Born Wrong Read Online Free Page A

they don't know what it's like to feel pain so deep it becomes a part of you. So they show up here in flocks and herds and they drink us up, lap our blood like candy and smack their lips on the way out. I don't want them eating my pain anymore, not mine or Naomi's or Hayden's. Fuck you Tyler Rutledge, Stephen Hammergren. You're a petri dish to this virus, a breeding ground for this shit.
    The mics screech as they roll away in the scuffle, and Naomi's Wolfgang howls its darkness to the soaring ceilings above us as the girls break out into a brawl that's twice as tough as the one at the safe house. This is a no-holds-barred, claws out, break the skin sort of a fight right here.
    “Stop!” I scream, reaching in, getting hit in the jaw by Naomi first and then Hayden. The bruises on my face explode in white hot agony, and I stumble back. These two are a hell of a lot tougher than they look, rising to their feet in a flurry of blood and rage. Nobody else moves in to help. Why the fuck would they? This is too good to pass up. Perfect press, the right amount of violence, sex, jealousy. If America didn't already have this planned out, I'd be surprised.
    I shake my head and move back in, grabbing Hayden around the waist and physically lifting her out of Naomi's reach. It takes a lot out of me, but it doesn't stop the fight, not by a long shot.
    “You like this?” Naomi asks, grabbing the mic from the stage and lifting it back up to her bleeding lips. “Are you enjoying the show?” The crowd starts off in a gentle murmur and then rises up, as if in protest. “Because I know I am. I know I'm tired of being pushed around and played for a fucking fool. I'm tired of people getting hurt, and I'm tired of playing second best.”
    Hayden growls, and even lets out a small scream when I won't let her go. If she gets to that mic, it's only going to make things worse.
    “Remember why you're here and what you're doing this for,” I whisper into her ear. Hayden doesn't stop struggling, her body a lithe mixture of lean muscle and bones. She hasn't been eating enough lately. Not that I blame her. “You have a daughter that's counting on you, Hayden,” I say and even though her eyes well up with tears, she doesn't stop fighting, kicking and elbowing me as hard as she can. All of that practiced professionalism, the white-toothed smile, and the glowing stage presence, it's fading away. Even her arrogance, that shield against the pain and the frustration, it's starting to go, too. Eventually, this woman is going to wither away into nothingness, consumed from the inside out. All I want to do is make sure that doesn't happen.
    “Yeah, that's what I fucking thought,” Naomi says and then drops the mic on the stage, sliding her Wolfgang off, and moving offstage like she could give two fucks less than none.
    “Hayden,” I whisper into her hair, trying to get her to calm down, to remember that the world is watching, that he could be watching. “Tyler wants you to play a part, remember?”
    “Tyler doesn't give a fuck,” she growls out, finally breaking from my grasp as I take a step back and try to calm the white spots blurring my vision. Fucking tornado. Hayden spins to face me, tucking brunette strands behind her ear, struggling to catch her breath as she stands there pink cheeked and fuming. “Tyler. Doesn't. Give. A. Fuck. Because Tyler isn't here.”
    “But he could be watching,” I say, well aware that for probably the first time since we've come onstage, the cameras are focused on me.
    “He could be,” Hayden says, her mouth twisting up into a smirk, emotions being crushed under a veil of false bravado. “He could be, but he's not. Right now, Tyler Rutledge is at the hospital.”

“Tyler?” Ronnie's girlfriend asks a split second before some dude in a trench coat is getting up close and personal with my face.
    “Miss Charell?” he asks, very polite. He's got a nice accent too, but his breath stinks like bullshit. I'm used to