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I don’t see anyone though. The bartender is too busy pouring drinks, and the waitress I was talking to earlier has her hands full giving some guy a lap dance over in the corner. A bottle smashes somewhere to my left, and then a fight breaks out in the middle of the room.
“I’m Ben,” says the drunken guy.
“Hi, Ben, you might want to get off –”
“I play a bit too. Mind if I…” He suddenly grabs my guitar and yanks it so hard that the strap around my neck jerks my head to one side. “Come on, sugar, give me the fucking thing.”
I think not.
“Back off!” I snap, grabbing at my guitar and shoving Ben hard in the chest. “Touch my guitar again, and your balls will be swollen for a week.”
This makes him laugh. “Show us your tits,” he says, his breath strong enough to kill a horse, and I’m sorry, but did he really just say that?
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me, sugar…” he drawls, and in what’s no doubt meant to be a smooth move, he reaches across and palms my right breast with his enormous hand.
I shove him off me instantly, and he stumbles back again, flirting dangerously close to the edge of the stage.
“Fucking tease,” he growls. “Take a look around. You’ve come to the wrong place if you want to be a frigid little bitch.”
I swerve around him, heading for the side of the stage when he reaches for me again. His hands grip my waist so tightly I can hardly breathe. Finding the bottom of my blouse, his fingers slide across my stomach, and then he’s cupping both my breasts with greedy hands, pinching me, hurting me, and I think I’m going to be sick. I try and shove him off me, but it doesn’t work. He’s too big and too strong. He’s a wall of hard muscle, and I can’t shift him.
“Get off me!” I shout, squirming in his arms.
As if my words suddenly hold court with this guy, he releases me, and I open my eyes to see him tumbling right off the edge of the stage, landing with a dull thud on the beer-speckled floor, sprawled on his backside among a sea of drunken onlookers who aren’t really paying him much attention.
Reed steps in front of me, blocking my view.
Holy shit.Reed’s here.
Wait.
Reed’s here?Why?
His mouth is firm, pressed into a straight line, and his eyes look wild and feral under the bright fluorescent lights.
He’s breathing hard, nostrils flaring. And despite the fact that he’s frowning at me, I could throw my arms around him right now and kiss the shit out of him for saving me from the disgusting leech otherwise known as Ben.
“Hi,” I mumble. “What are you –”
“We’re leaving,” he cuts me off. “Now.” Clipped words are all I’m getting from him. “Get your stuff.”
He’s so bossy.
“But I haven’t finished my set yet.”
“Don’t care.”
“I still need to get my check from Lenny.”
“Fuck Lenny.” His tone is so decidedly domineering that I want to curl up into a ball and hide from the anger that’s rolling off him in tsunami-sized waves. “I’ve got your check. It’s in my pocket.”
“How?”
“I had a little chat with Lenny on the way in.” He grabs my hand and walks me off the stage. “He won’t be making the same mistake again. And neither will that dickhead over there.”
I look behind me as I’m dragged through the raucous crowd and notice two men dressed completely in black hauling Ben outside through a side entrance.
