Page 124 of Wicked Dreams (Fallen Royals 1)

He stands, and something cold slides over his features.

I have an instant to prepare before his foot snaps forward, connecting with my stomach.

Pain and helplessness explode through me. He kicks me twice more, and I fall to the side.

I wrap my arms around my middle, moaning into the ground.

Ian’s foot pushes me flat onto my back. He leans over me, a scowl marring his face.

“I meant what I said before.” He raises his eyebrow, daring me to remember.

I don’t. There are so many awful things he’s said, that I’ve pushed out of my mind.

“You’re nothing, Sheep. A girl from a trash family. You’re so fucking out of place.”

He walks away. I watch him from my position on the ground, in a fetal position, until he disappears from view.

I spit on my arm, scrubbing at it furiously, but it’s permanent marker. It holds fast. I can’t even see the word through my tears.

My throat burns. My arm throbs. My stomach is on fire. I curl further into a ball, giving into the misery rattling around my chest. A sob bursts out of me, the tears falling faster. I can’t face Caleb now, or even Robert. I can’t walk into school like this.

My fingers dig into the dirt, into the already-fallen leaves, and I scream. It’s a poor way to try to expel my emotions. Dirt fills my mouth.

I pant and lie there and contemplate screaming again.

How long I’m here, I don’t know. My eyes close, and I just try to make myself breathe normally. In through my nose. Out through my mouth. Spit out the dirt. Inhale, exhale.

A branch snaps, and suddenly Caleb is there.

“What happened?”

I can’t move. My muscles are locked, stiff. My stomach is agony, and so is my throat. I couldn’t even pull down my sleeve to cover the evidence of Ian’s more noticeable cruelty.

Caleb tugs my wrists away from my body.

He takes in the tears on my cheeks, and God knows what else. I stare into his eyes. Maybe he’ll take the pain away for good. Set me free.

In one motion, I’m lifted into the air. I wrap my arms around his neck, and he pauses. His eyes focus on my forearm.

“Who?” he grits out.

I shake my head and try to climb higher. He drops my legs and fixes his hold. One of his hands touches the back of my head.

I wind my legs around his hips like an octopus.

Or a leech.

One of his arms slides lower, supporting me, and the other stays on the back of my head. He starts walking.

“Ian,” I whisper in his ear.

We’re chest to chest. His exhale is loud and sharp.

The growl reverberates between us.

“I’m going to kill him.” He turns his head, pressing a kiss to my temple. “He’ll pay for this, love.”

There’s something to be said about having my own personal monster. I know he’ll avenge me.