Page 55 of Ready Or Not

“Get off,” I bark.

“What?”

“Get the fuck off!” Heat rushes through me, and I jump off the bike, barely getting the kickstand down and my sunglasses off before I hunch over the grass. I puke up everything in my stomach.

Still, I can feel the touch. It’s pawing at me, moving up and down my whole body. I want it off. I want it fucking off!

Rachel stands silently, watching. The bike rumbles beside us.

My body shakes, and I try to suck in a breath. I hate this. I hate every second that Rachel’s watching me. Watching me be weak.

“Turn it off,” I snap.

“What?”

“Turn it off!” I motion at the bike.

Rachel jumps to obey. I suck in deep breath after deep breath. Rage at how defenseless I’m being rushes through me. Immediately, I hate the hot sun beating down on us, hate the way my jeans are touching me, and hate the way Rachel looks at me like I’m crazy.

I snarl at her, “Don’t you ever, ever feel me up again. Got it?”

Rachel pales. “I didn’t…I’m sorry, I…”

I straighten, staring her down, letting all the anger rush through me. “I’m not your plaything, you got that? You don’t get to touch me whenever and however you please.”

Rachel’s pretty eyes widen. I can practically smell the fear. I know this reaction has nothing to do with her, but I can’t stop. I need her to know. To never fucking touch me there. I smilethrough my rage. “Don’t mistake my familiarity with kindness. I kill people for less.”

I see the subtle flick of emotion. Rachel doesn’t show much, but it’s there. You just have to pay attention.

I step back. “Now. Stop looking at me like I’m crazy.”

Immediately, Rachel looks away.

I run my hand over my hair. My braids are sweaty and messed up from the wind. I pace back and forth. I want to clench my fists until my fingers dig into my palms. I want to feel the blood. I want to dig around in someone’s brain with my bare fingers.

Fuck! Why couldn’t we be at our next stop already? I need itnow. I need it more than my next breath.

It’s hard to breathe. Everything that I keep locked up so carefully wants to come out. It wants to fucking comeout. As soon as Rachel closed in on herself after I mentioned her Papa, I knew what happened to her. And now my memories are screaming to be let out.

So I scream, letting the pent-up energy out. I knew I shouldn’t have started this journey. I never should have visited my mother’s grave. As soon as I did, I knew it would all come back in a rush, and I’d never be able to stuff it back in.

Maybe that’s why I did it.

I kick at a clump of grass. It goes flying. I need much, much more than that. I need release. Acid, beer, sex. Dirty, rough sex that hurts.

I scream again. Manson is the only one who can fuck me when I feel like this. It’s like he has a sixth sense when he knows things are hard. He’ll break in through my window and fuck the shit out of me, whether I let him or not. He wears a mask and never says it’s him, but I know it’s him. It’s fucked up and wrong, but I always feel better after.

My chest aches with how much I wish he were here. But Manson isn’t here. In fact, he’s actively tracking me down. Trying to prevent me from hunting down my nightmares. After telling me he buried Pup.

I whirl.

Rachel’s still standing there, quietly. She’s gripping her arms and biting her lip.

Fuck. She thinks I’m crazy.

“Don’t look at me.”

Again, she looks away. “I’m sorry, Riley.”