Page 51 of More than Fiction (Misty Springs #1)

Sophia

I was frozen —frozen in fear, and just plain frozen.

One minute, Landon had me pinned against the wall, his vice-like grip on my arm making escape impossible. His voice was desperate, pleading, begging me to reconsider taking him back.

The stench of alcohol rolled off him, his bloodshot eyes wild and unfocused.

I tried to shove him off, but his grip was iron, his drunken strength fueled by some twisted determination to make me listen. My t-shirt did nothing to shield me from the cold, and a deep sense of dread hit me as I realized my friends couldn’t hear me yell.

I braced myself, ready to knee him in the balls as a last resort, when suddenly, Corbin appeared. He came out of nowhere—a force of nature—and hurled Landon off me with a snarl that made even me flinch.

Landon staggered back, eyes wide with shock, clearly not expecting anyone to come to my rescue, least of all someone he never expected to see in Misty Springs.

Footsteps crunched behind me, fast and deliberate. My friends spilled out into the freezing night, taking in the scene: me shivering against the wall, Corbin looming over Landon like a storm on the verge of breaking.

Trevor was at my side in an instant, wrapping an arm around me to guide me back inside. I leaned into his warmth for a moment, but something in me resisted. I didn’t want to leave. Not yet.

I didn’t want Corbin to do something he’d regret.

The rage radiating from him was visceral, like a living, breathing thing. It was palpable, suffocating .

Landon wasn’t worth it. I wasn’t worth it.

Brent moved quickly, wrapping his arms around Corbin’s chest, trying to pull him back. Sam hurriedly stepped between Corbin and Landon, arms outstretched like a referee in a boxing match about to turn dirty.

Corbin thrashed against Brent’s grip, his fury untamed, his eyes fixed on Landon as if the guy was the sole source of everything wrong in the world.

“He’s not worth it, Corbin,” Brent said firmly, his voice steady as he shot a hard look at Landon. “Trust me.”

Wait. Since when did Brent know Corbin?

“You stay the fuck away from her!” Corbin roared, shaking Brent off with a shove.

Sam stood as a silent barrier, but Landon still stumbled backward at Corbin’s approach, his bravado crumbling as he took a few shaky steps away.

Landon looked at Corbin, and then at me—his eyes reflecting hurt and betrayal, followed by a hint of malice.

“Guess you’ll just fuck anyone who hires you, huh, Sophia?” he spat, swaying slightly.

“Get the hell out of here before we all kick your ass, Landon. God knows it’s been a long time coming,” Trevor’s voice roared with fury.

I’d never heard Trevor talk that way before—to anyone. He was always lighthearted and easygoing, but this was a side of him that had an edge I didn’t realize existed.

Landon backed away, then retreated on swaying steps—unscathed—with the exception of his ego.

I watched Corbin, his chest heaving, his fists clenched at his sides as Landon disappeared into the night. His jaw was tight, the muscles flexing as though he was still fighting to hold back whatever was left of the storm raging inside of him.

This wasn’t just about some business rivalry or lingering resentment. No, this was different .

The guys looked between Corbin and me, their faces painted with intrigue as they witnessed the same thing I was.

Corbin noticed the tension, the flames taming in his eyes as his usual tightly controlled sense of self returned .

He walked up to me, keeping a safe distance, but his face was full of concern. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, too quickly, taking in a shaky breath. “Yeah, I’m fine, he didn’t hurt me.”

“Good.” He fixed the cuff of his sleeves nonchalantly before looking at the guys. “It’s been a pleasure, gentlemen, but I have an early morning tomorrow.”

He walked back inside, not sparing any of us a second glance.

I shut the lid to the dumpster, my brain unable to focus on anything besides closing, looking for a distraction, begging for a reprieve.

The guys silently followed me inside, Trevor coming in last, shutting and locking the back door behind him.

Two crisp hundred-dollar bills lay on the bar near four empty pint glasses and a pitcher.

I longingly picked them up, staring at the twin Ben Franklins like they had the answers to all the questions spinning through my head.

“Um, Soph,” Trevor said my name like a question.

I turned to look at him, and all three men stood side by side. Their arms were crossed, their expressions a mix of concern and stern disapproval, the kind you’d get from protective brothers catching you sneaking in past curfew.

“Wanna tell us what the hell all that was about?” Brent demanded.