Page 127 of Connectio

Evan’s mum is sitting in the passenger seat, her boyfriend—I assume—behind the wheel.

She opens the door and only half gets out. “Evan, get in the car.”

“Ms Hunter,” I say, puffing as I stop by the driver side. “Can I have a quick word?”

She looks at her boyfriend then shakes her head. “Um… now’s not a good time.”

“I just really need a momen—”

“You fucking deaf?” the boyfriend snaps through his open window.

I jerk back. “I beg your pardon?”

He tips a can of Beam and Coke to his mouth, skolls it, then crushes the can and tosses it at my feet. “Nosey bitch.”

My chest seizes, and I look at Evan through the back window, terror filling his wide-open eyes. I need him to get out of that car, now. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I do know that. The longer he stays there, the longer he’s in danger.

Straightening my shoulder, I say, “I’m sorry, but I must insist.”

“Fuck off!”

He fumbles to turn on the ignition, so I do the first thing I can think to do and reach into the car, yanking out the keys.

“You’re drunk,” I say, holding them to my chest. “You shouldn’t be driving.”

“Fucking bitch!” His eyes flame and bead like the devil’s as he opens the door and stumbles out.

“Stewart, no!”

“Shut up, Eliza. You fuckin’ shut your whore mouth.”

He slams the car door and lunges for me, but thanks to Will’s boxing classes, I dart out of his way, once, twice, but third time, I’m not so lucky.

Pain slams the side of my face, fire burning my scalp as his hand catches my hair and pulls. I scream and stumble like a rag doll, fear rippling through my body. His fist collides with my jaw, and I see bright lights and waves of black. I try to blink them away, try to focus enough to stay conscious and fight back. Because if I don’t, I believe deep within the bowels of my being that he could very kill me.

A metallic taste coats my tongue, and I choke a little before composing myself and throwing an uppercut, which is good enough to break his hold and have him falling backwards.

Agony blankets my hand, and the pain is so severe that I know I’ve broken it, but the adrenaline pumping through my veins keeps me alert enough to brace for another charge, when he’s suddenly tackled to the ground in a tumble of limbs.

Blinking back the cloud of darkness, I fall to my knees and cradle my wrist as Will grapples with the guy until he’s subdued in a headlock, his face turning red, his eyes slowly closing, Will’s arm tight and unrelenting.

“Will!” I cry out.

He doesn’t look up, just holds firm, his face a mask of unbridled fury.

I scream, “Will!”

Finally, his eyes meet mine, and he lets the guy go, scrambles to his feet, and drops to his knees in front of me.

“Lib.” He cups my face, his touch featherlight. “Jesus! What’d he do to you?”

“I’m okay,” I choke out, “but I think my hand is broken.”

He cradles my arm and wipes my cheek. “You’re bleeding. Where are you bleeding?”

“My mouth.” I spit some blood. “I dropped my guard.”

“Sweetheart,” he says, pressing his lips to my head. “You did good.”