͏b͏r͏o͏k͏e͏n || ͏b͏i͏l͏l͏y ͏h͏a͏r͏g͏r͏o͏v͏e

F I F T E E N

"I could say the same thing to you," Steve shot back. "Last I checked, my little sister was at your house. With you. Alone."

Billy's jaw flexed—once, twice—the kind of clench that usually came right before violence.

"At least you knew where she was. Can't say the same for me."

"Man, were you dropped too much as a kid, or what?" Steve snapped. "She's not here. I don't know what you don't understand about that."

Billy didn't even blink.

"Then who," he drawled, lifting a finger, "is that?"

He pointed straight at the window.

We all dropped like we'd been shot.

I hit the floor first. Max dove behind the coffee table. Lucas pulled Dustin down by the shirt collar.

"Shit! Did he see us?" Dustin whisper-yelled, which honestly might be worse than yelling.

I scrambled behind the couch, heart skyrocketing up into my throat.

"Oh yeah," I breathed, staring at the door as Billy's boots crunched closer.

"He definitely saw us."

A few seconds later, a heavy thud rattled the door, followed by Steve's unmistakable groan.

And then Billy stormed inside like a hurricane in human form.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, slamming the door behind him so hard the walls shuddered. I flinched instinctively.

His eyes zeroed in. "Lucas Sinclair. What a surprise."

Lucas backed up, shoulders drawn tight.

"I thought I told you to stay away from him, Max." Billy's voice dropped to a venomous whisper.

"Billy, go away," Max pleaded, almost shrinking into herself.

"You disobeyed me." His jaw ticked. "And you know what happens when you disobey me—"

"Billy..." Max whispered, voice small.

"I break things."

Before any of us could react, Billy grabbed Lucas by the shirt and slammed him into the shelving. Hard.

I gasped and shot up from behind the couch.

The kids erupted.

"Billy! Stop!"
"Get off him!"
"Billy—stop!"

"Get off of me!" Lucas shouted, struggling.

Billy leaned in close, voice dripping rage. "Since Maxine won't listen, maybe you will. You stay away from her. Stay away. You hear me?"

"I said get off me!" Lucas drove his knee up and kicked Billy square in the groin.

Billy staggered back with a guttural sound—then his face twisted into something murderous. "You're so dead, Sinclair. You're dead—"

I rushed in and grabbed Billy's arm.
"Billy—stop—"

His elbow swung out blindly in the chaos, cracking into my mouth. Pain exploded and I stumbled, hand flying to my face. Warm blood bloomed across my palm.

Billy froze. His eyes went wide—fear, guilt, panic all hitting him at once.

"Ana—"

Before he could say anything, another voice cut through the room like a blade:

"No. You are."

Steve.

He shoved me behind him and swung so fast I barely processed the motion. Billy's back smacked into the table, sending plates crashing. He laughed—actually laughed.

"Well, look at that," Billy breathed, rolling his shoulders. "Guess you've got some fire in you after all. Been dying to meet this 'King Steve' everyone's been telling me—so much about."

He stalked toward my brother. "Get out." Steve jabbed a finger into his chest.

Billy's eyes flashed. And then he swung. Steve ducked. They collided like two animals—fists, elbows, anything they could grab. Furniture toppled. Dishes shattered. The kids weren't helping.

"Yes! Kick his ass, Steve!"
"Get him!"
"Murder him!"
"Kill the son of a—"

"STOP!" I screamed, shoving myself between them—

But Steve, running on pure adrenaline, didn't see me.
He turned too fast—his arm swinging back—and he shoved.

I hit the ground hard, a painful thud echoing through the room.

Everything froze.

Steve's face went white. "Ana— I swear—I didn't—"

He didn't get the chance to finish.

Billy grabbed him by the collar and hurled him into the living room. Steve crumpled, dazed, barely conscious. Billy stalked after him, raising his fist.

And I froze.
For one horrifying second—I froze.

"ANA, HE'LL KILL HIM!" Max screamed.

My eyes snapped to a glint on the floor— a syringe they had dropped earlier. Max saw it too.

We didn't speak.
We just moved.

I launched myself at Billy with everything I had. We tumbled across the floor, his weight driving the air from my lungs, but I managed to scramble up and straddle him, pinning his arms.

"What is wrong with you?" he snarled beneath me, thrashing.

"Max!" I hissed, yanking up his sleeve. Billy's eyes widened.

"What are you—" he pleaded, real fear bleeding into his voice.

"Please," I whispered—apology and agony tangled into one word. "Please forgive me."

And she jammed the needle into his arm.

His breath hitched—sharp, confused. "The hell... is that...?"

He turned his head, finding Max. Rage flared again. "You little— what did you do to—"

Max stepped forward with Steve's nail bat clenched in both hands like a holy weapon.

"From here on out," she said, voice trembling but fierce, "you leave me and my friends alone. Do you understand?"

Billy groaned, dazed. "Screw you..."

Max didn't hesitate. She slammed the bat down between his legs.

Every boy in the room made the same strangled sound. Even I winced in sympathy.

"Say you understand! Say it!" Max shouted. "Say it!"

Billy let out a shuddering exhale.
"...I understand."

His eyes fluttered, and finally—his body went slack beneath me. Unconscious. Max lowered the bat, breathing hard, and sank down beside me.

"Let's get out of here," she muttered.

She jingled something in her hand—Billy's Camaro keys.

I reached up and plucked them from her. "I'm driving."