“Bet your daddy didn’t stick around.” More snickers fill the air as Maxim pulls me around again so I’m closer to Mikhail, yanking out hair as he does it.

I try to suppress a whimper. “Leave me alone,” I plead.

I’ve seen how those words affect Roman when someone says them to him. They make him smile as if they’re an invitation, rather than a rejection.

“We got it wrong, Mikhail. She’s all alone. Orphaned mutt. Neither of her parents wants her.”

Hot tears burn my cheeks. It doesn’t matter how hard I try to stop it, they keep falling. With each drop, another point is added on their side.

“Hey!” someone else yells, and the hold on my hair vanishes, but the burning sensation remains. I fall to the ground, and pain radiates from the side of my chin from the impact of the concrete.

I don’t hear the twins scurry off or notice Janelle and the teacher’s hands on me. Nothing seems to exist as they pull me to my feet.

Those boys were right—at least partly. My only living parent doesn’t want me. Jeremy will grow up and forget all about me. Mickey will probably fall in love with someone who actually deserves him. A person who can give to him as much as he gives to them, look him in the eye when he speaks, and have a proper conversation without choking up. He’s going to be with someone who knows how to love herself and the life she has. She won’t have a leaking heart. She won’t constantly need his protection.

Once everything—and everyone—is gone, nothing will be left of me. I have no plans for college, no idea what I will do with my life beyond the plans I made with Mickey, where we’d travel around the country.

I’ve read enough books to know about emotional journeys. The heroine will start off sad, chapters away from breaking. Then she’ll learn from every test, blossom after every trial, and she's healed by the end of her story. Whole.

That’s not my story.

A happy ending is not written in my book.

Nothing will change the fact that I don’t have my parents. Mickey is the only family I have, and I have to accept that one day he will move on to bigger and better things.

I’ll be cemented in the same spot, a spot of my own making.

The nurse lets me hang out in her office until the three o’clock bell rings. I spend each minute leading up to it dreading seeing Mickey. He won’t even need to see my face to figure out something went wrong today because my messed-up hair is enough of a tell. I won’t be able to lie to him, and he knows all my buttons to make me speak.

Then, he’ll be angry, and his fists will get involved.

I stare at my feet and ignore the ache in my scalp and the bruise forming on my chin, walking to where Mickey waits. The closer I get, the more the feeling of being vulnerable disappears. When he’s around, no one can hurt me. The only one who can is me; as much as Mickey tries, he can’t protect me from myself.

Students old enough to know Roman’s reputation scurry past him, and they don’t dare bat an eye in his direction. I feel the instant he decides that blood will be spilled tonight.

“What’s wrong?” His hands are on me within a matter of seconds, tugging my sleeves up and turning my face to check me over. The second he spots the mark on my chin, he erupts. “Who the fuck did this?”

“No one—it’s nothing.” I try to tear away from his grasp, but he tightens his hold. “I just want to go home.”

“Like fuck it’s nothing.”

Rage vibrates from him in waves, and I stare down at my feet because if his silver eyes bore into mine, I’ll crumble. He cups my cheek and angles my face up.

“Look at me, Bella. Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing happened.” I still can’t bring myself to look at him. “Can we just go?”

“Do you think someone can hurt you and get away with it? You should know the answer by now.”

I shake my head and blink back tears like the child I am. I don’t want to cry in front of him, because it’ll become an even bigger deal, and I want to seem like I have my shit together.

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Mickey. I just want to forget about it and move on with my day.” My face hurts, but my soul is aching. The only thing I want to do is crawl under the blankets and cry into my pillow.

“Give me names.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to spill the words he’s looking for. “I can’t keep running to you to save me.”

“You won’t need to run; I’ll already be there.”

“No, you won’t be. One day, you will move on, and I’ll need to learn to fend for myself. You won’t always be there to help me.”

“Like fuck, I won’t.” He looks at me, the promise of death in his eyes. “Names, Isabella.”

“No.”

“Give me names, and we can go.”

“Mickey, no, I—"

“And what’s the plan? How are you planning on stopping him if he bothers you again? You gonna hit him?”

I’m about to say yes, but we both know it’ll be a lie. I’d do it for Jeremy, maybe even Janelle, but I’ll be an unfortunate casualty.

“I’ll talk to them.”

“Them?”

One person, and I may get away with withholding a name. He’d just watch from a distance and wait until I crack. Two? He’d burn the place down to find out.

“Tell me, has that ever worked on me? Has anyone ever talked me out of knocking their lights out?”

No. Maybe I could, but it’d only be damage control. Instead of five broken bones, it might only be two.

“Is this the first time they’ve bothered you?”

I stare at the spot between his collarbones where the skin dips.

“You can fucking set out tea and write them damn letters. There isn’t a thing that will make them stop coming for you. They’ve tasted blood and made you cry. They thought they won, and they’ll keep coming back because picking on someone smaller is the only time they feel like men. They need to know they’ve lost—and they did as soon as they touched you.”

I know he’s right. I hate that he’s right. I’m weak. If this were the wild, I would have died a long time ago if it weren’t for Mickey. Natural selection would have taken me out. He doesn’t just save me or stop the harm from coming. He helps me pick up the parts and put them back together again.

“Mikhail and Maxim Androv. They’re twins.”

“Good,” he says.

I know what will happen when I say their names, and I have absolutely no remorse or guilt. What does it say about me that I won’t even beg Roman to go easy on them or not approach them at all? What’s wrong with me that when he says “good,” I couldn’t agree more?

“Where’s your phone?”

The sudden change of topic gives me whiplash. “What?”

“Your phone. Where is it?”

“I, uh.” Why can I barely string together a sentence around him? What is happening to me? I clear my throat. “In my bag.”

“Turn around.” He doesn’t wait for me to do as I’m told. He grabs my shoulder, spins me away from him, takes my phone out of the front pocket, turns me back in place, and then places the device in my hand. “The next time something happens, you call me. Even if it’s just to ask which shirt you should wear or if you're out of snacks. I don’t give a shit if I’m working, sleeping, or half-dead; you grab that phone, and you call me. I’ll pick up whatever you need, even if I’m six feet under, Bella. There isn’t a god in existence that could stop me from getting to you. So you pick up that phone and call me before you even think about calling the cops. Got it?”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. I’m not sure why I’m surprised to hear any of this when those are the only words I’d expect from Mickey. I guess I’m still surprised whenever someone is there for me when I need it, because the only other person who has ever supported and cared for me was my ma.

I nod. Within a split second, the anger in his eyes is gone, shoved beneath the surface, his usual grin taking the scowl’s place.

“Come on. We’ve got a long trip ahead of us.”