Page 85 of Brazen Defiance (Brazen Boys #4)

Clara

T he weekend passes in a confusing mix of more scheduled sex and boredom, Mattie out of town for a school trip. By the time Monday rolls around, I’m ready just to be surrounded by other students, to let a small amount of controlled chaos occupy my brain.

Smith grips my shoulder with his good hand as we cross the quad, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from snapping the rest of his fingers for touching me. By the time my second class of the day finishes, my patience has worn thin.

This one gets out in late afternoon, with only a few night classes taking place on this side of campus, so the halls are typically empty after we’re released. I have a question for the professor, though, and as I can’t just send the woman an email, staying late is the only solution.

The hallways are deserted by the time I lead a looming Smith from the room, my professor rushing off in the opposite direction from where we’re headed. I’m almost at the exit when the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

Instinct has me ducking and spinning, Smith’s bad hand glancing off me as I skitter back. “What the fuck are you doing?” I squawk, hands flying up to block out of instinct.

He sidesteps, and it only takes a moment to figure out he’s trying to corner me in the alcove next to the trash cans. I dive for his bad side, my forearm up to deflect, my shoes squeaking as I barely dodge his leg sweep, a glancing blow hitting my ankle, but not taking me down.

The dodge puts me back in the hallway, with more exit points than a brick wall. “This is a bad idea, Smith,” I say, wondering if I can reason with him.

He smiles, and it’s the same strange expression he wore that night so long ago, one I’d almost forgotten after so long of his benign disgust for me. One that says he likes violence—that to him, this is the best idea.

“There’s nobody around, girl. No cameras. No big, bad Westerhouse boy or Falk and his twisted morals.”

“Doesn’t mean this is a good idea.”

“Do you know how long it took me to heal from that swipe you got on me?”

“No. Honestly, I thought I’d killed you.”

He lunges, but I block and dodge, the strength of his strike powerful enough for my forearm to ring with pain. His grin stretches. “I thought it was a lucky strike. Maybe it wasn’t. If that’s the case, this is going to be even sweeter.”

“It was a lucky strike. I haven’t touched a sword before or since. Once I got a home run in tee-ball, though, when I was six. It doesn’t change the fact that you going after me is as good as a death sentence.”

“Nah. I’ll say you tried to run. I’ll be fine. And you’ll be dead. Bashed your head in while we struggled. Karmic justice.”

This attack is a flurry of blows, too many to block, so I lock my core and move with his attacks, lessening the impacts. It still hurts like hell.

But this move wasn’t a test, this was the start of the fight in earnest, and my lack of opportunities to work out has me tiring faster than is safe.

It’s time.

I drop to the place I’ve drilled into my mind, and after three more of his strikes, I see the opening I need.

My legs will always be strongest, so I take a couple of feints with my fists to distract him, my weak punches easily blocked.

But they get me into position, my leg swiping at the backs of his knees.

He stumbles, and I dive onto his back as we both crash into the floor.

I yank one arm and one leg of his into a lock, then brace myself, struggling against his superior strength.

He bucks, almost unseating me, and I realize that I have no idea how long I can contain him. And when he gets loose, I’ve lost my best move.

“Shit,” I whisper, my arms shaking.

Footsteps should have me looking up, but I’m too scared that if I look away, he’ll break free, his cursing competing with the strength of his struggle for my attention.

A knee slams into Smith’s spine, a breathless, ‘Princess,’ cuing me in to the arrival of my cavalry.

Walker gets Smith’s arms under control, and a moment later, RJ reaches us from a different direction. Together, we get Smith fully contained.

“Good form on the takedown, sugar,” RJ says, the compliment as familiar as it is unexpected right now.

I unhook Smith’s belt, and with the guys’ help, we get him trussed up like a hog for the fire. Then I’m folded between the two of them, citrus and pine and comfort combining, finally safe.

“How badly are you hurt?” Walker asks.

“Bruised. He got one of my cracked ribs, but it doesn’t feel any worse than it did about a week ago, so it’s probably not broken. Or at least, not any more broken.”

RJ hisses, pulling up my blouse, running his fingers over the red marks that will fade to bruises before the day is done. “How many are broken?”

“I didn’t ask, and if Mary counted, she didn’t tell me.”

“It was from when you and Trips were found out, right?” Walker asks, as a similar inspection of my back leaves goosebumps on my skin.

“Yeah.” I look down at Smith, his squirming finally stopped, his anger vivid at my feet. “Fuck. I have to call this in.”

RJ tucks the front of my shirt back in, his hands coming to cradle my face. “Or you could come with us. It’s not worth this much. There’s more danger in that house than we realized.”

My confusion must be clear, because he answers before I can ask. “Trips’ brother. He’s part of the pool that Bryce shared the videos with.”

“I know.”

Walker comes to my front, taking my hands in his. “How?”

“He told me. Trips always says his brother is bad at secrets.” I stare down at Smith for a minute, trying to figure out what I need to do next. What I need to say. “I ran. He was just talking, and I was ready to fight, but…” I look at the two men in front of me. “He scared me. So I ran.”

Unable to keep talking about it, to enumerate all the risks I’m currently living with, I slip from their grip and rifle through Smith’s pockets until I find his cellphone. The guys can’t help me from the outside, and the new information doesn’t change the plan.

Although it adds a target to it.

Unlocking the device, I take a seat on Smith’s back, figuring it’s more comfortable than the ground. “Stay with me until they come to take me back?” I ask, looking up at two of the people I’m fighting for.

“Of course, princess,” Walker says, knocking his hip against mine so we’re both perched on the guard’s back, his squirming less comfy than I’d like.

RJ stays quiet, knowing I’m keeping something to myself, but still, he sits cross-legged in front of me as I make the call.

They wait with me, our quiet touches only separating when RJ spots Falk and a few other guards rushing toward the building.

Smith greets them with shouts, a mixture of truth and lies, hoping for a sympathetic audience.

But as the other men haul Smith away, Falk stays, inspecting me.

“That was his third strike,” he says. “You gave him two of them.”

I shrug.

He ushers me out of the building, but takes me to the car Smith brought me to campus in. “You’re more than you look, aren’t you?”

“No. I’m exactly what I look like. I’m a girl who’s been pushed under so often and so deep I had to make a choice—swim or drown.”

“This is your version of swimming?”

A grin curls across my face, the sting of an unnoticed cut alerting me it’s been stretched open. “I’ve always been an overachiever. This is my version of flying.”