Page 42 of Crash into me
Rita cries, pleading with him to stop. “Let me take her! Let me take her home with me!” she begs, but he doesn’t hear anything; he doesn’t see anything but rage as he continues to drain the life from me.
My vision grows blurry, and sparkles dance in my vision. A burst of bright fireworks bounce from corner to corner around me.
At least I’ll go somewhere better, happier.
There he is.
My knight in matte leather.
The scene creeps back into my eyesight a little as I collapse onto the floor, choking and gasping for air.
Rita’s arms are around me, soothing me as I come to. A flash of tall, tan skin rushes in front of me, and a delicious mix of leather and grease invades my nostrils, awakening me.
He’s here.
The scene has flipped.
Foster has my father pinned to the wall, his inked hands wrapped around his throat. “You’re never going to hurt her again!” Foster screams. “I will fucking end you!”
The rest of the group notices the violence, and Warren pulls Foster away. “He’s not fucking worth it, man.”
Foster peels himself from Warren, but then Brett grabs him. In the chaos, Foster’s not paying attention to anything around him. He snaps, snarling to my father, “You’re fucking dead!”
Warren and Brett are holding him back, inches from my father’s face. “You’re about to start a fire you won’t be able to put out,” Kent warns.
Foster frees himself. “Let it fucking burn then,” he spits, throwing all of his weight into a punch that makes bones crack against my father’s jaw.
“Let’s go.” He turns to me, grabbing my hand. Everyone’s attention is off of us as they try to peel Kent off the floor. I stare at him a moment, having always thought of him as unstoppable, but there he is bleeding and delirious on the floor as we rush into the grand foyer.
Foster is shaking with rage, his entire body on fire. “Brett, Warren … come with us,” I ask them.
Warren grabs Brett’s hand, leading him to the door. “I’ve got him. We’re going to his house.”
“Wait.” I stop, letting the guys leave. “I have to get my jacket.”
Foster shakes his head. “I’ll get you another one.”
“No, Foster, please. And I need to change if we’re riding.” I gesture to his gear.
He looks around. “Okay, you’re right. Go quickly.”
I rush upstairs, peeling off the gown as Foster stays at the bottom of the staircase like a guard. What do I need?
I zip open my backpack, throwing in my laptop and a few pairs of clothes, along with Foster’s hoodie. I slip on my jacket over a black tank top, bouncing down the staircase and into his arms.
“I’m ready.” I nod, reaching for his outstretched hand. As I slam the door behind me, I know for certain I’m never fucking coming back.
He’s still filled with adrenaline as he pushes the helmet over my head and straps it on.
His eyes dart to mine the moment we hear police sirens.
He doesn’t break a sweat he just … grins.
“Get on, baby girl,” he chimes, saddling the bike. I climb on, wrapping my arms around his waist.
I missed this so much.
There’s not a moment to think before we’re off, flying down the winding driveway and maneuvering around all of the cars for the people attending the bullshit benefit.