Page 157 of Primal

snap.

Kristy howls, reeling back, eyes wide and welling—

Lana grabs her again. Yanks her forward.

I swing the first thing I grab. The damn stick cracks across Lana’s shoulder.

Her knife slashes at me—blade flicking out mid-swing.

Pain sings up my arm. Blood ribbons into the mud.

“Aww,” Lana pants, “you still fight like you’re scared to hurt me, P.”

Her face twists—familiar but wrong—and something in my chest tears.

“Fuck you,” I yell. “Fuck you and your lies. Fuck you and your stupid fucking games.”

“Oh, this isn’t a game.” Rain dripping down her chin. “It never was.” A glance at Kristy. “Come on. I’ll take both of you.”

Fucking psycho. Kristy and I trade a look.

“No,” she gasps. “We’re not doing this.”

Lana rolls her eyes. “Oh, yes, we are. Do your best if you wanna live. Else, just do me a favor and fucking die already.”

I pounce. I want her to hurt. To feel every fucking thing she made us go through tonight.

She ducks my swing, but we go down together in the mud.

The ground soaks through my hoodie. I claw up fistfuls—earth, grass, rainwater.

Her knee drives into my ribs.

I buck. Jab. Roll. Kick out—

We slip in the mud, limbs tangled, teeth bared like animals. My fist catches her cheek—bone under skin—

My scalp explodes. The world jerks sideways.

I claw at her arm.

She laughs, breathless, wild. “Still pulling punches? You really are pathetic.”

Kristy screams. I turn.

Lana’s elbow smashes into my jaw. A burst of white. I taste blood.

Kristy’s stumbling toward us, holding the taser.

“Back off,” she shouts.

“Do you even know how to use it?” That stupid snort whenever someone wiped out skating.

The taser wavers. Kristy blinks, hair plastered to her cheeks. “Try me.”

Lana lunges.

crack.