Ruthless Love (Ash and Innocence 1)

They all laughed, and I felt my face burning. I hadn’t quite considered how crazy I must’ve looked with my makeshift weed-cutter. No wonder he had sped off.

“Oh, shit,” one of the guys said. “It was in my pocket the whole time.”

“Dumbass,” laughed someone.

Three of the guys and the two girls headed back, but one stayed on the path.

“You coming, Tristan?” Asked a voice from the group.

“In a minute,” he said.

I recognized the voice. So the guy I’d seen in the car was Tristan.

My heart felt like it shrank in on itself when he turned his attention back to where I’d fallen and took a step toward me. Oh shit. Had he seen me? The time for waving my hand and casually explaining what had happened was long gone. Now I was the creep who sat, tangled in a bush and eavesdropped on his conversation.

I was trying desperately to think of a way to explain myself when a girl came from the other direction.

Tristan turned to look at her, giving me a moment to breathe a sigh of relief.

“I thought I was pretty clear, Haisely.” He spoke so coldly to her it made me want to shiver.

“You were. And I am pissed at myself for being so stupidly desperate that I can’t just let it go. But… What we had was special. You can’t tell me you didn’t feel that, too. I mean, it was like a switch flipped one day and you—”

Without warning, Tristan stomped through the undergrowth toward me. I tried to hold my breath, but it didn’t work. He dug in the bush and yanked me out, tossing me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Hi,” I whispered.

He carried me back up to where the girl was and gave me a slap on the ass. I jumped, eyes bulging. Did he seriously just—

“Actually,” he said. “Gotta head inside, so if there was nothing else—”

“What the hell?” The girl named Haisley shrieked.

Tristan shrugged, rocking me dizzying on his huge shoulder as he did so. “I was saving this one for later, but your constant begging left a bad taste in my mouth. So, I think I’ll have her tonight.”

I lifted my head to look at the girl he was talking to and saw she looked as confused as I felt. She was gorgeous, though. It shouldn’t have surprised me. The little glimpse I’d had of Tristan behind the wheel of his car was the stuff to inspire vivid, dirty dreams. All I could see now was a way-too-close view of his broad back as he carried me toward the house.

“Put me down,” I yelled suddenly, slamming two fists that seemed ridiculously small against his back.

“I will. Once we get to my room.”

I got the upside down, nauseatingly dizzy view of the party as we moved across what I assumed was the front lawn. I saw people holding red cups, entire liquor bottles, and cans of beer. Several raised them at us when we passed, like Tristan was some kind of ancient god claiming his virginal sacrifice for the night.

As much as I wanted to fight and squirm my way out of his grasp, the way my head was swimming had me doing everything I could not to puke. I squeezed my eyes shut and focused on trying to overcome the urge.

He took me inside, through a room where more people talked and laughed, up a flight of stairs, and into another room. He plopped me down on his bed like he was throwing off his book bag after a long day.

I put my hand to my mouth, squeezed my eyes shut, and willed myself not to blow chunks all over his bed.

Tristan sat down against the far wall, leaning his head back with his forearms resting on his knees.

I got my first real look at him then, except it was all a slight blur without my glasses, which were gathering dirt somewhere in the woods along with my wheelchair. He had messy, dark hair with full lips that I knew hundreds of girls must have dreamed of kissing. I watched while he sat there with his eyes closed, thinking about God knew what. Based on what I’d seen of him so far, I imagined he was probably fantasizing about squishing bugs or making someone cry.

He was dressed like a movie star, with a set of black, fraying bracelets on one wrist, and a shirt that looked like the kind of thing rich people paid a lot of money for, even though it was basically just a shirt. His dark jeans hugged long legs that looked like they were made for more than just walking.

I had to admit he was something else, especially when my real-life experience with boys was depressingly limited.

“Is this what you do?” I demanded. “You throw girls on your bed and, what? Brood them to sleep?”