Read Online Wrath - 4 by Robin Wasserman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robin Wasserman
Tags: Fiction, General, Family & Relationships, Juvenile Fiction, Social Issues, Interpersonal relations, Man-Woman Relationships, Revenge, Love & Romance, Friendship, School & Education, Schools, Dating & Sex, High schools, Interpersonal Relations in Adolescence, Conduct of life
Ads: Link
turned away—he’d seen enough to know the truth. But he had stayed, waited, watched. She could play with al the men she wanted, but in the end, no one knew her like he did. No one but him knew the way she moved when she thought no one was watching.
The time they spent together was tainted now by what she’d done. But when he watched her in the darkness, that was pure. She could lie to him al she wanted, but she couldn’t avoid the truth: She belonged to him.
Apparently, she just needed a reminder.
chapter
5
“Jump! Jump! Rebound!
Make the shot!
Number 8 is hot! Hot! Hot!”
The cheerleaders flashed their pom poms, soared through the air, and led the crowd in a thundering chorus, hundreds of fans al chanting his name.
“We’re the team
That’s sure to win,
’Cause MORGAN always gets it in!
Morgan!
Morgan!
Morgan!”
What a rush.
Number 8, Adam Morgan, dribbled up court, his heart pounding, his feet slamming into the boards. He could feel the Weston Wolves closing in behind him, longing to pounce, but he was faster. Stronger. Better.
After weeks of playing like shit, it had al fal en into place, now, in this moment. Adam could feel his body shift into motion, a seamless connection between legs, hands, bal , net; instinct took over, driving everything from his mind but the harsh crack of the bal against the floor and the stinging slap as it rebounded against his cupped palm. He pushed himself forward, outpacing the Wolves and breaking free to a wide-open court, until, final y, he could feel this was his moment; it was a certainty that went beyond reason.
He stopped, scooped up the bal , lifted it above his head, ready to send it flying, and then, just as the bal tipped off his fingertips at the perfect angle—
A shove. Hard, from behind. Knocking Adam off balance.
And the bal bounced off the rim.
Adam barely registered what happened next: the outraged cries of his teammates, the crowd cal ing foul, the ref cal ing nothing. Al he saw was his bal rol ing off the rim and crashing to the floor, and the red, sweaty, sneering face of the guy who’d pushed him.
Somewhere within him, a voice urged restraint—but it was too late for that. Adam launched himself at the sneering Weston Wolf, sucker punching him in the gut and then, as the Wolf bent over, gasping for breath, kicking his legs out from under him, and knocking him to the floor.
And that was al it took.
The Wolves rushed the court to defend their man, and the Haven High Coyotes charged in to make it an even fight. Soon the court was fil ed with the grunts and thuds of a dozen basketbal players punching and clawing one another—and the angry hoots of the crowd, cheering them on.
After al , who doesn’t like a little blood with their sport?
The refs blew their whistles and the coaches rushed in to pul their players away, but they couldn’t fight the chaos. And, somehow, in the confusion, after knocking one Wolf flat on his ass and barely avoiding the wrong end of a large fist, Adam found himself face-to-face with the true enemy.
Kane grinned at Adam, perhaps forgetting himself in the heat of battle. His usual y perfect hair was drenched with sweat and plastered to his forehead, his eyes were wild, and a smal trail of blood trickled down his face from a scratch along his temple. He smiled. And Adam exploded.
Lunging at Kane, he grabbed his old friend around the neck, pushed him against the floor, and punched him hard, in the face, where it would hurt the most, bruising his cartilage and his vanity. Adam wanted to keep punching, to feel the rhythm of Kane’s head slamming against the floor as if it were the bal , even while Kane gave up fighting back and curled up tight, waiting for it to end. And, simultaneously exhilarated and disgusted by the unfamiliar bloodlust, he might have done it—but they pul ed Adam off and threw him to the sidelines with the rest of his team.
He’d gotten only that first punch. Maybe, in the confusion, no
The time they spent together was tainted now by what she’d done. But when he watched her in the darkness, that was pure. She could lie to him al she wanted, but she couldn’t avoid the truth: She belonged to him.
Apparently, she just needed a reminder.
chapter
5
“Jump! Jump! Rebound!
Make the shot!
Number 8 is hot! Hot! Hot!”
The cheerleaders flashed their pom poms, soared through the air, and led the crowd in a thundering chorus, hundreds of fans al chanting his name.
“We’re the team
That’s sure to win,
’Cause MORGAN always gets it in!
Morgan!
Morgan!
Morgan!”
What a rush.
Number 8, Adam Morgan, dribbled up court, his heart pounding, his feet slamming into the boards. He could feel the Weston Wolves closing in behind him, longing to pounce, but he was faster. Stronger. Better.
After weeks of playing like shit, it had al fal en into place, now, in this moment. Adam could feel his body shift into motion, a seamless connection between legs, hands, bal , net; instinct took over, driving everything from his mind but the harsh crack of the bal against the floor and the stinging slap as it rebounded against his cupped palm. He pushed himself forward, outpacing the Wolves and breaking free to a wide-open court, until, final y, he could feel this was his moment; it was a certainty that went beyond reason.
He stopped, scooped up the bal , lifted it above his head, ready to send it flying, and then, just as the bal tipped off his fingertips at the perfect angle—
A shove. Hard, from behind. Knocking Adam off balance.
And the bal bounced off the rim.
Adam barely registered what happened next: the outraged cries of his teammates, the crowd cal ing foul, the ref cal ing nothing. Al he saw was his bal rol ing off the rim and crashing to the floor, and the red, sweaty, sneering face of the guy who’d pushed him.
Somewhere within him, a voice urged restraint—but it was too late for that. Adam launched himself at the sneering Weston Wolf, sucker punching him in the gut and then, as the Wolf bent over, gasping for breath, kicking his legs out from under him, and knocking him to the floor.
And that was al it took.
The Wolves rushed the court to defend their man, and the Haven High Coyotes charged in to make it an even fight. Soon the court was fil ed with the grunts and thuds of a dozen basketbal players punching and clawing one another—and the angry hoots of the crowd, cheering them on.
After al , who doesn’t like a little blood with their sport?
The refs blew their whistles and the coaches rushed in to pul their players away, but they couldn’t fight the chaos. And, somehow, in the confusion, after knocking one Wolf flat on his ass and barely avoiding the wrong end of a large fist, Adam found himself face-to-face with the true enemy.
Kane grinned at Adam, perhaps forgetting himself in the heat of battle. His usual y perfect hair was drenched with sweat and plastered to his forehead, his eyes were wild, and a smal trail of blood trickled down his face from a scratch along his temple. He smiled. And Adam exploded.
Lunging at Kane, he grabbed his old friend around the neck, pushed him against the floor, and punched him hard, in the face, where it would hurt the most, bruising his cartilage and his vanity. Adam wanted to keep punching, to feel the rhythm of Kane’s head slamming against the floor as if it were the bal , even while Kane gave up fighting back and curled up tight, waiting for it to end. And, simultaneously exhilarated and disgusted by the unfamiliar bloodlust, he might have done it—but they pul ed Adam off and threw him to the sidelines with the rest of his team.
He’d gotten only that first punch. Maybe, in the confusion, no
Similar Books
