Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

rushes me.
“Baby,” I cry. I wrap my arms around her, burying my face in her neck.
“What did they do you?” She kisses me—my cheek, my lips, my jaw,
again and again.
“Shhh,” I tell her, trying to calm her down. I spot Macon and Army just
as Dallas pulls me toward the bushes, and we all crouch down. Iron and
Trace run up from the service entrance road, and I look around at my family
as Clay touches my face, her eyes scanning every inch of my body.
Her gaze locks on my cheek, and I register the sting still there from
Milo’s slap. It’s probably red. “It’s okay,” I say. “They didn’t do nearly as
much as I did to them.”
“Liv…”
I dart my eyes to Macon. “It’s okay,” I cut him off. “They didn’t hurt
me.”
Not badly anyway.
Dressed in my underwear, I know what he’s thinking. And I know exactly
what he’d do if he knew what might’ve happened if I hadn’t gotten out of
there.
I kiss Clay again, pulling on the flannel Iron tosses me.
“How did you know they brought me here,” I ask her.
“I didn’t.”
I look up at Macon, but he’s already walking. I shoot to my feet, seeing
Callum and Milo run out of the field house, Del and the other two stopping
dead when they see my brothers charge across the green and right for them.
I start after Macon. “No.”
But Clay interjects. “Let them fuck them up,” she tells me, handing me
my phone I’d left behind in the limo.
Macon, Army, and Dallas head straight for the patio, Del and the other
two backing away. They bolt, disappearing back into the clubhouse, or out of
sight.
I stare at Clay. “They won’t win this and you know it. No fighting.” And
then to my brothers, “This wasn’t the plan.”
We’re not Collins’ or Ames’. We can get physical and keep up in a fight,
but they can hurt us, because we’re poor.
She touches my face again, lightly. “Who hit you?” she whispers.
I close my mouth.
“Who was it?” she demands again. “Callum?”