Page 8 of Sweet Oblivion

The night fades as the feel of his hand on my thigh makes me sick.

Or it might have, but the world goes black first.

Ryker

“Hey, Kaleigh.” I want to tell her and Dawson to get a damn room instead of dry humping on the dance floor, but whatever works for them, I guess. Instead, I look around again. “Have you seen Delaney?”

“Uhh...” She glances from me to Dawson, and yeah, I know exactly what they were doing and how little attention she was paying to anything else. “Wasn’t exactly looking for her once she said you were taking her home. I know she’s small, but seriously, Ryker, did you lose her?”

Fucking Kaleigh.

She might be the biggest ball buster I know, and that’s saying something because my family is full of them.

I pat the team’s center on the shoulder. “Good luck with that one.”

The crowd is thinning as closing time gets closer, but she’s nowhere.

Fuck.

I look in the men’s room first because, well, it’s easier.

Men are scared of the women’s bathroom. Why the fuck does everyone go in pairs? What the hell do they do in there? Truthfully, I’d rather not find out, but when Delaney is still nowhere to be found, I suck it the fuck up and knock on the door in warning.

Damn, I hope I don’t regret this.

“I’m looking for Delaney, and I can’t hear your answer,” I call out. “I’m opening the door now.”

Oh, this could be so bad.

Slowly, I crack open the door, but luckily, there’s no one there. Luckily and unluckily, I guess, because where the hell did she go? Stepping back out into the hall, I check the owner’s office. Locked. Guess my cousin learned his lesson about leaving it unlocked when one too many of us used it for our own reasons.

The exit sign shines brightly over the door at the end of the hall, but there’s no way she went out there. Not at night. Not by herself. This woman is too street-smart for that.

Isn’t she?

Fuck.

Cracking it open, I’m about to call out her name when something to the right catches my eye.

Someone. Not something.

Is that—Dennings?

What the hell is he?—

Beautiful brown hair splays against the asphalt as he slams someone—wait, not someone.

Fuck.

Delaney.

I don’t think. I just move.

My fist flies into Dennings’s face with a satisfying crack, knocking him off her.

His pants are shoved down, but Delaney’s are still on.

She’s unconscious with a bruise already blooming on her face.