Page 107 of Changing Lanes

“Neither can I.”

Just as teeth clamp down on the shell of my ear, I shove my ass as hard as I can into the disgusting groin plastered to my backside, freeing my hands in the same instant but nicking my ear in the process.

Worth it.

Swinging around, my elbow lances the side of his face making him sink to the ground.

“Rough enough for you?” I taunt as he tries to cradle his cheek and balls at the same time.

Angela, eyes locked on mine, jerks her head back, nailing the guy behind her square in the nose.

With a howl and some colorful words, he releases her, dropping to his knees all while blood rushes down his face. She winces briefly but it’s hard to tell if it’s from the headbutt or if his hold was that painful.

What assholes.

Luckily, she’s able to shake it off and we turn together to see the tips of Cynthia’s nails digging into the broad shoulders blocking the rest of her from view. As one, we surge forward only to be cut off by three menacing figures, one taller than the rest.

Only using one hand, Marc grips Cynthia’s aggressor by the throat, tearing him away and tossing him like he weighs nothing. All three shout obscenities from the ground but what do they have to complain about? We’re the ones being felt up without consent.

Yeah, my body’s a wonderland but for who I choose to give a ride to. And when. That’s the clause some people skip over in their haste to get past the gates. One ticket doesn’t equal an entire wristband. Each one is earned. Every single time. Nobody gets unlimited free rides.

Cynthia manages to keep her shit together long enough to stand alongside us in a unified front and looking both girls over, I know we’re all thinking the same thing.

Knocking Angela’s attacker to his back, Coty mashes the toe of his boot against the guy’s throat while his friends squirm in abrupt silence beside him. Marc hovers like a drone with a low battery, just waiting to fucking drop, and the hulk formerly known as Beckett towers over the guy still cradling his nuts.

Nobody says a word as the music plays on, the tempo building like the sexual tension coming from the stage. Other concert goers look over, trying to catch a piece of the action but none dare to interrupt.

The three men standing over the three pieces of shit currently contaminating the grass are fuming with barely contained rage but honestly, it’s getting kind of ridiculous. This isn’t the 1800s and we’re not damsels in distress. We handled it. Well, we would’ve if it weren’t for Coty and my roommates stepping in like superheroes straight out of boot camp—all pomp and no follow-through.

Cruz appears out of nowhere to join us and Cynthia turns into his shoulder, accepting the support he’s offering in his own way. Not the other shitheads though. Nope. They’d rather plunder ahead in their testosterone-soaked mission than check to see if we’re actually okay. As much as I appreciate their protection, this whole thing appears to be more about them than us.

“Thanks for your help but we got it.” I nod at Angela rubbing the back of her head as she watches the scene unfold through narrowed eyes. Cynthia lifts hers in agreement and even though I know all she wants to do is collapse into herself right now, I respect her for trying, for putting on a tough air when it’s taking everything out of her. She deserves better than being preyed on by someone with no concept of boundaries. We all do.

Beckett snaps out of his untamed fury, meeting my death stare with one of his own. “The fuck does that mean? These assholes were all over you. You’re bleeding for fuck’s sake!”

Instinctively, I reach for my earlobe and, sure enough, pull away a lone bloodied fingertip. Fantastic. Just as one injury heals, another pops up right behind it.

“No shit! But in case you hadn’t noticed, we took care of it. We didn’t need you riding in like some kind of fucking mod squad. If we needed help, we would’ve asked for it.”

Beckett rocks side to side, adjusting his hat while Coty and Marc give nearly identical reactions—no remorse whatsoever.

Angela gives her man a flat look with a hint of a promise to it. Marc’s off the hook since he didn’t technically have a reason to step in. If anything, I would’ve expected Cruz to come to Cynthia’s rescue. And Beckett, he can kiss my ass.

Wasn’t he just getting his ass kissed? By lots of willing participants. It’s a miracle he even noticed anything other than the bright flashes being thrust in his face every few minutes.

I cock an eyebrow, watching him shift from one foot to the other like he’s got somewhere to be. And maybe he does. Maybe he already secured another tent to stay in tonight.

That would be just phenomenal. Spectacular even. The very reason I came here—to see Beckett with someone else.

Why did I come here?

With everyone distracted, one of the guys on the ground tries for a quick escape and the matter gets forgotten along with the self-control the boys were practicing because fists start flying while threats start sounding.

“You fucked up touching my girl.”

Coty.

“All you pieces of shit are the same.”