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20
LEO
I situp straighter and lean forward in my seat.
“I knew he’d watch.” It’s the guy from my right, but I ignore him.
I ignore everything else except for the woman in front of me. Her black dress flares up around her thighs when she spins around on her tall heels. Her hips sway with the bass line, rocking and swiveling in a hypnotic trance.
I stare, transfixed by her. I don't even need to look around to know that she's thrown a wide net, probably inadvertently too, and she's captured everyone's attention, regardless of which stage they're sitting in front of.
She tips her head back, her hair sliding over her shoulders to fall behind her. Her eyes are closed, her long, dark lashes stark against her cheekbones. She raises her arms in the air and moves her body in such a way that I feel like she's some sort of snake charmer, and I'm a helpless reptile.
I don't let the jealousy that's bubbling up in my gut take over. No, that'd be a cop out. Too easy. There's a reason she's here. A reason she willingly went on a stage here, like this.
And that stupid fucking organ in between my ribs beats painfully at the knowledge it's because of me. I can't decide if I'm going to wring her neck or kiss the hell out of her when I get my hands on her.
I can't believe she's here. More than that, I can't believe my brothers let her be here without them. I can’t bear to tear my gaze from her to check for any of them lurking in the corners.
I'm so goddamn grateful though, because if she's here, then so are my brothers. Despite my ego’s insistence that I would’ve been fine on my own, I’m not an idiot. I’m navigating infested waters here with some species of sharks I’ve never even heard of.
Madison bunches her skirt in her hand and slowly raises the fabric as she sways her hips from side to side and rolls her body. My lips part and hunger in my gut roars. I don't even know how many days it's been, but it feels like an eternity since I last touched her.
My veins buzz with the need to storm the stage and pull her off. To whisk her away from here—preferably somewhere private and not in enemy territory.
As if summoned by my yearning, her eyes fly open and connect with mine instantly.
There's no shock. She doesn't stiffen or startle, which tells me all I need to know: She knew I was out here. I stiffen as she walks to the end of the stage and down the three steps until she's on the floor level. I flash her a warning with my gaze, but she doesn’t pause. She’s on a mission, and goddamn her stubborn determination, because she struts toward me with deep rolls of her hips.
When she’s in front of me, and my chest is beating loud enough to wake the dead, she tilts her head to the side. “Want a dance?”
I rake my teeth across my bottom lip to give myself a moment to figure out how the hell I’m supposed to play this. A hand clamps on my shoulder and I don’t have to look over to know it’s Tommaso.
“Hell yeah, he wants a dance. Consider it a last meal.” The last part is directed at me, and even though there’s humor in his tone, I don’t fucking care.
Not when I have this angel standing in front of me. She nods and steps in between my legs, my hands reaching up reflexively to touch her.
These fucking zip ties restrict my movement, and an overwhelming frustration douses me in a boiling vat of rage.
“Why don't you take our little dancer here over to that booth we were sitting in earlier?” He sits down in his earlier vacated chair, still looking at his phone.
I hold my wrists up a few inches and raise a brow.
“No can do, man. I guess you'll have to get creative—or let her do all the work.” He smirks at me.
I bury the desire to wipe it from his face with my fist. There are more important things on my mind—like her. She places her hand on my forearm, grounding me further. I don’t allow myself to look at her, afraid they’ll see my feelings. They’re too big to conceal and I never was that good at acting.
“C’mon, handsome.”
Her soft voice is pitched lower than usual. The sound of it squeezes the air from my lungs. A unique blend of terror and relief slams into my gut, temporarily short-circuiting my brain. I concentrate on breathing in and out while we walk the twenty feet over to the booth.
I slide in first, just enough to make it seem like I’m into whatever is about to go down and not planning our immediate escape. When Madison stands between my legs, I realize why the table is so far away from the bench seats. I feel her eyes on me, but I can’t look at her, not until I’m sure this isn’t a test or a trap.
I block out the feeling of her hands on my chest, slowly sliding up over my shoulders and around the back of my neck, stopping in my hair. She’s making it fucking hard to concentrate here. A sharp tug on my hair grants her wish, and I jerk my face up to hers.
“I’ve been so worried about you.” She breathes the words an inch from my mouth, effectively blocking out any prying eyes.
My gaze races around her face, detailing the stamp of freckles along the bridge of her nose that spill onto the tops of her cheeks. The gentle slope of the bridge of her nose and her plump lips, the bottom one slightly fuller than the top. I memorize the way her eyes shine, a glossy sort of sheen that looks like she’s holding back tears.
