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So, I’ve turned into something of a stalker. I had Tess’ coworker hack her phone so I could track her locations at all times. I’m not even ashamed of it. She should never have goaded me like she did last week. Yes, I want her to come back to me when she’s ready, but I’m not going to stand by and let anyone else take her from me in the meantime.
When the other boys don’t answer, she turns her flinty gaze on me.
“What are you doing here, Tristan?” she hisses.
“The same thing they are,” I reply, pointing a thumb in their direction.
“And what’s that?”
“Enforcing a hands-off policy,” Phoenix clarifies helpfully, his eyes sharp on the area where Six is dancing.
Nera scoffs.
“Tell him to leave,” she orders him, haughtily.
“I’m afraid I can’t interfere.”
She crosses her arms and glares at Rogue, trying a different tactic. “You were all set to burn him at the stake when you background checked him. What’s changed?”
“He’s been groveling for three months, I’m starting to pity the guy,” Rogue says with a shrug.
“Yes, well you would, wouldn’t you, Mr. I-Barely-Groveled,” she jabs, indignantly. “I don’t know why I bother asking any of you. You’re all as guilty as each other. It’s like asking ex-cons if they think a convicted felon should be paroled.”
Rogue’s eyes narrow on her and his mouth parts.
I shove his chair with my foot before he can say anything, bringing his attention over to me.
“Watch it,” I warn.
“You,” Nera says, turning on me with her hands on her hips. She’s wearing a tight bodycon dress, her miles of long legs on display for me and every other fucker here. “I don’t want to see you.”
“No problem, I’ll stay right here,” I say, easily. She turns on her heels and starts to stalk off. The silky sound of my voice stops her in her tracks. “So long as you don’t let anyone touch you.”
She throws me a sharp look that promises retribution.
“You’ve signed yourself up for quite a show tonight then, Tristan,” she says, walking backwards away from me until she’s swallowed into the crowd.
Her words punch me in the chest. I don’t have time to gauge the retaliatory intent behind them because she reappears moments later, except this time her arms are wrapped around a random guy’s neck and his hands…
His hands are on her fucking waist.
I’m out of my chair and tossing my drink on the floor in the same breath. I shoulder through the crowd, shoving people out of my way like pins being flung aside by a bowling ball.
The music changes and the lights switch, the dancers now jumping to a different beat.
I momentarily lose her in the crowd.
Panic and protectiveness claw at my chest, urging me to get her in my sights once more. Everywhere I turn, I think I see her.
I spin, frantically searching the crowd, almost lightheaded from the need to find her.
Finally, the sea of people moves and parts and she appears before me. Her gaze is pinned on me, a brow arched provokingly as if to askwhat are you going to do?
Her hands are still on him and that makes me want to fucking die.
My jaw twitches to keep from roaring in fury. I charge through the crowd towards her. When my hands close around her arms, an explosion of relief bursts from my lips. She yelps and wriggles in my arms. She continues to struggle like a fucking banshee as I drag her off the dancefloor.
“Tristan, let me g– what the, stop! No, put me down!” she shrieks when, tired of her hampering my progress, I grab her around the thighs and toss her over my shoulder.
