Page 32 of Raced (Driven 3.50)
I snap. No excuses, no regrets. My fist is clenched, fury ready to unleash on bar-boy.
But none of it fucking matters because I feel the steel grip of Sammy on my arm before I get my chance. And then the melee ensues.
Rylee is screaming at me, insults and names. Sticks and stones, baby. Sticks and stones.
You got to me.
You beat me at my own game.
At least it’s Becks leading her away from me and not the fucking bar-boy. I’ll take any kind of victory I can get at this point.
The crowd’s buzzing seeps through my rage, drowns out her voice as it fades. And then Sammy’s arm is around my shoulders leading me out of the bar and down a hallway.
“Calm the fuck down, Wood.”
My pulse pounds in my ears, my head all over the place, and my chest hurts even worse. “Just let me the fuck go, Sam,” I grit out, my only thought is: Fuck the race tomorrow, I need to visit with Jack and Jim for a bit.
“Nope,” he says, ushering me into an elevator in this damn maze of a resort. All I want to do is walk, run, pound out this anger then get fucking plastered so I can’t feel the emptiness inside of me right now.
We’re done.
She just made it clear as day and I don’t want us to be done.
But it really doesn’t fucking matter what I want or don’t want because she doesn’t fucking believe me. And why the fuck should she, Donavan, when you go kissing bimbos to spite her?
I groan, run a hand through my hair fucking beside myself as Sammy pushes me out of the elevator car and down the hall.
“She’s irrational and fuck she was going to sleep with that asshole and … motherfucker!” I shout into the hallway, not caring who the hell is asleep or if anyone is listening. I’m feeling everything all at once when I’m so fucking used to feeling nothing that I can’t concentrate.
Anger vibrates through me.
My teeth grind. My hands fisted. My blood pounding.
Fucking Rylee.
Sammy points to the door to his right and when I stop he puts both hands on my shoulders. “Get your fucking hands off of me, Sammy!”
He just laughs and at me in that snarky way he has, and I’ve just added him to the list of people I want to punch. Right after that fucking bar-boy he prevented me from plowing. I try to jerk my shoulders from his hands as he steers me down the hall, but I should know better by now. He’s stronger than a fucking ox.
I’m so angry at him.
So pissed at her.
So disgusted with myself for the shit I pulled earlier without trying to make things right.
Rage blinds me and since every fucking room in this resort looks the same, I don’t even realize what room Sammy shoves me into. By the time I look up, it’s too fucking late.
“Uh-uh! No way! Get that egotistical asshole out of here!”
My head snaps up the minute I hear her voice. Sugar and spice laced together. Rage and lust and pure need collide momentarily until my mind flashes back to the image of Rylee with that fucker in the bar. The emotion hits me like a freight train.
I hate her.
I want her.
I hate that I want her so much that this is fucking killing me.
And she comes into view but without the dim light of the bar, I really see her. Hurt staining her face and defiance in her eyes, and I do the only thing I know how to do … push away the good and prepare for the pain. “Fuckin’ A, Becks! What the fuck is this?” I yell, furious that I was coerced into a confrontation that I don’t want. That I do want. I don’t know what the fuck I want because she doesn’t want me anymore.
