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The throes of people part as I pass them, and my height gives me the ability to look over most of their heads. Being six foot seven is a pain in the ass when it comes to some doorways and commercial flights, but it comes in real fucking handy in times like this.
There must be thousands of people in here tonight, and even if I wanted to, I couldn’t ask anyone if they’d seen her because it’s too fucking loud on the dance floor.
For the first time since she walked down the aisle, I wish I’d taken more time to get to know Isla so I could try to piece together where she would hang out.
Once I reach the edge of the dance floor, I pull up the tracker again and make sure she’s still in the building before moving toward some high tables. She couldn’t just make this easy on me, could she?
There’s commotion at the edge of the area, and I move toward it out of instinct. There’s a reason I did so many tours after all.
I manage to shove through enough people that I see the exact moment Isla, in an outfit that would have any man on hisfucking knees, round on an asshole who seems to have had his hands on her.
She snaps something at him, and the anger on his face is palpable. I wish I could hear their exchange, because from the way his face contorts in anger, it would have been amusing if he didn’t do what he does next.
He catches Isla off guard and shoves her backward.
She doesn’t have a chance to catch herself, and I’m too far away from her, so I’m forced to watch as she falls and her head cracks against the hard concrete floor.
With little regard for the people around me, I shove through those who have gathered to watch the scene play out, each of them with varying degrees of disgust on their faces.
I drop to my knees beside her at the same time a short girl with a pixie cut does, panic flaring in her gaze as we both watch Isla’s eyes drift closed.
I drag her into my lap, careful to keep her neck and spine still in case she’s done real damage.
“Hey, don’t touch her,” the girl snaps.
“She’s my wife,” I growl, brushing the stray hair from her cheeks.
Panic washes over me in unfamiliar waves, because I’ve never felt like this before. I’m a fucking doctor. I’m the one everyone goes to when something goes wrong. But right now, I can’t think through the blinding panic to assess how to move forward.
The girl glances at me in surprise. Isla must not have told her about me, which isn’t entirely surprising seeing as I haven’t told many people of her existence.
And yet the thought of no one knowing she’s my wife has a possessive rage setting up shop beside the panic.
I glance down at her left hand and notice her wedding ring is missing.
Oh, little spitfire, you really are playing with fire.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ISLA
The loud bass of the club fades away as my body seemingly floats through the air.
I was vaguely aware of people yelling over the music before I was lifted from the cold, sticky floor, but I’m too out of it to make any sense of it.
Every now and then, I try to force my eyes open and try to understand where I am and what’s happening, but I’m too dazed, and eventually I stop trying and just allow my body to be at the mercy of whoever carried me from the club.
Honestly, it’s probably not the best decision I’ve made recently, but I don’t have much choice right now other than to go with it, and if it’s someone intent on harvesting my organs or something equally as gruesome, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.
“I’m Bella, by the way. I go to school with Isla.” The familiar voice brings me some semblance of peace, but I’m reserving judgment.
A familiar grunt comes in response, and it’s almost enough to drag me from my confused state.
Almost.
“I’m sorry I was so confused when you said you were her husband. We’ve only known one another for a week, so I was surprised and I can’t say I’ve noticed a ring on her finger.” She pauses. “I mean, I’m pretty unobservant to be fair, so it’s probably my bad.”
She’s nervous, and I’m not exactly surprised.
