Over and over and over until he’s all bruises and blood and wounds and a closed eye, I throw my fist into his face. Each blow eggs me on, and I cry out, “Don’t you ever fucking lay a fucking hand on her, motherfucker!” before I am literally dragged off of him.
“Noah! Noah, calm down!” It’s Mike. He’s bleeding; he has a split upper lip and a cut eyebrow and a swollen right eye.
“No! He fucking hit Red!” I shout and turn back to the unconscious fucker. I slam my fist into his jaw, snapping him awake. He groans through his swollen lips and claws at my face.
“Noah!” Red’s voice makes me freeze. But I grab his polo shirt and yank him up and raise my fist. His one mostly okay eye is wide, and he tries to shake his head. My fist is close to connecting with his bulbous cheek when small fingers wrap around my wrist and tug gently.
I look over my shoulder, panting heavily for a calm breath that doesn’t come. Red gives me a hard, pointed look that makes me freeze over. She’s talking in a calm, relaxing tone, but I notice the blood on the corner of her lips. I shake with rage and turn to slap the fucker awake so he can see me bash his fucking head on the ground when I am dragged off him completely.
Ty.
“No! Let me at him! He hurt her! He fucking hit her, Ty!” I scream bloody murder, my throat is ripped raw, and it burns to even breathe. I need to go at him again, but his writhing body is being dragged up to stand and disappears as I am dragged into my bedroom, where my friends sit me on the foot of my bed. I kick and thrash around, but they have a strong hold on me, planting my excited ass down.
“Noah!” Red walks over to me and gets on my lap. I stop thrashing around and wrap my arms around her, pushing my bloody face onto her chest. I don’t care that the others are watching us or the fact that I can’t properly breathe right now through the anger. I just care about hearing her steady heartbeat, feeling her soft skin envelop me in a tight hug.
“We’re gonna clear out the rest of the party,” Mike says through heavy breathing.
I mumble a reply, something about hurrying before the cops come.
“The cops weren’t called,” Ty assures me.
I mumble another response.
“We know because they’re racist idiots, but not dumb-ass idiots,” Red says and pulls my head back to look into my eyes. “They would have been arrested along with whoever was involved, which was basically the whole party.”
I glance at a shifty Majesty, then a fuming Mike, who’s keeping calm for now. I thrust my head into Red’s chest and mumble against her skin.
“Don’t be sorry, Noah,” Maj coos. “It’s not your fault he’s an ignorant baboon.”
I expect Mike to reply similarly, but he just storms out. Ty walks out wordlessly, but I hear him calling after Mike before the door quietly shuts after Majesty walks out with a bowed head.
“Follow me,” Red says and begins to stand, but I shake my head and hold her to me. I know she wants to clean me up, my tongue is heavy with blood, and some is slathered on my eyelashes on my right eye, but I want to hold her for a few more seconds.
“Not yet,” I mumble so low, I almost don’t think she even understands me.
But she does.
And she kisses the top of my head, lingering.
“Okay,” she mumbles.
So I hold her to my chest and feel her heart beating against mine, feel her warm breathing on my hair. I close my eyes and listen to the absolute silence. The condo is finally cleared out. It probably looks like a freak tornado stopped by for a few hours, and I can faintly imagine Daisy, my housekeeper, complaining in my head. But I don’t move an inch. This night quickly turned to shit, and I am bleeding more than I’m breathing, but she was hit tonight.
I make fists, and I think I growl. Blood runs down her chest, and she sighs. I close my eyes tightly, imagining I am still punching that motherfucker. Who did he think he was—hurting my girl? I want to kill him. I want to do it slowly, and I wanna do it now.
I move to get up, but she pushes me down on the bed.
“Red, what—” I begin.
“Shut up, Noah. You need to calm down, now,” she hisses, eyes narrowed. I frown, and her scowl melts into a softer expression, brows furrowed, lips pursed. She pulls me up and stands beside me. She holds her hand out. “Now shut the hell up and take my hand.”
Hesitantly, sighing, I gingerly take her hand and let her drag me to the ensuite. She sits me on the pristine toilet and turns around. My eyes drop to my hands, and I make a strange, guttural sound. My knuckles are scabbed and covered in dried blood; so are my long fingers. And when I flex them—holy shit—they hurt like a motherfucker.
“Don’t do that, stupid,” she instructs, and I gladly listen.
I raise my painful gaze to see her holding a wet, soapy rag.
“What’s that for?” I ask, my voice hoarse and low. It sounds and feels scratchier than sandpaper.
“Cleaning the wounds on your hands and—well, everywhere else.” Her voice is tight, and her hands flex into a fist around the wet cloth. Something dark flashes across her face, but it’s gone the second I notice, and she brings the cloth to my face.
I wince but barely budge as she cleans up the mess that is my face. But we move to the sink when she complains about the lighting. She flicks the light over the mirror above the sinks on then jumps on top of the granite counter. I follow her, leaning on the counter as she cages me in with her legs.
It’s silent as she dips the cloth under the running water a few times before applying pressure to my cut upper lip and the slash on my cheekbone. The water turns pink as the minutes roll by. When she’s satisfied with my face, she applies ointment I didn’t even know I had. She tells me it’ll help heal the wounds so they don’t become scars; at least she hopes they don’t.
“Why aren’t you upset?” I ask as she examines my hands. She’s eerily calm.
“Trust me—I’m tearing every single one of those preppy-ass, racist motherfuckers’ faces off their faces,” she says in a chillingly cool tone. She smiles sweetly. “But I have to be calm for you since you’re shaking with anger like a Chihuahua.”
“The kind that wears sweaters and berets?” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.
I watch her smile in the mirror, her gaze focused on twisting my hands in hers. “Definitely that kind.” She snorts under her breath before starting the thorough process of cleaning the wounds.
Almost all of my knuckles are split open, and they burn like hell when she keeps dabbing with the pinkish cloth, but none of that matters as I stare at the dried blood on the side of her mouth. I have to wipe it away; I have to help her. She’s more important.
“Stop,” I tell her, and she does, but only to stare up at me with a confused frown.
“What? What’s wrong?” she asks.
I don’t answer. I just dip my burning fingers under the running water before touching her bottom lip. Her eyelids flutter, and her cheeks burn red from humiliation, but she has nothing to be embarrassed about. If anything, she should be pissed—bouncing off the walls. And the fact that she isn’t is scary but relieving, because if she had gone off while I was on that guy, he would have definitely been in the morgue rather than a fucking frat house.
I swipe my finger over the blood, and she hisses slightly. I pinch her lip without thinking, and even though she doesn’t wince again, I apologize rapidly and take the cloth from her. I hold it under the water before reaching for her mouth, but her small hand stops me.
“I’m okay, Noah. He slaps like a little bitch. I’m barely even bleeding.” She smiles.
“I don’t care. You still got hurt,” I say, and her brows curve. I wonder what’s going on in that head of hers, but she doesn’t say anything and drops her hand. I ease her lips apart and gently dab at the barely there wound that’ll most likely heal before the morning.
But I don’t give a damn.
My Red got hurt, and I will not stop until she’s humming in contentment instead of m
oaning in pain.
I put two cotton gauze pads on the wound to effectively stop the bleeding. I thought she would stop me, tell me she’s fine again, but she didn’t even flinch when I brought them out of my medicine cabinet.
“There,” I murmur with a slight smile. Her left cheek is puffier than the right, the cotton gauze apparent. She only smiles and shakes her head, then takes the once white, now pink, cloth from my hand.
“Now can I help you?” she mumbles, but I understand completely.
“Yes.” I nod.
“Good.” She smiles, but it’s lopsided, and I can’t help but laugh. “Shut up,” she says, her voice light and whiny around the gauze. Her nose scrunches up, and she taps mine with the wet cloth.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I stop laughing, but I couldn’t ever quit smiling at her.
“You’re gonna need stitches.” She holds up my un-recognizable hands. “Badly. Like right now badly.”
I shake my head. “Not now.”
Her frantically wide eyes meet mine, and she squawks, “But you need stitches, Noah!”
I smile softly and breathe, “Not now…please.” The please gets her, or the shaky sad smile, because her eyes soften, and she buries her head in my neck as I pull her into my embrace. I exhale heavily. “I would have killed him, Red.”
“I know,” she says.
“Like, actually fucking murdered him,” I reiterate and squeeze her closer.
She breathes and nods, kissing my neck. “I know, babe. I know.”
We stay this way for a few minutes before I pull away and worriedly check on the cut inside of her mouth. And instead of yanking away and telling me she’s fine, she lets me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Mike, I am so sorry about last night,” I say and rub my heavy eyes. It’s eight in the morning, and I sent Daisy away. She shouldn’t have to clean up this shit. I will, even if it takes all day. I’d just feel like a massive dick leaving her to clean up after me on a scale this large.
I’m throwing another beer can in a plastic bag when he answers with a sigh.
“I’m used to it. I shouldn’t have let him get under my skin.”
I drop another can and shake my head. “What those pricks said wasn’t acceptable. Neither you, Maj, nor anyone else should just let them walk all over you.”
“It’s not like I can change every asshole’s mind. It’s just the way this world is.”
“Then fuck it,” I snap.
He chuckles. “I appreciate your anger, but it’ll just be in vain.”
I sigh, and my head shakes. “I still don’t like it.”
“Like I said, nothing you can do about it.” He pauses. “I’m just glad the cops didn’t come.”
His loaded answer makes it hard to breathe. This world and the people in it are so deprived of their humanity. So much that people of color have to worry about their lives being put under the barrel of a gun of a bigot cop that sees them as a target for fun and not the very people they swore to protect.
“I can make a complaint if you want.” I may despise my parents’ high reputation and their desperation to keep it up there, but with it comes perks. Like getting asshole racists expelled for using racial slurs and discrimination and inciting a riot.
“Nah, it wouldn’t do anything,” he says, and I sigh again.
“Well, maybe I can book us a ticket to Mars. I hear the residents don’t discriminate and gather to eat ice cream on Tuesdays,” I joke.
“As long as I get a window seat on the way over.” I hear the smile in his voice. I smile myself, and he asks, “Hey, how are you? You went fucking wild on that guy last night.”
I gulp hard and hold out my unoccupied left hand. The bandage is tight, and I can see some old blood underneath. I need to change it soon. I would have Red do it, but she’s knocked out in my bed. We went to sleep the second she put on my shirt and we slid under the duvet.
I smile at the memory of randomly waking up at three in the morning and staring at her adorable, squished face as she lightly snored before going back to sleep more restful than ever. I really want to wake up to that face every morning and when I go to sleep…
“Noah?” he questions.
“Right.” My cheeks are hot. “Um…I’m fine. It’ll take a while for my bruises to go down, and I have a splitting headache, but besides that, I’m fine. You? What about Ty and the other guys?”
“Everyone’s pretty beat up—literally. And Ty…he is being a baby about it.” I hear a wailing sound. “As you can probably hear, he’s being a little baby bitch.”
I laugh. “Do you think everyone will be rested up in time for Bryce’s bash Friday?”
Bryce is a teammate of mine, and he’s throwing a party in the woods at his parents’ cabin. Apparently, they’re selling it, but he wants to throw one last party before that happens.
“I hope so. Ty hasn’t shut up about it,” he says, and I chuckle.
“That does sound like Ty.”
“All right, enough about the fucker,” he says. “Rest up and we’ll do the same. Talk to you soon.”
“Okay, talk to you later. Again, I am very sorry.”
He sighs. “You have nothing to be sorry about, Noah.”
“I know, but still…” My throat is tight, and there’s a beat of silence before he replies a murmured reply before hanging up.
I stuff my phone in my pocket and look around at the mess. I can barely see the actual floor because of the Solo cups thrown around aimlessly. I throw them all in multiple trash bags and, while I do, I note to myself: all future parties will be held at the fraternity house. They have more manpower and more patience than me.
I’m tired and beat two hours later when the condo is close to spotless. I still need to drag the Hefty bags downstairs to the dumpster, but that’s another task for another damn day. I need a hot-ass shower.
I shuffle into the bathroom.
I strip off my clothes and hop into the shower, eyes pinched closed. Maybe if I can’t see, the pain will subside…I’m such a dumb shit when I’m hungover. I hate this cloud swirling in my head. I stand under the rushing water I oddly enough didn’t turn on myself as I wait for the cloud to fade away.
As the water rolls down my face and chest, I massage shampoo in my hair. The water pressure and cold water feels heavenly against my hot, tense muscles. I can stand here all day and never complain. Suddenly, I feel small hands glide up my back.
“Are you seriously that blind?” a voice rasps behind me.
I whip around, and my eyes burn from the shampoo invading them. “Ah, fuck!” I’m laughed at as I rub at them vigorously. I turn back around slightly, letting the warm water cascade down my face. I rub more and, when the stinging fades, I turn back around and push my hair back.
“Red! What the hell are you doing in here?” I flush. She’s dripping with soap suds and water. Her face is free of the little makeup she wears, and she looks fresh and lighter. And so, so, very sexy.
“I was taking a shower before a big, hot guy joined,” she says, and I grind my jaw. She laughs and shakes her head. “I meant you, idiot.”
“Oh. Right.” I blush and involuntary hold her gaze. “Then you should, ah, go.” Why the hell am I turning her away when she’s naked and eyeing me with obvious lust? I’m hard as fuck and want so desperately to take her in here. I never have with a girl before. What does it feel like? Does it feel better? Is my cock rising right now…? I’m too embarrassed to look. We haven’t had proper sex before shit hit the fan for us.
Some emotion crosses her eyes, and she nods slowly. “So I should go, then…” She reaches for the golden shower curtain, but I grab her wrist and pull her to me. What am I doing? Why is she so goddamn beautiful? It physically hurts to look at her. She looks at me with wide eyes, biting her lips and staring at my chest. “Noah…?”
“Red,” I whisper and run my knuckles against her cheek. She sucks in a breath and tilts her head back. I duck my head and breath aga
inst her forehead; her chest is against mine. I want so badly to just kiss her, my lips are almost touching hers. The water pounding down my back feels like a waterfall.
“Tell me why you shouldn’t go,” I rasp.
“We’d be saving water,” she sing-songs.
She takes a step forward, and I take one back. Another forward, another back. Are we dancing the tango? Is a red dress gonna appear on her body? Is there any way to soften now that the idea popped into my head?
Her in a tight, red dress. Nipples peeking through. Every inch stuck with the silk material. A rose between my lips before I throw it away and fill them with hers, her tongue, her moans—
Oh, for goodness sake…
“I…” I reach for words in my head, but they all dodge my desperate fingers, slipping through them and leaving me gaping like a fish, like an idiot.
When she reaches me, she taps my chest. “Why are you pushing me away?” she asks softly.
“I’m not,” I manage to stutter out. What if she doesn’t want me like…that anymore? What if that was a one-time thing?
“Liar.” She steps closer, putting pressure on her finger. I’m forced to step back before her wet body can meet mine. I know for sure I wouldn’t stop then.
“It’s not the right time.” My voice is thunderous under the water hitting the floor.
“Is now the right time?” Her tone is playful as she begins to move her finger down south. Between my pecs. Intercepting my abs. Swimming against the light hair leading to my dick. It stops just before it, and I suck in a breath. My hands involuntarily grip her hair, pulling her closer. Breasts press into my hard chest.
“Why don’t you fuck me right now?” she asks, and she isn’t taking no for an answer. “Come on, what do you want now?”
I bite my tongue, but then I look at her face. I stare into her brilliant blue eyes, linger on her puffy pink lips. Her eyebrow ring shining in the sunlight. Her lip ring, which her pink tongue is toying with. Pearly white teeth clamping on the metal. And then my eyes widen at her creamy shoulders, long neck, perky tits, wide hips, slim waist…and I can’t hold back any longer.
Red: Fiery Finale (Spectrum Series Book 8) Page 17