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“Wanna dance?” he shouts over the music, and I shrug. I still have my cocktail, but what the hell, right? I’m here to have fun.
This is what fun looks like.
Taking a long gulp of my drink, I put it down and get up, letting him drag me to the dance floor.
We move among the hot, sweaty bodies, the music pounding through me, and I grin, letting my body sway to the beat. A couple of cute guys glance at me, and I wink.
Let’s party, baby.
But, belatedly, I realize the guy is still going, parting the crowd and emerging on the other side, at the dark far end of the club where booths and lone tables are taken up by kissing couples.
Um. “What are you doing?” He doesn’t reply, and I doubt I’d hear him over the music even if he did. In fact, I doubt he heard me, so I try again. “Stop.” I tug on his hold, trying to free my hand. “I said, stop.”
Still no reply. He’s moving fast, and I stumble after him. When he drags me toward an empty booth, I start to panic.
I dig in my heels and pull harder on his hand. “Let me go, let go right now!”
He yanks on my hand and slams me into the wall, suddenly looming over me. He’s really tall, and his eyes are hard, shiny and empty.
“Don’t I know you?” he asks, and maybe he does, who knows from where, but that’s not what’s on my mind right now.
“I said, let go,” I hiss, shoving at his chest with my free hand, the other one held between us in his bruising grip. “Jesus, what’s wrong with you? Leave me alone!”
He’s still looking at me, with that empty expression, though his dark brows have drawn together in a frown, as if he’s trying to puzzle this out. Where he knows me from—or why I’m resisting him?
Sicko.
And he hasn’t moved a muscle yet. He’s pressed too close to me, barely two inches separating our faces. His breath stinks of alcohol, and his body of chemicals and sweat. On a guy I like, I wouldn’t mind the smell of sweat. But on this one, it makes me want to throw up.
Fear keeps me still, so still. The rushing of blood in my ears and the beating of my heart are the only sounds I can hear, louder than the pounding music.
Is this how mice feel, I think, when a snake is about to strike? This cold panic that holds you like a spider’s web, like a fisherman’s net, so you can’t do anything but stare back?
“Man, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” a male voice says very close to my ear, and I jerk, my breathing uneven. “Let her go. Come on.”
The guy blinks. “Go away, Fen.”
“Nah, no can do. See, girl’s got her boyfriend searching the club for her. I thought to warn you. Can’t let you get beaten to a pulp now, can I?”
What is he talking about? A boyfriend? The only boyfriend I ever had was Quinn, back in Destiny, when I was seventeen, and we only ever kissed.
Tearing my gaze with difficulty from the asshole who’s still holding me, I glance sideways at the new guy, and in the flashing lights, I catch a glimpse of a handsome face and spiky hair.
“He won’t let me go,” I whisper, and my stomach churns.
Who is he? Is he my rescuer, or more trouble?
I’m dizzy.
I’m terrified.
The man’s empty eyes slide from me to this Fen guy. “I said, go the fuck away.”
“Come on, man. You don’t want trouble, not tonight. Plenty of chicks around. Take your pick.”
“Damn you. Spoiling my fun.” The hold on my wrist slackens. “Pass her back to her boyfriend, or whatever the fuck. I’m going to get another drink.”
“Yeah. You know I’ll always have your back,” Fen says, and grabs my other wrist. “Come on, sweet cheeks. Let’s get you back where you belong.”
