Page 3 of Bound to a Monster

More like a cheap mafia prize fighter.

Panic slams into my chest. Now I have to deal with this asshole, placate him somehow, fix his shirt or dry him off or give him money orsomething, and forget about sex tonight.

It’s not happening.

I wasted my one chance. I’m getting married in four weeks, and my father won’t be going out of town again before it happens. That means there won’t be any other risky nights like this one, no last-ditch shots at keeping a piece of myself purely for myself.

“Seriously, I’m really sorry. Here, I have money in my clutch—” An insane plan forms in my brain. I don’t even know why, but the way he’s talking to me, the way he’s grabbing me, it manages to turn all my fear into pure anger. Fuck this guy for ruining my night. Fuck him for thinking he can touch me just because I made a mistake.

I reach inside and grab onto my big lipstick tube.

As I pull it out, the asshole yanks on my arm hard enough to hurt.

“Fuck your fucking money, youbitch?—”

Say what you want about my father. He’s controlling, he’s manipulative, he’s emotionally distant and borderline abusive, but he didnotraise me to be soft.

This asshole just crossed the line. He was being aggressive and douchey, but he kind of had a right to be.

But the moment he hurt me?

All fucking bets areoff.

I don’t even think about it. Years of training click into place. I drop into my fencing stance, yanking myself away from him, and as he growls and comes for me again, I lunge the lipstick tube forward and jab it right into his throat.

It’s one hell of a strike. Pride blossoms in my belly. The end gets him as his momentum drives him forward into my strike, and he ends up stumbling to the side, gripping his neck and gagging. His face turns red in shock as he looks at me with bulging eyes.

If this was a fencing match, I’d scream with excitement over my touch.

Instead, I’m suddenly aware thata lotof people are watching me right now.

Time to get the hell out of here.

I turn and run. To hell with this. To hell with dancing, to hell with losing my virginity, to hell with having just one stupid thing for myself.

Like I said, this was a really dumb idea.

I make it outside. I’m shaking with adrenaline and cursing myself for being so dumb. It’s a brisk evening. The sidewalk is mostly empty except for the line waiting to get inside. I hurry across the street and slump against a fence half a block away, my heart hammering. I should keep moving, get an Uber back home, hide out in my comfortable bed under my pillows and blankets, and pretend like this nightmare evening never happened.

But I’m coming down hard, and I need a second to get myself together.

My hand trembles as I tug at my hair. I keep seeing that guy’s face, red and wide-eyed with shock, his big mitts at his throat. I could havekilledhim if I’d hit a little bit harder. Honestly, I’m lucky if he’s still breathing back there.

I pull out my phone, and I’m about to call a car when a man comes walking toward me from the direction of the club.

For a second, I think it’s my enemy, the muscle-head, following me for some revenge. I wouldn’t put it past the guy. But the man coming right for me is someone else entirely.

I don’t recognize him. I’m about to start running, but when he steps into the light of the streetlamp, my breath catches.

He’s wildly attractive. Gorgeous, even. Chiseled jaw, dark eyebrows, full lips. His hair is messy in that perfectly casual, tousled sort of way, thick and slightly curly. He’s in faded black jeans, black sneakers, and a simple black t-shirt, and he’s looking at me with the most charming smile I’ve ever seen in my life. His body’s chiseled and built like he was born to be a professional athlete, and I realize I’m staring as his smile gets bigger.

“You okay?” he asks. “I saw what happened in there.”

My mouth clicks shut as I take a breath.

Get it together, Carmie. He’s notthathot.

Even though he really is.

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