His face was a mess of bruises. I swallowed, but the tightness in my throat made it feel like I was choking.

If Jamal hadn’t pulled me back, I would’ve kept going.

I would’ve kept hitting him until my fists couldn’t anymore.

Nathan stumbled forward, blood leaking from his split lip. “You think you’re tough?” he slurred. His eyes were half-lidded, unfocused. He couldn’t even stand straight, but that didn’t stop him from running his damn mouth.

Jamal stepped between us, his posture rigid. “You have five seconds to tell me what happened. Five seconds, Blake.”

I didn’t know where to start.

So I said the only thing that mattered.

“He hurt her.”

Jamal’s gaze locked onto Nathan, his eyes narrowing as if searching for any sign of remorse, but there was none.

“Listen, he’s not worth it,” Jamal said, his voice softer now, but the tension in his jaw and the way his hands flexed at his sides betrayed everything he was holding back.

Nathan laughed, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “He’s a psycho,” he snapped. “I didn’t even do anything.”

“You were holding her down,” I seethed.

Nathan snorted, something ugly twisting across his face. “Well, she’s a fucking tease⁠—”

Jamal hit him before he could finish.

It happened so fast I barely saw it—just Jamal’s arm flying out, his fist slamming into Nathan’s face with a dull crack.

One clean punch that sent him crashing back to the floor.

Jamal shook out his fist, flexing his fingers. “Been waiting to do that,” he muttered under his breath. “You really thought you could say shit like that and get away with it, huh?” He took a step closer, staring down at Nathan. “Not while I’m standing here.”

Nathan groaned, pressing his hand against his cheek where Jamal’s fist had left a bruise. “You’re fucking insane.”

“And you’re a pathetic piece of shit,” Jamal retorted coldly.

“You’re gonna regret this,” Nathan spat, pushing himself up. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.”

He staggered, breathing hard, fury written all over his face. His pupils were blown wide, either from rage or the alcohol pumping through his veins—probably a combination of both.

I exhaled sharply, my fists aching to land another punch.

Jamal grabbed my arm, pulling me out of the room. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get out of here before you end up in handcuffs.”

We made it halfway down the stairs before I heard Nathan behind me. I kept moving, jaw locked, knuckles still raw from the fight upstairs.

“You’re dead, McHayes!”

I whipped around just in time to see him charging down the stairs, shoving people out of the way.

Three of his friends had followed him down the stairs, all of them just as wasted, feeding off his anger.