Hate So Good: A High School Bully Romance (The Hate Series Book 2) Nina Lincoln (latest novels to read TXT) 📖

I’m too dazed to do much more than lay there while he maneuvers me like a rag doll, and once he’s got me subdued, he grabs for the phone and ends the call, silencing Colt’s terrified screams.

Disappointed, I lay my aching head against the grass. Even if Colt is hours away, hearing his voice gave me a modicum of comfort that’s now gone. I didn’t even have the chance to say goodbye, although at least Colt will know how much I care this time.

How stupid of me to ignore the danger and come here alone. I’m not normal. I don’t get to have a moment with my mom for my birthday. I should have known better.

How many times do I have to tell you to pick up your room?

Are you giving me lip?

Goddamn it, Finn, why don’t you ever listen!

Stop crying your fake fucking tears.

Maybe this is my destiny, and perhaps I can’t outrun death - I only postponed the inevitable when my dad let me live. Now it’s here, and I’ve run out of lives.

“What now?” I say, dully, defeat running through me.

“Now, you meet your fan,” Ben says silkily.

“I thought you were him?”

“Ha! No, I’m not that fucked in the head.”

“But you’re fucked enough to do this?” I ask dryly.

He slaps me on the head, and as much as I don’t want to, I whimper but hearing him chuckle above me makes me clench my teeth, hard. Bright side, the pain in my head dulls, but my jaw now hurts.

“You’re lucky he doesn’t want you touched. I still owe you,” he sneers.

“Fuck you!”

“Naw bitch you’re already fucked.”

Fuck. If Ben isn’t my fan, how deep does this shit go? I mean, who has the power to send someone else to do his dirty work?

“Who is he?” I demand.

“Your worst nightmare,” he says grimly

Pulling me up to my knees, he says harshly, “Try anything, and I’ll make you bleed, you understand?”

Nodding silently, I allow him to pull me to my feet and march ahead of him as he leads me back to the entrance.

I know I have to get away before we reach the car because there’s a good chance I’ll never be seen again otherwise, but Ben’s a lot bigger and stronger than I. If I plan to get out of this, I have to be smarter, not stronger.

He’s walking so quickly, I stumble along before him, literal stars dancing before my eyes. He has a death grip on my arm, and my head is pounding so hard, pain is jackknifing through my skull. Not only that, but I can feel blood sliding down my temple.

My unsteady gait is not an act, but I am prepared to use it to my advantage.

With my car in sight once again, I shove my arm in my hoodie and grab my keys. One of the only useful things my dad taught me is how to use my keys as a weapon, and at the time, I couldn’t help but think the only person I’d ever have to use them against was him.

Pulling the largest key through my fingers, I grasp it like a lifeline and suck in a breath for courage, watching my car and my escape like a hawk.

Just before the gate to the entrance, I ‘trip’ over the ground and gasp dramatically, dropping to my knees. Grunting behind me, he loosens his grip on my arm as I become dead weight.

“Bitch!” he exclaims, leaning down to get a better hold and pull me back up, but I wrench to the side and jam my key into his face at the same time.

I’m lucky, so lucky because the key hits his eye, and he screams, flying back and falling to his ass. The last glimpse I get of him, he’s clutching his eye, writhing on the ground as I waste no time jumping to my feet, and exiting the gate on trembling legs.

The seconds feel like hours as I press the buttons on my key fob, setting off the alarm before finally unlocking the door and sliding inside.

With a sob, I start the ignition while staring at the gate. Ben hasn’t emerged, and I peel out and turn the car around, racing toward the road with a last glance back to see it’s still clear.

I guess you were good for something, after all - thanks, Dad.

*****

I’m too afraid Ben will appear behind me to take the known way back to the interstate. Instead, I get lost in the neighborhood and drive around for a while.

I lost my phone in the cemetery. I have no way of calling anyone or pulling up a map, and my head aches so bad, I can barely see.

Eventually, I pull over on a residential street and lean my head against the steering wheel, fading in and out of consciousness.

“Miss?” A thin voice calls through the glass.

Jumping out of my skin, I groan when my head throbs in tune to the spike of adrenaline surging through me painfully.

Turning my head slowly to stave off the ache that comes anyway, I whimper at the older woman standing on the other side. Her eyes widen when she takes me in, and she goes to open the door, but it’s locked.

“Open the door, dear,” she says, staring at me with concerned eyes.

Reaching for the automatic lock, I press the button and lean my head back, vomit roiling as I take deep breaths, hoping to avoid what will surely be a painfully disgusting display of sickness.

“What happened?” she asks, leaning forward with her hand hovering over my face.

“Attacked,” I mumble, my eyes fluttering closed again.

“Floyd! Floyd, come quick!”

I barely register the change as Floyd helps me into his car, and they drive me to the hospital where I’m brought back straight away and put in a gown.

Nurses probe me with torture devices, doctors shining lights in my eyes, and eventually, I give in and puke into the bucket placed under my nose just in time.

It’s a wretched feeling, and I cry