#2
Not because the risk got smaller. Because she looks alive. She moves to the music before she even realizes she’s doing it, shoulders loosening, hips swaying just slightly. Tessa grabs her hand and pulls her toward the dance floor, and Olivia looks back at me. Question. Reminder. Promise.
I nod once.
She goes. Not far. Close enough.
Eli shifts near the edge of the floor. Connor moves to the other side. Tate stays near the path to the front.
I don’t dance. I don’t drink. I watch.
Olivia lets the music take over in small pieces at first, careful movements, testing herself.
Then Tessa says something that makes her laugh, and Mia spins her, and for one second, the fear falls off her face.
Not all of it. Enough. She dances like she remembers who she was before men with folders and needles tried to rewrite her life.
That should make me feel better. It doesn’t.
Because every perverted fucker in the room sees it too.
Their eyes drag over her. Legs. Mouth. Hair. The way she moves.
They watch her like prey. They don’t know what they’re looking at.
They don’t know she already belongs to a man standing fifteen feet away who has counted every exit, every face turned too long, every hand that gets too loose near her body.
They don’t know that wanting what’s mine is a dangerous hobby.
My jaw tightens.
A guy near the bar says something to his friend and nods toward her. His friend laughs. Neither moves.
They can live.
Another man cuts closer to the dance floor, pretending to work his way through the crowd while his eyes stay fixed on Olivia. Connor steps into his path.
Good.
The man complains. Connor doesn’t respond.
Better.
The music shifts heavier, and the crowd presses tighter. Olivia’s group gets pulled slightly toward the center. I move with the flow, staying close without entering the crush fully. She looks back once. Finds me immediately.
Good girl.
My focus sharpens. Too many variables. Too many hands. Too many fucking men looking at her. A body bumps my shoulder. I don’t look away from her.
“Watch it,” someone mutters.
Blaze would’ve had a joke. Joker would’ve smiled.
I just turn my head enough for the man to see my face.
He disappears into the crowd.
Smart.
Olivia lifts her drink, takes a small sip, then keeps it in her hand instead of putting it on the table next to her. Good. She’s listening even when she pretends she isn’t.
Tessa shouts something near her ear, and Olivia laughs again, head tipping back.
The man behind her notices. Mid-thirties. Blue shirt. Intoxication in his face, but not enough to excuse the way he moves. He slides into the space behind her like he belongs there. He doesn’t.
My body goes still. Not tense. Ready.
Olivia doesn’t see him.
Mia’s turned toward Tessa. Tessa is laughing. Eli is blocked by two women moving between him and the dance floor. Connor’s line is cut off by a group near the side.
The man steps closer. Too close.
No.
His hand lands on Olivia’s hip. The room changes. Not slowly. Not with thought. One second I’m at the edge of the dance floor. The next I’m moving. Fast. Explosive.
I reach them before the man’s fingers tighten. My hand clamps around his wrist. I rip him off her.
He stumbles back, shouting something I don’t care enough to hear. Olivia turns fully now, eyes wide, but I’m already between them.
The guy shoves at my chest.
Mistake.
I drive him backward with one hard hit to the sternum. He drops against a table, knocking drinks over, glass smashing across the floor. The crowd around us jerks back, noise changing from music and laughter into shouts and panic. “What the fuck, man?” he yells, trying to stand.
I step in. He swings.
Worse mistake.
I catch his arm, turn it, and use the momentum to slam him face first into the edge of the table. Not enough to kill. Enough to teach. Blood hits the surface, and his knees buckle.
A friend of his lunges from the side.
Eli intercepts him, driving him back into the crowd with both hands. Connor grabs another guy by the shirt before he can decide whether he wants to be stupid. Tate moves toward Olivia’s group, trying to carve space around them. Too much movement. Too fast.
The crowd starts to surge. Someone screams. Someone shoves. The music keeps pounding for another few seconds before cutting off abruptly, leaving the panic louder than the bass.
I keep one hand on the first guy’s neck, pinning him down. “You touch her again,” I say near his ear, “you lose the hand.”
He freezes.
Good.
I shove him down and turn.
Olivia.
For one second, I had her. I knew where she was. Tessa had her arm. Mia was beside her. Tate was moving in. Now the crowd rolls between us. A wall of bodies. Moving. Shoving. Panicking. I lose visual. One second. That’s all.
One fucking second.
And my blood goes cold. Not rage. Not anger. Fear. Sharp. Immediate. Unacceptable.
“Olivia!” I roar. People flinch away from the sound. I shove through the crowd, eyes cutting left, right, over heads, between shoulders.
Tessa’s voice cuts through somewhere to my right, shouting Olivia’s name too. Mia is yelling. Eli is trying to push against the surge. Connor’s got one man shoved against a post. Tate is swearing near the table. Too much noise. Too many bodies.
No Olivia.
My hands curl into fists.
The room narrows down to one absence.
Her.
I move harder, pushing bodies out of my way without caring who hits the floor.
She promised. Stay close. No wandering. No disappearing. But crowds don’t give a fuck about promises. And if someone else touched her while I was putting down a drunk asshole, if someone used that chaos, if I let one hand on her hip distract me from the threat that mattered…
I’ll tear this place apart.
“Find her!” I bark at the prospects.
Eli’s head snaps toward me. His face drains. Because he knows.
They all know.
This fight wasn’t the danger. It was the opening.
And I just lost sight of what’s mine.