His grip tightened, pinning my arms harder.
“Keep talking,” he sneered. “See how that works out for you.”
“Oh, I will,” I snapped. “Because the more you talk, the more I’m convinced that even if you could get it up, no woman would stick around long enough to find out.”
His face twisted with rage.
“You little bitch—”
Think. Think. Think.
I shoved him again, and this time he stumbled slightly. The alcohol was slowing him down, making him sloppy. That was my only chance.
I planted both hands on his chest and shoved with everything I had. He staggered backward—just far enough.
I didn’t think.
I just swung.
My fist connected with his face with a sickening crunch.
Pain exploded through my hand.
“AH—!” I screamed, the sound tearing out of my throat the moment my fist made contact. White-hot agony shot through my wrist.
But the man dropped instantly, collapsing flat on his back in the gravel like someone had cut his strings.
For a moment, I just stood there, frozen. My hand throbbed violently, and my wrist pulsed with sharp, stabbing pain.
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
I had never punched someone before. Never even been close to a fight. My wrist was already swelling, and something inside it felt… wrong. Loose. Broken.
“Shit,” I breathed, tears filling my eyes. “I think I broke it.”
The man on the ground groaned faintly, and that was all the motivation I needed. I turned and bolted, running past him into the darkness beyond the bar’s parking lot.
Ten minutes later, I couldn’t run anymore. My lungs burned, and my legs felt like jelly. My wrist throbbed with every movement. I slowed to a shaky walk, cradling my arm tightly against my chest like it was something fragile that might fall apart if I moved it wrong. Tears streamed down my face, and I could feel my mascara running. I probably looked insane—hair messy, makeup ruined, clutching my arm like a lunatic on the side of a pitch-black country road.
My wrist throbbed with every heartbeat. The pain was sharp, deep, constant.
“I’m so stupid,” I muttered, looking at the endless stretch of road ahead of me. Dark fields lined both sides, nothing but miles of empty road. I had about ten miles before I even reached the outskirts of town. Ten miles. And I was almost sure my wrist was broken.
I kicked a loose rock on the road and instantly regretted it. “I’m so pissed at you, Maya,” I said out loud. I was furious she ditched me,didn’t check on me, and that I stayed. Pissed I’d drunk enough to dull my instincts. Most of all—I was angry at myself.
A low rumble rolled across the night air.
At first, I thought it was thunder, but it grew louder, closer. My stomach dropped. Oh God. What if it was him? What if he woke up? What if he had friends?
Headlights appeared behind me, bright beams cutting through the darkness.
The bikes roared past, wind whipping my hair around my face as they blew by. Relief rushed through me, and I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
Until—
The engines slowed.
My stomach sank again.
