Page 8 of Between Two Thorns

“You ain’t,” Rose snapped back. “But I am.”

And then he was leaning in. Mouth first. Aiming for hers. Like he was about to eat her face—or worse, steal her first kiss.

“Fuck off, face hugger.” Rose cursed him, stomping down with the heel of her boot, landing on an overly priced tennis shoe-clad toe.

Chad howled loud enough to be heard over the music.

The corner of Rose’s mouth had just curled up into a smirk when the jerk shoved her in the side.

And she tripped back on her heels.

The world spun. And dramatically fell in slow motion and all at once.

The next thing she knew, she was tumbling down, feeling a sudden jolt of pain as her ass met the ground.

The inviting dance floor was unforgiving as a rock.

Somehow, that wasn’t the worst of it.

The wall of people—the jiving, living mass that she had admired as it moved in sync like a body with many parts—turned on Rose and swallowed her whole. Like a monster with many teeth and gums gnashing at her and constricting her like a snake.

A forest of legs pressed in on every side and the music died out, muffled by the pure and horrifying press of flesh.

Rose quickly yanked her arms back, clutching them fiercely to her chest and her wildly thumping heart.

But her feet weren’t as lucky.

A foot slammed down on her ankle, pinning her in place. It could have been the heel of a high-heeled shoe or the sole of a heavy sneaker; she didn’t know, and she didn’t care. All that mattered was the harsh coldness of the hardwood floor beneath her.

And pain shot up through her leg. Making her wonder if the bone would break under all the weight.

And if she would be trampled under the dancing feet, she’d so desperately wanted to join.

Mr. Strong & Silent

DelcanReddickwashavingone hell of a night. It couldn’t possibly get any worse.

College nights were already shit. He hated the loud music, the flashing lights, and the fucking crowds. That was why he sat in the corner of the Bone & Barrel and glared at anyone who thought about taking his spot. His scowl and general don’t fuck with me attitude usually scared them off—Unless, they wanted something he was selling.

He knew why his uncle sent him off to these damn bars with entitled white kids who’d just as easily buy a bag of laxatives and laundry powder was beyond him. Nah, he got it. But he sure as hell didn’t like it. In the group the Reddicks ran with, he was the pretty face.

And wasn’t that a sad thought?

Del pushed his dirty-blonde fringe out of his face, only for it to fall back over his light green eyes. He wasn’t cute. He sure as hell wasn’t some sort of pretty face—everyone said he’d had a scowl. If they weren’t saying he looked grungy, no matter how clean he was.

Del scoffed at his short glass of brown liquid, stirring it like the ice had offended him.

“Something that drink said sideways to ya?” Bonnie asked from behind the bar.

Del felt his eyes roll up to face her, his expression entirely unamused. “You makin’ fun of the way I talk, ma’am?”

“No.” Bonnie said solemnly, immediately cutting it out with the fake southern accent. Good, cause it crawled right up Del’s nerves and stuck in his craw.

He swirled his drink again, taking another sip, and realizing that Bonnie was still standing in front of him. He raised an eyebrow at her, which was invisible under his untamable hair. But Bonnie seemed to get the message.

“Just came over here for the stirring conversation you always provide, honey.” She gave a smirk, and Del gave a scoff.

No one in their right mind or wrong would ever fucking think that he was the chatty type. He didn’t wanna talk to anyone, and he didn’t care what they said to him. There was a wall up between Del and the rest of the world, and that was the way he damn well liked it.

---