Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
LANA
M y heartbeat is a rhythmic thud in my ears as I gaze down at the asshole who’s done nothing but piss me off for the last few weeks.
He took pissing me off to an entirely different level today when he decided to press his lips to mine.
And he’s about to pay for that with his blood.
“You giving in, little menace?” He sneers, and everything else around me seems to dull into the background.
My voice is cold and detached when I reply with, “Not on your fucking life.”
He goes to open his mouth, no doubt to give me another cocky rebuttal, but I don’t give him the chance.
I pin his arms above him and smash my head down onto his.
I feel the cracking of his nose more than I hear it, and he lets out a pained grunt before lifting his body up from the floor as though he’s trying to shift me off of him.
I don’t let him.
“You fucking bitch,” he spits, and I let out a maniacal laugh .
“I warned you,” I sing, and jump to my feet, dusting off my leggings while I wait for him to stand. He seems dazed, and he staggers to his feet, swaying a little before he regains his balance.
“That all you got, pretty boy?”
He spits blood to the floor before he lunges for me, but I sidestep him before he can reach me and spin around to face him. He’s glowering at me now, and it sends a chill up my spine.
Huh.
That’s never happened in a fight before.
Before I can think too much of it, he pounces again, this time catching me off guard and sending me careening backwards to the floor before landing on top of me with a thud.
I lift my knee, catching him right in the balls, and he winces before rolling off of me.
I climb back on him once more, and he’s no longer the asshole of the school.
He’s no longer Cole Aston.
He’s just some dickhead who picked a fight with the wrong person.
I rain down hit after hit on him, barely even seeing him.
Barely seeing where I’m hitting.
Just feeling the flesh against flesh.
Just feeling the pain in my knuckles.
Just feeling the freedom that I feel whenever I get in this headspace.
But it’s over far too soon.
A hand locks around my waist and pulls me from the floor, making me blink back to the present, and I grunt, trying to figure out what the fuck is happening.
That is, until I see a bloody and bruised pretty boy staring at me .
No malice in his gaze, no anger, just understanding.
The foreign feeling of guilt stirs within me, a whirlwind of emotions bubbling close to the surface as I stare at him in silent apology.
And I think it makes me hate him even more.