Discretely, Shea unraveled herself from his hold. Her face—that had become impossible to purge from my mind—tipped back just enough that I saw that same feigned smile she’d used on me the first time I’d seen her. But when she used it on this guy, it was pained, a forced pleasantry used to ward off attention she most definitely did not want.
It took all the control I had left to force myself to stay still, to sit there instead of lunging from the table to rip this guy’s arm clean from his body because he did not get the clue. He spread his hand out, palming her, fingers harassing at the frayed hem of her shorts.
She reared back and swung her shoulders, her body following as she turned on the guy. Anything that had resembled pleasant a few seconds ago had been extinguished. She spat words that I was dying to hear up toward his face, hers twisted in clear insult.
One the asshole clearly deserved but refused to receive.
He grabbed her by the jaw. Squeezed. Fingers he was about to lose indented her skin.
Panic flooded her. I could see it. Feel it. The way those eyes went wide. Her tray clattered to the floor when she let it loose and both her hands flew up to grip at his wrist. Struggling. But he didn’t let go. He just mashed his nose up to hers, screaming something at her that got eaten up by the band that played on as if they couldn’t sense something intrinsic in me coming apart.
Like a brittle, weakened beam of metal, that one piece that held me together, the control I exerted to make it through this life, bent, bent, bent.
Until it broke.
Shattered.
The way it always did when I was protecting something that meant something to me.
Sharp shards cutting me through.
Red colored my eyes, and black hate throbbed deep in those places I normally did my best to hide.
Shea.
Shea.
Shea.
A harsh breath left Lyrik, the man feeding off my hostility.
Because if there was going to be a brawl? Chances were, he and I were going to be a part of it.
I came out from under the confines of the booth, climbing onto the seat considering I was stuck between my crew. I felt as if I was on fire, incinerating from the inside out, the searing rush of protectiveness surging from my bones. It combusted in terror and rage when he threw her back by the face.
What. The. Fuck?
I lurched when she stumbled back into the table, all that blonde like a whip as it flew, caramel eyes rounding like the pour of espresso. Blackened with fear.
The circle of faces sitting around the table lit up in horror as it wobbled and tipped. All of their stools tumbled back as they rushed to get out of the way when Shea went crashing to the floor.
Glasses rained down. Shattering as amber liquid sloshed and splashed onto the hard wooden planks.
When she hit, her entire body bounced before she slid through the tangled mess.
Lyrik pulled his long, sinewy body to standing in the same second I used the table as a springboard, clearing half the distance before my feet hit the wooden floor.
People screamed and scattered, scrambling to get out of my way while others surged forward, those seeking safety at odds with the mass that were all too eager to see the shedding of blood.
And there would be blood.
He was still leering over her when I came up behind him. It was as if he was two beats from jumping in and debasing her more, when he jerked to look over his shoulder.
The satisfied smirk gleaming in his bombed-out eyes drained when he came to realization, that sobering moment when he understood there would be pain. I grabbed him by the popped-up collar of his preppy-boy shirt and used it as leverage to yank him forward in the same second I cocked my arm back and smashed my fist into his nose.