Unthinkable (Unstoppable 2)

His free hand gripped the back of my head as his other climbed higher over my stomach, and he maneuvered my body until my back came flush with the ground. I shook my head, trying to detach my lips and pulling at his arm.

“Jackson,” I mumbled, twisting. “Stop.”

Either he didn’t hear me, or he pretended not to. His actions grew more intense, the groans coming from his throat more pronounced, and his dick pressed into my hip.

I wriggled my body underneath him, trying to edge my way out. When his palm groped my breast over my bra and squeezed, a surge of adrenaline saturated my veins, swiftly replacing the copious amounts of alcohol I’d consumed.

Pressing back into the grass, I managed to wrench my lips from his and jerked my head forward. Jackson sprang back onto his knees when the middle of my forehead connected with the side of his nose. My aim was a little off, but it had the desired effect.

“Jesus, fuck!”

I scrambled to my feet, planting a hand against the tree for support when my body swayed. The crawling sensation that rippled through me when I recalled the feel of Jackson’s clammy hand fumbling at my chest made me shudder, and hot tears sprung to my eyes. Tears of anger and frustration. I shook my head and blinked furiously, forcing them back. I knew better than to put myself in a position of weakness like that. God, what the fuck had I been thinking? I’d acted like a damn idiot.

“Shit,” I muttered, leaning back against the tree with a quiet exhalation. My gaze swayed to Jackson’s crouched form.

“Why the hell did you do that?” he asked, rising with his head down and two fingers pressed against either side of his nose. “I thought we were having a good time.”

“Yeah?” I said, my voice dismissive. “Well, now it’s over.” I kicked off the tree with the heel of my foot and turned to walk away.

Thick fingers wrapped around my bicep, catching me off guard and spinning me back. “Come on. Don’t leave yet.”

Head down, my eyes zoned in on the expanse of chest blocking my view and preventing my escape. I drew in a long breath to calm the storm roiling inside of me and ground my teeth together. In a tightly controlled voice, I said, “Move, Bateman. Now.”

“Take it easy.” The patronizing undertone to his words, coupled with the rough chortle that followed them, had my temper flaring. I craned my head back to glare at him.

The guy just ordered a swift kick to the balls, and I’d enjoy fucking delivering. But before I got the chance, a rough voice grated, “The fuck’s going on here?”

Jackson swerved, broadening my field of vision, and Leon Bradshaw stalked into view like a man on a mission. The ability to breathe momentarily escaped me as my eyes

feasted on the sight of him prowling toward us, eating up the ground with quick, forceful strides. In a black jean, shirt, and jacket combo, with the angles of his face set in harsh lines and untempered fury rolling off his shoulders in waves, he looked like a dark avenger.

The sight was enough to make a girl weak in the knees. Evidenced by the fact my legs suddenly possessed all the structural integrity of wet noodles.

Jackson released his hold on my arms and retreated a few steps with both palms held out. In a plea of innocence, or surrender. But if the murderous expression on Leon’s face didn’t give it away, the fist that crunched into Jackson’s cheek seconds later did.

Pretty Boy was pissed off.

And he wasn’t looking for a white flag.

SIXTEEN

LEON

“If I have to listen to one more word about your goddamn stepsister, I’m going to rip my fucking ears off and shove them down your throat.”

Jason kept his left hand on the steering wheel while his right clenched and collided with Danny’s shoulder.

Dan twisted back to look at me with a smirk. “Three fucking months of Sara this, Sara that. I swear to god, I dream about the girl.”

“What?” Jason’s head snapped round.

Air snorted through my nose as I shook my head and relocated my gaze out the window. The verbal sparring continued up front, but I had zero fucking interest in getting involved in their shit. Had enough of my own to contend with. My mother was kicking off because I’d detoured from her carefully laid plan for my fucking future; my best friend was in self-destruct mode, trying to drink himself into an early grave; and at eighteen, I was wondering what the fuck I was going to do with the rest of my life.

Working construction was a decent job, but I’d realized early on it wasn’t the endgame. I’d sacked off community college after the first month, picked up more hours at the site. My mother had hit the fucking roof and called me every irresponsible asshole under the sun, then sent me packing back to the trailer. I’d barely fucking got off probation from the first time she’d put me in exile.

The place had actually grown on me, though. So, I’d be staying there until I figured out a plan for my future and got the fuck out of Claremont.

“That Liss’ car?”