My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 92

Chapter 92 A Door Crashing Open at the Right Moment

“Let go of me!” I shouted.

My voice drowned in the deafening roar of the warehouse music. No one in the surrounding crowd turned to look. No one cared. In this

world, weakness was a dinner bell.

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“Winton wanted to send a message to Steinmann, the messenger murmured. He leaned his face close to mine. I felt the heat of his breath against my cheek. “He told us to find bait. He figured we would have to drag you out of your pristine little house. He didn’t think the bait

would walk right through the front door.”

“You are making a mistake,” I said. I struggled against his hold. I twisted my arms, trying to break his grip.

He tightened his fingers. A sharp gasp of pain escaped my lips.

“The only mistake was you thinking you belong here,” he sneered.

He shoved me backward.

My combat boots slipped on the slick, dust-covered concrete. I lost my balance. I fell hard, my palms scraping against the rough floor. The friction tore the delicate skin on the heels of my hands. A hot, stinging pain raced up my wrists.

I scrambled to my feet. I backed away, pressing my spine against a stack of wooden pallets.

The three guys advanced. They formed a semicircle, trapping me against the wood. The strobe lights painted their faces in chaotic flashes of red and blue, turning them into demonic, shifting shadows.

“Grab her, the messenger commanded.

The tattooed guy lunged forward.

I did not cower. I channeled the survival instincts I honed in the cutthroat halls of Crestview. I dodged his reaching hands. I kicked out, driving the heavy rubber toe of my combat boot into his shin.

He grunted, stumbling sideways.

I bolted. I aimed for the narrow gap he left open.

I made it two steps.

A massive hand tangled in the back of my thick sweater. The force jerked me backward. The collar of the sweater cut into my throat, choking off my breath.

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Chapter 92 A Door Crashing Open at the Right Moment

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The third guy-a towering figure silent until this moment-wrapped his thick arm around my waist. He lifted my feet off the concrete. He

hoisted me against his side like a ragdoll.

“Put me down!” I screamed, thrashing against his hold. I kicked my legs. I clawed at the thick muscle of his forearm.

He ignored my struggles. He carried me down a dark, narrow corridor branching off the main warehouse floor. The thumping bass of the party faded into a muffled, distant hum. The strobe lights disappeared, replaced by the sickly yellow glow of sparse overhead bulbs.

The air in the corridor felt colder. It smelled of rust and decay.

He reached the end of the hall. A heavy, rusted steel door stood closed on the left. A dead end.

The towering guy dropped me.

My boots hit the concrete with a jarring thud. I stumbled, my shoulder crashing into the rusted steel door. The metal groaned under my

weight.

I spun around, pressing my back flat against the cold steel.

The three guys filled the narrow corridor. They blocked the only exit. They trapped me in a dead end.

The messenger stepped forward. He pulled a silver switchblade from the pocket of his denim jacket. He pressed a button on the handle. The steel blade sprang free with a sharp, lethal click. The yellow light caught the polished metal.

My breath stalled in my lungs.

“We are going to take you to Winton, the messenger stated. He dragged the flat side of the blade against the brick wall. The metal scraped against the stone, creating a horrific, shrieking noise. “We are going to make Ryder watch while we teach you how things work on

the East Side.”

I pressed my hands flat against the door behind me. My palms bled, smearing crimson against the rusted steel.

I was terrified. The fear was a living, breathing creature gnawing at my ribs. I made a massive miscalculation. I thought my internal strength was enough to combat physical violence. I thought my determination could rewrite the brutal rules of this world.

I was wrong Ryder warned me, and I ignored him.

The messenger took another step. He raised the knife, pointing the tip at the center of my chest.

Not so tough without your bad boy to hide behind,” he mocked.

He reached his free hand toward my face

1 sigesed my eyes shut. I braced my body for the impact. I refused to scream again. I refused to give them the satisfaction of breaking

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Chapter 92 A Door Crashing Open at the Right Moment

A deafening, explosive crash shattered the stagnant air of the corridor.

The rusted steel door behind me shuddered. The vibration rattled my teeth.

I opened my eyes.

I leaped away from the door, pressing myself against the adjacent brick wall.

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