Letters Across the Sea by Genevieve Graham (spicy books to read .txt) 📕

in horror as the fighting overflowed onto the street, and more trucks arrived, bringing more men and weapons. When we were finally out of the fray, I turned back to an inconceivable sight. Everywhere I looked, I saw furious, bloodied faces, torn clothes, and tears.

Because of what? Religion? Race? A fascist leader a world away? But I knew the truth was much simpler than that. Ignorance had been the match to light the straw.

That’s when I remembered the two reporters I’d seen at the start of the game. They were somewhere in the middle of all this, and if they were any good, they were writing it all down. I knew what Rhea Clyman would do. And I suddenly knew what I had to do.

“You should go,” I told Hannah. “I have to stay.”

“What? Why? You can’t do anything here.”

“I need to see what’s happening. I need to write down the truth.”

Her eyes widened. “No. Not tonight, Molly. Come on. It’s dangerous.”

“Don’t worry. No one is coming after me.”

She touched my cheek, and her trembling fingertips came away wet with blood. “No?”

I winced. “They weren’t aiming for me.”

“We can’t stop you,” Mrs. Dreyfus said, then she kissed my brow. “Please stay out of the worst of it. Come home in one piece.” She looked desperately across the field. “If you find them—”

“I’ll bring them home.”

I watched them leave, then I turned back. It was easier to bully my way through the fighting now that I wasn’t tethered to anyone, but I stayed on the outskirts, swerving to avoid men pushing past. Behind the clubhouse, I paused to catch my breath, then I peered around the corner at the brawl. I could watch from here, I realized, and stay out of the worst of it.

The more I saw, the more I wished I had my pen and paper, but I was determined to set it all down in my mind so I could record it later. By now, the police had arrived, and I counted a couple dozen at least, but I didn’t see my father. Those on motorcycles went to work breaking up scuffles on the streets, while mounted policemen and officers on foot rushed into the crowd, but I couldn’t see how the police could possibly quell the riot.

A hand clamped onto my arm from behind, and I whirled around, heart racing. Phil Burke stood before me, practically glowing with victory despite a bloody lip and a swollen eye.

“Look who’s here!” he said. He checked around us. “Where’s your Jewboy?”

I yanked on my arm, but he held tight. “Leave me alone, Phil.”

“It’s okay, Molly,” he said, drawing in close and shooting fear through my veins. “I know it’s all an act.” He gave me a wink. “You’re a good little Orange girl at heart, just rebelling is all.”

I was shaking so hard my teeth were chattering, but I ground them together to hide it. “Go away.”

“Come on, Molly. Play nice.”

He reached out, fast as a snake, and grabbed me around the waist, ripping the seam of my bodice where it was already torn. With one jerk, my body was pressed against his, and he walked us both forward until my back slammed against the clubhouse wall.

“Get off me!” I jammed my hands against his chest, but his grip tightened even more, his hips pushed against mine. “Leave me alone!” I screamed, but my panic was swallowed up by the noise of the fighting.

He was so close I could feel his breath on my lips. “I don’t think so,” he said.

Suddenly Max was there, his fist a loaded weapon. Phil dropped like a stone, and I fell forward into Max’s arms. I buried my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the sweaty, dependable smell of him. I never wanted to let go.

After a moment, he took a step back, noticing the torn bodice of my dress. “He didn’t…?”

I shook my head.

“But you’re hurt.” He touched my cheek softly.

“So are you.” Blood trickled from a cut above one of his eyebrows, and there was another smear beneath his nose.

“It’s nothing. What are you doing down here, Moll? You should be at the top of the hill, safe. Or at home. Where are Hannah and Mama?”

“They went home, but I couldn’t leave.”

He frowned tightly at Phil, motionless in the dirt. “You’re in danger here.”

“So are you,” I said again.

“But this is my fight, Moll, not yours.”

I closed the gap between us and placed my hand in his, adrenaline making me brave. I couldn’t hear the crowd over the thundering of my heartbeat. “This is my fight too, Max. It’s us versus them, and I’m with you. I’ve always been with you.”

He glanced down at our hands, then back up at me. He shook his head. “Molly, I’ve thought about this—about you—every day… but you know we can’t. I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to stay away to make it easier on both of us.”

He was right. But when I looked into his eyes, all the reasons why faded into the background.

“But we can,” I said, knowing I was wrong.

Something melted in his expression, and I reached for him. My fingers wove through the damp hair at the back of his neck as his arms went around me, then he leaned down and I closed my eyes. When I felt the whisper of his lips on mine, the world and everything in it was suddenly gone, a million miles away.

“Molly,” he whispered, his long, dark lashes soft on his cheeks.

“What in God’s name—”

Max was ripped from my arms, and I saw him hit the ground hard.

“Get the hell away from my daughter,” my father roared, swinging his baton.

I grabbed his arm. “Dad! Stop!”

He threw off my grip, focused solely on Max. Dad’s face was beet red and slick with sweat, and his lip was drawn back in a horrible snarl. I’d never seen him so angry.

“I came to make sure my daughter was safe,” he shouted. “But it turns out you’re more