felt it in my soul. In my hands. In my feet. I twirled off on my own, the crowd following me—and I danced like I used to dance. I danced like no one was watching. Free from every burden, every hurt, and every sharp-edged memory that continued to make me bleed—
—until I felt the hard hand of a man, stopping my dance under the stars, while I seemed to float toward heaven.
My breath came out in a whoosh and he stepped back, but he didn’t let go. His eyes had taken on that eerie quality of the flames. Those eyes were able to warm me in a delightful way and turn me into molten lava in a painful way at the same time.
Disappointment wafted off of him in deep huffs, and the tension in his jaw sent the tick into overdrive.
“Boooooy!” Violet screeched, pointing in our direction. “You gotta change your crazy ways, do you hear me!” Every word came out in a slur, in a soft mash of coherence and incoherence.
Mick grabbed her by the arm and steadied her, looking around at the group of guys with challenge in his eyes.
Brando came closer to my lips, sniffing. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Time to go.”
I yanked my arm from his grip. “What took you so long? Mmm…your tattler mole didn’t get back to you right away?” I had to admit, my words were a slurred, soft mash of the stronger tone I had been aiming for, but the world seemed to be floating into oblivion.
Brando glanced at Mick before his hot eyes returned to mine. The rise and fall of his chest was a labored effort. “Scarlett.” My name held both a warning and a plea.
“Brando,” I returned the tone. Except mine was more warning than plea.
“Party’s over.” He took a step forward.
I took a step back, close to a guy who had huddled around in the circle to watch the drama unfold. He tried to pull away from me without me noticing, but I held him in a tight embrace—alcohol made me have superhuman abilities, or it made me think that I did. “No, no, the party is not over just because Brando Fausti says it is.” I turned to look at the guy. “What’s your name?” I whispered.
“Todd,” he whispered back.
I heard a bit of tremble when he said his name but decided to ignore it. Man up, Todd. “Todd and I have plans. And the party is not over until I say it is.” I held tighter to Todd.
Brando kept his eyes steady on mine. “If Todd wants to keep his two hands, Todd will move.”
“Ah!” I screamed. “You can’t do that! You can’t tell me what to do! You can’t force Todd to be a walkaway Joe! You can’t tell Todd—" I looked for Todd, but he had slipped out of my trap. He had faded into the group, either hiding out or long gone. “See! You can’t do this! You can’t boss me around like I’m your little sister. I’m not! I’m me, Scarlett Poésy—a girl with a brain, and enough common sense to know that I love you and you don’t—”
I didn’t see it coming. In a mind-defying swoop I was lifted up off the ground, swept off my feet, and placed over Brando’s shoulder. I bounced up and down with every step he took.
Instead of pounding him on the back while calling him offensive names in French, like I should have, whatever part of my brain that had not succumb to the dangers of alcohol had urged me to remember the sanctum of modesty. I tried to keep my skirt down to the best of my ability. Some proper ballerina I was turning out to be.
We stayed this way for some time, me bobbing up and down, trying to keep my skirt down, and him carrying me to whichever cave he had reserved for the wicked and frustrating.
“Put.” Bob. “Me.” Bob. “Down!” I said the words as forcefully as one could in the strong hold of another.
The fury of his silence met me. After a few attempts to regain control of the situation, I finally relaxed in his hold, figuring it was futile to even try.
I heard Violet laughing in the distance, so I knew that not all was lost. Just when I thought that I was going to be sick, and I wasn’t going to warn him as revenge, we came to another part of the tracks, where another party