“Hannah,” Rafe snaps in a tone that’s like a whip, yanking on my attention. “Go!”
This time, he doesn’t have to tell me twice. I whirl on my heel and race inside, searching for Mara. She’s not at the bar or on the dance floor. Am I just too frantic to see her? It’s as if every nearby face blurs into the same indistinguishable person until I’m blinded by panic. My attempts grow desperate. Sloppy.
“Mara! Mara?” Without meaning to, I stagger into another dancer who hisses in irritation.
“Watch where you’re… What the fuck?”
Suddenly, the music dies mid-song. Bright lights flick on overhead at the same moment, and in the absence of ambiance, the fantasy is ripped away. Gone is the majestic allure, and we’re left standing in a brick room, crammed with people who murmur in shock.
Then alarm, as a scream echoes in the distance, and the calm erupts into chaos.
It’s as if everyone heads to the exit at once. In the resulting crush, my body is buffeted, a rag doll in the tempest.
I can’t breathe. Can’t think. A hand slams into my back as I grasp at flailing, lashing limbs, desperate for stability. Eventually, I find myself being shoved forward, back the way I came.
Outside is a different world from the typical, clubgoing scene I’d witnessed just minutes before. People stream from the mouth of the club, clogging the road and stopping what little traffic remains. Amid the shouting, honking chaos, a group of men stands before the entrance—Gino and his two thugs, and Rafe, who seems woefully outnumbered.
“Hannah!” Mara comes out of nowhere, clutching my wrist. Her hair is askew, her makeup smudged, her wide eyes darting around the crowded street. “This is bad. We need to leave.”
I agree as my throat contracts to choke down a building sense of dread. The scene unfolding just paces away seems so surreal, like something out of a movie. A bad one where someone winds up dead in the end.
“I suggest you turn around and head back to that fucking shithole you call a club, if you even have any business left,” Rafe growls. How I hear him above the noise, I have no idea. Scurrying patrons create a thin path through which I can make him out, standing tall. “Don’t blame me if you hold on to your territory as well as you do your women.”
I don’t catch Gino’s reply or anything else for that matter. Just my heartbeat, surging through my ears, pounding…pounding.
“Hannah! Come on!” Mara yanks on my wrist until I stagger down the block after her, away from the inevitable fight. Right before we reach the intersection, my steps falter. I can’t stop myself from craning my neck and looking back.
And…though it defies logic, his eyes meet mine instantly, conveying a command I feel in my bones. Go.
“Hannah! We have to get the hell out of here—”
“Where’s the rush, baby?” a man wonders, his voice cruel and unfamiliar, uttered near my ear.
“Hannah!” Mara’s scream rings out ominously as her fingers slip from my wrist. Ripped away. Someone different has a hold of me now, yanking until I’m staggering after them, back through the crowd. Far too quickly, they shove through the center of the commotion. All I see is Rafe as hands slam against my back, propelling me toward Gino. Grinning, he hooks his arm around my neck, forcing me against him. The cloying stench of his cologne threatens to choke me, his touch crawling over my skin.
“Look what I found,” the man who grabbed me growls—a tall brute with a round face and massive bulk.
“A pretty little thing,” Gino croons. The ragged tip of his thumb scratches my cheek in a twisted caress. “Friend of yours? Hannah? Not blond, but who knows, I could get exotic for a change.” He winks. “We’ll see who does a better job of holding on to his women.”
“Let her go.” Rafe’s inflection doesn’t change, but his posture stiffens, his hands forming fists. “You don’t want this fight.”
“Is that so?” Gino laughs and brandishes his knife, tapping the edge of it against my throat. With each brush of the blade, he goes deeper, toying with the topmost layer of flesh. A sound bubbles in my throat that I don’t recognize. A whimper?
But it has nothing to do with the man behind me and everything to do with the figure watching, his body poised on the balls of his feet. His body radiates power—raw, volatile rage—to