he wanted to leave town.
He could have kicked himself for revealing that one.
But then she’d talked about her parents’ fighting. How sometimes she didn’t care about making it in New York; it was just a new place, a new beginning.
She told him how she was sick of every day being focused on hate.
And for the first time, he let himself start to wonder if this deal could work out.
She’d left ten minutes ago, after he’d told her to go so they wouldn’t be seen walking out together. He’d killed ten minutes burning through his last token, remembering the feel of her body with every swing he took.
Dad’s truck sat alone at the back of the parking lot, dark in the shade of an old elm tree. Michael had the keys in his hand and a bemused smile he couldn’t get off his face.
He didn’t even hear the attackers until his head was slamming into the concrete.
They were all on him at once. He couldn’t even get a handle on how many guys had tackled him. One had come from the bed of the truck. They had the chain Dad kept back there to tie down loose loads, and they had it against his throat, pinning him to the parking lot. Someone else trapped an arm, kneeling on his wrist, grinding his skin into the pavement.
And then, just as he registered the blond hair, someone punched him in the face. A good, solid punch, with power behind it.
He saw stars for a second, long enough for them to pin his other arm. He struggled, but he had no leverage.
“Hey, ass**le.”
Tyler. He’d swung the first punch—and he did it again.
Michael coughed against the chain on his throat. He gritted his teeth. He could pull power from the earth and throw them off, but he doubted they’d give him a free pass like Emily had.
Keep it together.
God, he’d been stupid. Every time he came here, he checked the store, and every time he left, he checked the truck. Every time, ready for an ambush.
Until today.
Tyler hit him again. Michael tasted blood.
Keep. It. Together.
“Do it,” said Tyler. “You know you want to.”
Someone kicked him in the side, and Michael redoubled his struggles. They were too heavy. He couldn’t get loose.
