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Dammit.
“Whatever,” I whisper under my breath, pissed that I even let myself hope he would still be here.
I slip off the stage as the next dancer strides onto it, stretching out my tired muscles as I head for the dressing room. I worked harder tonight than I normally do on a Tuesday, and I can feel it in my body.
After changing quickly, I head outside, slipping out the back door and into the alley like I always do. But as the heavy metal door closes with a thud behind me, the hair on the back of my neck prickles.
I whip my head around just as the musclehead who followed me to the dressing rooms on Friday night steps closer, blocking my way back into the building.
“Hey, bitch,” he says in a hard voice that’s stone-cold sober this time. “Remember me?”
“No,” I lie, mentally cursing myself for being too distracted to pay attention to my surroundings. “Should I?”
I raise an eyebrow as I ask, crossing my arms over my chest and trying to project an unimpressed vibe. I suddenly wish I’d bothered to put a bra on under my tank top, just to have an extra layer between us.
“Oh, I think you do remember me,” he drawls, crowding into my space. He glowers down at me, his thick eyebrows drawing low over his eyes as his hands ball up into fists. “We got some unfinished business, Destiny.”
“Pretty sure you’re wrong,” I say, lifting my chin even as my heart starts to pound faster. “So why don’t you fuck off?”
My mind races as I speak, trying to figure out the best way out of this. He’s blocking my way to the door, and I’m still several yards away from the mouth of the alley. It wasn’t that hard to take care of this guy the other night when he was sloppy drunk, but there’s a clarity in his eyes that makes me certain he isn’t drunk tonight. He’s just pissed. And it won’t matter how dirty I can fight when he’s sober and has got, what, at least eighty pounds of muscle on me?
As if he can see me working out my odds in my head, a slow smile spreads across Musclehead’s face, sending a chill through me.
“Nah,” he drawls. “I don’t think I will fuck off. Not until I get what I want.”
I knew exactly what he wanted when he was drunk, stupid, and horny. Now he just looks straight-up mean, and adrenaline floods my system in a nauseating rush.
He reaches for me, and I slap his hand away. Lunging forward, I go for the same move I used last time, hoping that if I catch him off-guard, I might be able to get a good hit in before he can stop me.
But he’s too quick when he’s sober, and this time, he’s expecting it. He twists to the side when I try to knee him, then punches me in the chest with an open palm, hitting my sternum hard enough to knock the wind out of me. I wheeze for breath, staggering backward and colliding with the brick wall of the building, and he crowds my space, grabbing my left breast through my tank top hard enough to make me cry out.
“Jesus,fuck,” I gasp, clawing at his wrist in vain as I try to get him off me.
“Yeah, that’s right,” he croons, a vicious sneer in his voice. “Now you’re getting it.”
“Let me go, you fuckingpussy,” I pant, my stomach filled with hot rage.
Pinning me to the wall with the weight of his body, he shoves a hand between my legs, his hot breath wafting into my face. “Oh, you talking about this pussy?”
“Fuck…off!”
The rough texture of the wall bites into my skin as I writhe and twist, trying to get some leverage to shove him away from me.
But before I can, someone grabs him from behind.
Two large, inked hands fall onto his shoulders, yanking him away from me so fast that I stumble forward and almost trip over him when those same hands throw him to the ground.
“What the fuck?” Musclehead grunts, his voice strained as he lands with a thud.
He tries to push up to his feet, only to be slammed right back down again. And this time he stays down, thanks to two rapid-fire kicks to the ribs from a large boot. Before he can recover from the kick, the boot presses against his throat, pinning him in place as he groans pitifully and tries to roll out of the way.
I stare down at the man on the ground and then slowly raise my eyes to look at the one who’s got him pinned, rubbing my sore boob and trying to get my breathing under control as adrenaline pounds through me.
“Oh my god,” I whisper as my eyes lock with a pair of startlingly green ones.
It’s him. The gorgeous man I spent all night dancing for—whether he knew it or not.
“God? Nah, I just go by Dante,” he says, shooting me a cocky smirk.
