BooksBarbecue
Back Someone Had to Do It
Chapters (39)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. Dedication
  4. About the Authors
  5. PROLOGUE
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  37. THE STORY BEHIND SOMEONE HAD TO DO IT
  38. SOMEONE HAD TO DO IT: THE PLAYLIST
  39. DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

I stumble back her way and vaguely hear people gasping and instigating. Someone shrieks with obnoxious laughter. The voices grow and grow. More and more people turn to witness our altercation, but I don’t care. I can’t care anymore. The adrenaline surges, blinds me. I don’t think. I just react. I yank her down to the floor with me, some feral instinct taking over. I try to pivot out of her hold, but Taylor won’t let go of my hair, and then she’s on top of me, and I’m on my back. She swings her tiny purse at me but misses, which throws her off for just long enough. I snake my legs over her neck and squeeze my thighs until she has no choice but to loosen her grip. She falls over and lets out a rough, shrieking sound, not quite a scream but something close. Something dark and ugly and bestial.

I push myself up as fast as I can as phones are angled my way from every direction. I need to get out of here. I don’t notice the shoe in Taylor’s hand until it’s almost too late. She swings it at me, bottom side up, the five-inch stiletto the perfect improvised weapon, but I swerve at the last second. She grunts, doing her best to recover, but stumbles forward. I grab her skinny arms and slam her against the wall, because fuck feminism right now. Fuck this crazy bitch. The impact knocks the wind out of her, her mouth popping open. The shoe drops from her hand and so does her purse.

“Did you really think putting your hands on me would go over well?” I say, knocking her against the wall again.

She heaves. “Get off me, you—”

“Just admit it. You killed him. You killed your own father.”

Her eyes dart around the room. She’s aware she’s being watched, recorded. “You’re crazy. I didn’t—”

“You fucking killed him. You poisoned him. You—”

“Shut up. I didn’t—”

I shove her one last time, then strut off. Before I get two steps away, a security guard comes out of nowhere, heading straight toward me.

It’s over. I know what’s going to happen before it does. I’m going to be forced to leave. Taylor’s going to get away with murder. Call me fucking clairvoyant.