My head gets light. Vision blurs. Rage spikes through my veins at the mention of Jessica combined with the worry I have for my brother. How could he be so stupid? The people his dad runs with are hardened criminals, mafia, gangs, the worst of the worst. The kind of men who make people disappear, or worse, make them unrecognizable.
I push up from my seat and move away with staggered steps, hate and remorse battling away in my chest. My feet carry me through the crowd of bodies. Where? I don’t know, just . . . away. I push through people, shoving everyone who blocks my path.
“Watch it, asshole!”
I ignore the voices and search for the bathroom, somewhere to splash cold water on my face and calm my shit down. There’s a hallway, dark but lit with neon. Possibly the restrooms or, even better, a back exit I can get the hell out and into some fresh air.
My legs carry me back, but my head is stuck on the dilemma of how in the hell to save my brother from himself. Why can’t he—Omph!
A tiny body goes flying and lands hard. “Ouch!”
That voice. Anger rockets to the surface. I reach down and grab her by her upper arms, lifting her off the ground harder than I intend, mostly because she weighs next to nothing.
I focus on her big eyes and parted lips. Her hair is pulled tight into a sleek long ponytail, and she tilts her head back to glare up at me.
“What is it with you?” I roar in her face. “Why the fuck can’t you keep yourself safe?”
Trix
“What? You ran into me, jerk!” I try to shrug out of his hold, but he takes two steps forward until my back presses against the wall.
My ass burns, pain slicing through my left cheek. Why is he looking at me like he wants to kill me . . . or eat me?
Whatever softer side of Mason I saw at the Community Youth Center is a memory. The dickhead is back.
He leans in, his eyes on my lips, his angered breath in bursts against them. Silence builds between us, along with something else. Something alive ripples between his chest and mine. His glare, piercing blue fire, lights beneath a wavy mess of blond hair. I’m sucked in, falling helplessly into the draw of his gaze.
Without warning, he pushes closer and buries his nose into my neck, breathing in deep and running it from my shoulder to my ear. My head tilts, unable to resist the gentle touch: so innocent and yet heavy with promise of something more.
“Mmm, what is it about you?” The rumble of his deep voice races goose bumps down my arms. “You smell like heaven.”
No, I don’t want this. Not when he’s mad. His hands glide down my arms to my hips, and his long powerful fingers clench my flesh. My eyes fall shut on a moan.
I’m like clay, molding to his will, helpless in a way I can’t explain, but the power of his body and the sense that he’s hanging onto the last string of his control are a heady combination. His lips join in the exploration of my neck, not wet, just soft sweeps against my shoulder.
“Mason . . . wha—what are you doing?” I don’t want him to stop, but this isn’t right. Just seconds ago he looked like he wanted to rip my head off. Even still, I won’t push him away. I’m physically incapable of pushing him away, completely at his mercy.
“What are you doing to me, Trix?” He drops his forehead against my shoulder, and his breathing is heavy enough to match my own. He moves and pushes me back, holding my hips so that my backside presses into the wall.
A hiss shoots from my lips.
“Fuck!” He puts space between us, but remains with a firm hold on me. “Did I hurt you?”
I turn slightly so that the neon pink light shines on my bottom, which is on fire like a brutal case of road rash.
Mason squints. “Is it . . . you’re bleeding.”
Well crap. I am. I shrug and tap lightly against the broken skin. “I broke your phone; you broke my ass.” The stinging pain cools a little of the heat he’d electrified earlier with his touch.
“Damn.” He squats for a closer look and sucks air through his teeth. “I’m really sorry.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it. The owner of this place just added this textured sandpaper floor because the girls kept slipping in their heels back here. I guess they never considered what would happen if one of us got slammed into it by a behemoth when we’re wearing nothing but lace cheekies.”
His eyes flare and study my panties. “Is that what these are?” His finger motions to my hip.
“Oh, uh, yeah.” This man is unnerving. His size, good looks, hot and cold demeanor . . . I’m fumbling over myself. And I never fumble, especially around men. “Should’ve worn my leather panties. They’re skid-proof.” Stop talking, you sound like an idiot.
He peers up at me. “I can fix this. Do you have a first aid kit?”
“Oh, psht.” I wave him off. “No worries, I’ll take care of—”
“No.” He shakes his head then rubs the back of his neck. “I feel bad. Let me fix it.”