Hockey With Benefits(83)

Cruz stared at me, his chest heaving. He was fighting for control. I saw the rage simmering in his gaze, and moved into action. I began putting our things away, as fast as possible. Cruz didn’t move. His hands were in fists, pressed tight against his legs, and he was staring at me.

I paused, holding his gaze.

I was his lifeline right now.

I approached, slowly, a hand up. “Cruz,” I murmured.

“I want to fucking—” His voice grated out. “One look from him. One–I want to turn around and end him.”

I’d seen Cruz fight on the ice. He never fought in a clear and obvious way. You couldn’t in college hockey, but he still did. The other teams felt it and especially when he was pissed off. He turned into another being in the rink, and I saw him go after Ruiz at the bar, but this guy, this Cruz was another beast entirely.

Angela was sniffling next to us.

“What are you doing here?” I asked her.

“I didn’t know. I didn’t–I wasn’t thinking.”

Dread lined my insides.

Flynn turned to walk backwards, his smirk a half grin. “You should know that more than anyone, Kressup. How’s your girl? Oh wait…” The grin was gone, and it was just a smirk in its place.

Wade tensed. “You mean Rosa, the girl I liked before she woke up in your bed, naked and no memory how she got there? That girl? Who was so devastated after her medical exam that she quit school and moved back home?”

He picked her on purpose.

I looked at her more closely, but Cruz, he couldn’t. His eyes were only on me, like he couldn’t… A different foreboding sensation began to flood me. Cruz saw something I hadn’t. He was pissed, but he snapped and–I turned, more fully, taking in Angela in a whole different light.

She was still crying, but there were old tears dried on her face.

Her shirt was torn. Grass stains on her shorts and on her legs.

Her hair was a wreck.

There was blood at her mouth. Swollen eye. Bruised cheek.

Horror filled me.

She had one nail chipped. One nail was missing. The side of her entire hand was swelling up even as I looked at it, and it was bright red.

She had one sandal, one. The other was gone.

There was more. More scrapes. More bruises.

And she kept sobbing during my perusal.

“Babe,” Cruz choked out.

I swung my head to him.

His mouth was white around his lips. “I need to get the fuck out of here.”

I jumped, grabbing what I could in a mad dash. Books. Bags. Phones. Keys. Wallets. Then I heard myself repeating, my heart now pounding in the bottom of my throat, “Truck. Get to your truck. Now.”

“Styles!” Flynn shouted from farther down the beach. His friends had moved him in the opposite direction, which was smart of them. “I’m going to fuck you up, Styles! You are done. You hear me? DONE!”

Thoughts flashed through me. College. Flynn. His frat. His power. His father. And Cruz. His mother. Titi. What he told me about his other sister. He was the hockey star, but careers could be sidelined before the spotlight found them.

Flynn would do that. I had no doubt in my mind. He would do everything he was now saying he was going to do.

No.

I couldn’t let that happen.

I dropped everything. They landed back on the sand with a thud. “Cruz, go to the truck.” I tossed the keys his way.

He caught them. “What are you doing?”

“Go to the truck.” I was watching Carrington now, not fully knowing what I was going to do, but knowing I had to do something. “Go. Please. Just, go.”

“I’m not leaving you here. No–”

“Cruz!”

“No,” he repeated it, but he said it quietly.

He was more under control, but not me. I was starting to lose it.

“STYLES!”

My heart contracted, once. How Flynn was screaming, if he got loose, he would try to murder him. He was straining against his friends, trying to get free. They were holding him, all three of them, but Flynn wasn’t feeling anything. He wasn’t getting tired. Whatever was in him, was making him merciless.

Angela had both of her fists pressed to her mouth, tears sliding down her face. Her entire body was shaking. And then I went back to Cruz, who was still only watching me. His jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed. “What are you thinking?”

“He’ll get away with it.” I spared Angela another look. “They always get away with it.”

I looked back at Cruz, who frowned. “What are you thinking?”

“I have no idea.” But I was reaching for my phone, pulling it out of my pocket. I just knew that this would be covered up. He had three friends. Four to our two? I wasn’t counting Angela because who knew what headspace she was in.

“Mara.” Cruz moved toward me.

I moved back, switching to video, and I hit record.

A part of me hated myself, that I was doing this, but the other part–he couldn’t get away with it. He just couldn’t.

“Angela,” I spoke up, quietly.

Flynn was still screaming in the background.

“Wha–what?” She hiccupped, focusing on me.

I motioned to my phone. “Can I record you?”

She frowned, blanching. “Why?”