Chapter Seven

PRESENT DAY

I grunt as my back collides with the bricks on the side of the coffee shop's exterior. My head cracks against the hard surface, and a fiery pain radiates from my neck to my shoulders. My muscles burn and tense, making it hard to twist my neck to look at the jerk who can't let the past be the past.

"Want to tell me why I heard from a little birdie that you called me an asshole?" Mickey says, his face directly in front of mine. His breath puffs against my face in a thick cloud of cigarettes and halitosis, and it takes everything in me to not gag. Has he ever heard of a toothbrush?

"Get your hands off of me!" I shove his shoulders, feeling a momentary high that I finally did what I've been dying to do since middle school.

" Puh-lease. " Mickey snorts and rolls his eyes.

His fingers fist my shirt above my breasts, and then he jerks me around like a rag doll. He acts as though I'm putting up a fight, which I mean, yeah, I'm fighting back, but my strength is nowhere near his. I stumble and hurt myself in the process while I hit him.

"I said get off!" I try to slap him, but I miss his cheek and wind up hitting the corner of his chin.

His teeth click together as his head jerks to the side. Pride fills my chest, but that evaporates when he turns his face and glares at me.

"You shouldn't have done that," he growls.

He grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks me further into the alleyway he shoved me into. I stumble and drag my booted heels on the brick path as he leads me into the narrow space between the buildings. I look in horror behind us at the receding people who can save me from this asshole. No one's coming to my rescue—which isn't anything new, but it still hurts.

"I called you that in high school, you asshole!" I suck in a terrified breath. Fuck.

Mickey's fingers tighten in my hair, and he snarls, shoving me against the building again. His eyes darken, and I swear I see the evil in his soul through them.

He draws back his fist and slams it into my cheekbone. I scream, my head whipping to the side from the blow. The whole side of my face throbs, along with my teeth. Tears gather in my eyes, and I barely have time to recover before he punches me again, this time on the side of my throat. My cries die out as the muscles contract, and I fight for air that never comes. Every attempted breath creates a wheezing sound with a deep groan.

I'm going to die, all because Mickey got his little feelings hurt because I told the truth. He would keep the promise he made all those years ago and kill me as payback for Jaxon beating him up.

Mickey holds me up as my legs threaten to come out from under me. He punches me right in my ribs, forcing out what little air I have in my lungs. Black dots speckle my vision, and I sway as I struggle to stay awake. He keeps hitting me, calling me names while laughing like he's lost his mind. I fall to my knees and cup my throat with one hand, the other firmly on the ground to hold me up.

"I kinda like how you look on your knees, rocks," Mickey says. He grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks my head back. He bends down, putting his ugly face in front of mine, forcing me to look at him through the tears.

I groan as my body struggles to suck in a breath.

He smirks and shakes my head, pulling out strands of my hair. "October tenth, you're mine."

I finally catch my breath and bare my teeth. "You're a pussy."

His face falls in shock that I , a "stupid" girl, would call him something that "emasculating." I laugh through the pain, and when it starts, it doesn't stop. My laughter grows louder, peeling and echoing in the narrow space.

"You're so fucking dead!" He shoves me down with the intention of straddling me.

I roll to the side, gritting my teeth and ignoring the pain as I jump to my feet and get all of two strides away from Mickey before my steps falter and I stop dead in my tracks.

A tall biker with a tinted black helmet over his head stands three feet away. I don't know how long he's watched what happened, but I know Mickey is so screwed now that my brother is here.

"What the fuck do you want?" Mickey snarls.

I don't look behind me to watch Mickey's face crumple when he realizes it's Jaxon. I keep my eyes on Jaxon like he's a god riding in on a black armored horse. The ex-football player doesn't stand a chance against my brother.

Jaxon takes careful steps toward me, his head slightly tilting as he assesses every bruise and cut on my body. I don't need to see his face to know he's counting them. He stops in front of me and tucks his gloved fingers under my chin to lean my head back. I look at my reflection in the tinted helmet.

"Jaxon," I whisper.

His thumb brushes my lower lip, gently, like a lover's caress, and then he drops his hand and looks at Mickey. Slowly, he removes his helmet and shakes out his wavy black hair until it falls over his forehead. His earring chain with a flower dangling at the bottom flicks with his movements and taps against his neck. Jaxon glares at Mickey, shadows caressing his face.

"Ohh man," I mumble to Mickey, who takes a step back. "You're so fucked."

Jaxon eases me aside, and I suck in a painful breath as he gives me a warning look before he walks toward Mickey. It's the same look as all the other times he's put people in the hospital.

I step into my brother's path, not wanting Mickey to lose his life, no matter how much he hurt me.

"Jaxon," I murmur, hoping my voice draws him back from the dark recesses of his mind.

Mickey whimpers but raises his chin, attempting to look stronger than he actually is at this moment.

I raise my hand to touch the back of Jaxon's shoulder, but I hesitate. He doesn't like it when people touch him, and I don't want to cross any boundaries, but I don't want him to murder this jerk, either. Mickey isn't worth it.

Mickey takes two steps backward, losing all the courage he had when it was just the two of us. "It's not what it looks like," he says, his voice quivering.

"It's not what it looks like," Jaxon repeats softly. He raises his helmet in front of him, his gloved fingers digging into the soft material on the inside of it as he studies it like all the answers in the world are written there.

"Oh no," I say softly, right as my brother lunges toward Mickey with his arm swinging backward, hand gripping his helmet.