Kings of Anarchy (Brutal Boys of Everlake Prep #3) - Caroline Peckham Page 0,48

words, not hers, but she hadn’t denied it either.

But that didn't mean I was going to let that animal get in the ring with her.

She came at me again and I took a shot to the ribs before returning it with a punch to her gut.

We quickly fell into a brawl, scrapping and punching and fighting with a desperate kind of urgency to her moves like she thought she was on a time limit to do this.

I managed to knock her back a few steps but she quickly rushed me again, ducking low and throwing her shoulder into my gut with enough force to unbalance me. She managed to hook her leg around mine before I could right myself and the two of us crashed down onto the mats.

Tatum was totally lost to her anger and her grief and as she straddled my waist, she threw punch after punch, her breathing ragged and eyes swimming with tears she refused to let fall.

I fought back, but not hard enough to unseat her, taking her anger and grief and letting her throw it into my body until the strength faded from her limbs and she ripped her gloves off, tossing them across the room with a growl of hopeless frustration.

"It hurts so fucking much, Nash," she breathed, her voice a broken, empty thing as she dipped her chin and her blonde hair cascaded forward to curtain her beautiful features.

"I know, princess," I replied, letting my grief show too as it rose up keenly in my chest to meet with hers.

She dropped down and kissed me hard, my breath catching in my throat at the feeling of those full lips against mine and the taste of her heartache on her tongue.

Tatum's hands slid down my shirt which was clinging to me with perspiration from our workout and she ground herself down over my dick, making it hard for me to think of anything aside from her.

I shifted to sit up as I kissed her back and she tugged my shirt over my head with a hard yank, pausing to rip my gloves off too when my shirt got caught on them.

"Wait," I murmured against her mouth as our heavy breathing filled the room and I had to fight to keep hold of my thoughts as I tried to break away from her. I was drunk on this girl. Totally, helplessly, inebriated and out of my damn mind over her, but I needed to try and regain an inch of control because if we did this here then I knew we’d just keep taking risks, hooking up anywhere and everywhere we could. "We could be caught," I panted. "Let's just wait until we get back to mine. I've got a fuck ton of junk food and candles and all kinds of romantic shit-"

"Just fuck me, Nash," she replied, grinding down on me in a way that seriously had me changing my mind about this, but I really had wanted to try and be at least a bit sensible about this.

"Come on. We can be back at my place within like fifteen minutes and then I promise I'll make you-"

"I can't come to your place tonight, Nash," Tatum huffed, pulling back an inch so that she could look at me and we were no longer kissing between every word.

"But it's my night with you," I protested, realising I sounded like a little bitch but unable to stop the way the words came out. "I only get you once every four nights." No need to mention the fact that I'd been counting down the fucking days. We'd missed our last assigned night because Saint was being a fuckwit about taking his pain pills but it had been over a week now and he was well on the mend. Besides, I didn't really give a shit if he took his pills or not. That asshole deserved at least a little pain. It was better than what my brother had got.

"Sorry Nash, but I can't come and stay with you tonight. Saint still needs me. He won't listen to anyone else and I don't want his recovery getting fucked up because he's too stubborn to look after himself."

"Who gives a shit?" I snapped, sexual frustration and my hate of all things Memphis colliding to make me pissier than usual. "That motherfucker did all kinds of fucked up shit to you, not to mention what his family did to mine. Where are your letters, Tatum? Is he still keeping