Even the girl on Jack's arm was laughing—she tried to hide it behind her hand, but her whole body shook with it.
Tommy had just dick-slammed Jack Morrison in the most public way possible. In front of his crew. In front of girls he was trying to impress. In front of the entire Lincoln Club who would spread this story to every social circle in LA by tomorrow morning about the Morrison Prince's dick game.
Complete and total annihilation.
Jack's face went from red to purple. Not embarrassment—pure, unfiltered rage. That mask of calm shattered completely, revealing what was underneath: humiliated eighteen-year-old who'd just been destroyed by someone he'd always considered beneath him.
His fist came up—no warning, no thought, just pure animal reaction—swinging toward Tommy's face with every ounce of wounded pride and anger behind it.
Time slowed.
My body moved before conscious thought finished processing.
