Addicted After All (Addicted #3)(57)

I take another step forward, and Lo screams at me, “LILY, STAY BACK!”

My heart stops. The wrathful, pained look on his face plants me here as much as his voice. And his eyes flicker to my belly. I didn’t mean—I wouldn’t put my baby in harm’s way. I wasn’t going to. It’s just…Lo.

He breathes raggedly and nods to me like, please, Lily.

I nod back.

When he ensures that I won’t risk my safety, he spins back to his brother. In a single instant, Lo removes his hands off Ryke, and this is when I think Ryke will lose all self-control and throw a fist first, tapping into his aggressive side. He’s snapped. Long before now. But he doesn’t even have his fists barred yet, not even raised for a right hook or a sucker punch. He steps forward, then stops.

It’s so quick. The tallest of the hecklers charges him, his eyes set on Ryke. In three lengthy strides, he nails his knuckles into Ryke’s jaw. I can feel my heart beating out of my chest.

That is a sucker punch, one that lands Ryke on the cement pathway.

The other two hecklers jump on Ryke, which causes Lo to snatch their arms and land a punch or two.

I flinch as a pair of knuckles connects with Lo’s face. “Stop!” I shout at the hecklers, finding my voice with Lo’s pain. The dark ocean water is on our right, shops on our left, the moon overhead, the dock in view. We’re not that far away from the tugboat which’ll bring us to the anchored yacht.

“This is not happening,” Rose says, heading even further forward with her pepper spray in hand. The moment she passes Connor, he seizes her wrist.

“What do you think you’re doing, darling?”

“I’m fighting for my sister,” she says seriously. She’s pregnant too. And while I love having a sister that’d be willing to insert herself into a fist-fight on my behalf, now’s not a good time.

Even Daisy has enough sense to stay put—

Just as I think it, she sprints forward. And Mikey catches her around the waist. She kicks out. “Let me help him.”

“No, Daisy,” Mikey tells her.

“This is…sexist,” she says, her arms flopping around with her legs.

“Agreed,” Rose says to Connor.

“Hun,” Connor tells her, “do I need to remind you that you’re a vessel for our unborn child?”

“Are you trying to infuriate me more?” she retorts. “Now I just want to punch you.”

“I’m a truthteller. If you don’t like what I have to say, take it up with the liars of the world.” And then we’re all distracted when Surfer Tee kicks Lo hard below his chest.

“Lo!” I scream, especially as Lo crumples to the ground. My stomach caves, remembering his preexisting injury: broken ribs from the Paris riot. Hot tears squeeze through the corners of my eyes.

“Please don’t do anything rash,” Connor forces to Rose. And then he inserts himself in this fight, to defend Lo and pull him out of it. Connor ducks an incoming right hook and then protectively stands above Lo so no one can touch him. I watch Lo cough hoarsely on the cement.

He was laughing only minutes ago.

This is wrong.

I jerk forward on instinct, to hold Lo, to hug him. To wrap my arms around him. But Garth keeps me put.

A fist pounds into Connor’s cheekbone as it becomes two on one, as Ryke turns his attention to Surfer Tee and lands a solid blow in his stomach. It’s reciprocated with knuckles to Ryke’s lip. They’re all beating the shit out of each other. I hate this. I glance back at our bodyguards, trying to express every sentiment and plea in my eyes.

Please, help them.

Garth and Mikey exchange a look between each other, and that’s all it takes. They release their holds on Daisy and me. Not so we can join the fight, but so they can.

It’s like adding a couple of trump cards. The minute they step in, Garth pries Ryke off Surfer Tee, and Mikey assists Connor, keeping the other two at bay. The intensity drops by a million degrees.

Ryke spits blood on the cement and says something volatile at the hecklers in Spanish. It’s such a scary fight that I didn’t realize I was shaking until Rose reaches out and clutches my jittery hand.

“They’re okay,” Rose says softly.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” I murmur. I watch Ryke throw his palms in the air like I’m done, I’m done. He wipes his bloody mouth with the back of his hand.

I’ve conquered my fear of facing daylight, of standing among fans, now excited when they approach for selfies. I’m no longer crippled by the constant attention. No longer a scared little hermit who hides in her house. But I don’t want to come out to find Lo beaten on the ground, accompanied by more people that I love.

“What if they had a knife?” I realize this could’ve been worse, easily. “What if they had a gun?” I freeze.

Rose says, “We can only tolerate so much until we snap. Ryke’s easier to enrage, but Connor’s not and he was upset. So you have to know that whatever they were saying must’ve been verging on a threat.” She raises her chin. “If I wasn’t pregnant—”

“You would punch back?” I presume.

“I would impale their gross, little black hearts with my heels.”

Thank God she’s on my side and not against me.