Thrive (Addicted, #4)(112)

He grabs my arm.

Let me go. Please.

“You can’t run from your fucking problems. They’re there twenty-four-seven. You have to deal.”

“Don’t talk about dealing. You won’t even text Dad back. You’re ignoring him like he’s not even alive.” I shake my head. “You’re doing the same thing to him that you did to me. So why don’t you just do what you do best and pretend that I don’t fucking exist.”

I watch the pain take ahold of his features. I stabbed him the only way I know how, and then I just push right on by.

I just leave.

Wishing that I was someone else.





{ 54 }

2 years : 01 month

September





LOREN HALE


Outside of the pub, Daisy howls at the stars, standing on the sidewalk. “We’re in the land of tall people!”

My brother starts talking to her. He’s smiling.

I shift my dead gaze to the night sky. I want to be happy that Daisy isn’t as sullen as when we first arrived, though she looks frail and sleepless circles shadow her eyes. But she’s laughing.

That’s good.

Connor keeps a hand on my shoulder. I think if he takes it off I’m going to fall. He says something, but I barely register his words.

Sports fans in jerseys parade across the street in dead-stop traffic. The game must’ve ended.

I hate what I’ve done tonight.

It’s rushing back to me tenfold. Not enough liquor to numb this onslaught. A couple guys start screaming beside the curb, and I rest my hands on my head.

“Lo,” Connor breathes.

I turn to him, but Ryke suddenly sidles up to us. Connor takes a step back so I can speak to my brother. And my eyes cloud with tears. “You shouldn’t have had that whiskey,” I say, the apology stuck in my throat.

Say it.

I can’t. I pinch my eyes.

“One glass isn’t going to make me fucking addicted, Lo.”

I let out a weak laugh. “Lucky you.” I cringe.

“We should go back to the hotel—” He suddenly careens forward, someone knocking into him from behind. I barely notice two beefy guys throwing punches.

And then a pair of knuckles decks my temple. I stagger to the side, almost tripping, my fingers scraping the pavement. The horrific screams bleed my ears, and in one instant, it’s like a hurricane of people, arms flying, shoving—bodies slamming into each other.

My panic has shot up to a new level.

The end of an intense rugby match has brought the beginning of a riot. Ryke reaches out and grabs my arm. We lock eyes for an instant, exchanging a look like: don’t leave me.

And then another fist pounds into the side of my face. The pain welling instantly. I grip his shirt, anything, and sock him in the gut, just so he’ll get off me.

When I turn around, Ryke is being dragged backwards by his leather jacket. I try to sprint towards him, but someone clutches my shoulders and forcefully slams me to the ground.

A boot nails me in the ribcage, and my adrenaline drowns out the intensity of the pain. I elbow someone’s shins, and I try to stand, but the boot side-swipes my head.

Fuck. Black dots burst in my vision.

“LOREN!” Connor yells.

Blood drips from my nose and to my lips. I taste the bitter iron. The screaming. Never ends. Glass shatters. Heat from fires blaze, but I can’t see where they originate.

It’s just pure chaos.

“LOREN!”

Another kick to the stomach, and I fall to my hands again. Get up. You stupid bastard. I punch back, meeting flesh. And I rise to my feet the same time that Connor reaches me with an unreadable expression, masking his alarm. Barely a bruise on his face.

“Where’s Ryke?” My voice is filled with fear. I look around. “We have to find—” Jesus. Christ. Someone nailed me with something in the side. I cough roughly, and Connor is basically guiding me away from everything.

“Stop,” I cough, my feet instinctively following his. I hold my ribs. “Connor, wait!” I scream.

“We have to go,” Connor says, his eyes wide to tell me now.

“Ryke is out there!” I yell. I turn back around. Daisy. And I try to tear into the street, but Connor grabs my waist, two inches taller than me. And stronger. In almost every way.

He forces me back on the sidewalk, not the street where everyone has gone mad. Sirens blare in the distance, growing closer and closer.

“We have to leave!” Connor yells at me.

“I can’t…” I can’t leave them. I spin back to face Connor and shove him in the chest. “You would leave them?!” Tears wet my cheeks. I feel like I just put my brother to rest. And Daisy is gone with him.

“No,” Connor says, his usually emotionless expression slowly unraveling. “I would save you.”

Why.

I shake my head.

“He’s strong,” he reminds me. “He’ll find Daisy, and we’ll meet up with him.”

He’s strong.

It’s hard to say no to someone like Connor. With his hand on my back, we push through the crowds, away from the fight.

Away from people who matter.



*



We walked for ten minutes before slipping into a drug store. I vaguely pay attention to Connor who disappears down an aisle. The cashier says something to me in English, about the riot. I think. I open my mouth to answer, but air catches in my lungs. I can’t breathe.