Page 65 of Inflame

I turn to Angie and teeter on my high heels. “Want to walk and see if we see anything fun that stands out? Surely there’s a place to dance around here.”

She points down the block where a sign advertises dancing in bright pink colors. “Let’s go there.”

It takes a few minutes to walk to Cammy’s, which is a bar and dance club just off the strip. With a minimal cover charge and a stamp to our hand, we are granted access.

“Good spontaneous choice,” I compliment, watching the entire venue come to life with dance music.

“Let’s hydrate with tequila and get out there,” Angie insists, bouncing on her heels.

When we hit up the dance floor, we are limber and ready to move. The DJ mixes up songs and adds his own musical elements, setting the mood. Angie and I sway to the music and let go of our inhibitions.

“My fiancé wouldn’t like you touching me like that.”

I turn to Angie and see this drunk guy dancing behind her, his hand splayed over her stomach. She wiggles free but is joined by two of his buddies, one joining their threesome and the other moving over to me. They seem to be doing more than just alcohol. Their eyes are a bit glassy and their pupils are dilated.

“No,” I state bluntly, glaring daggers at him.

“Stop,” Angie says, pushing away from the main guy. He moves back to her, whispering something into her ear. I can see her flinch and my blood boils.

“She said ‘stop,’” I snap. I get the guy that is shadowing me to move away. When the two on Angie do not budge, I shove the closest guy into his buddy, making them stagger backwards. “C’mon, let's go find somewhere else to dance.”

We only make it a few feet when hands grip my waist, tugging me backwards. I barrel around and smack the asshole’s face who thinks he has the right to touch me. My hand stings as I take in the shock on his features, quivering from my own anger.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” I scream, not even worrying if I’m causing a scene.

But a scene is exactly what I cause. The three men, who were once just extra flirty, turn on us. I tug on Angie’s arm, pulling her to me, while the group surrounds us. The fear creeps in, and I reach for my phone to call Nic. His number is barely dialed when the main guy snatches it from my hand and disconnects the call.

I look around for a bouncer, but the club is so packed that even if I scream, no one would be able to distinguish the sound above the current noise level. We are on our own.

“Not sure why you two find the need to be disrespectful,” the stockier one bites out. “We are just looking for some fun tonight.”

“Not with us,” Angie snaps. “Just keep on moving and quit stalking us.”

“Let’s all play nice,” the average height guy suggests.

I pull Angie and start to run, only to get pulled to hard muscles again. I struggle and feel the dampness on my cheek from a pair of lips. Ew. I squirm and kick and thrash, trying to get free. I wish I had my tubes of pepper spray because these assholes surely deserve a habanero spa treatment to the eyes. How is no one noticing this commotion?

“Let her go!” a gruff voice calls out in an unwavering tone.

I know that voice…

Nic. He is here. I try to turn my face, but am blocked by the guy holding me hostage.

“Are you brain dead? Let her go.”

The arms around me get torn away, and I stumble into a group of drunk dancers, falling to the ground.

“Claire! Claire!” Angie calls out.

I look up and get a kick to the face as body parts start flying over my head. A few innocent bystanders fall down, one landing on top of me. I think I’m going to get buried by the chaos, when strong hands pick me up out of the rubble of limbs.

“Wrap your arms around my neck,” Nic instructs.

I do as I’m told and tuck my body to his, while he gets me out of the building safely, joining Angie and Graham in the dry outside air.

“Than—”

“Don’t you talk,” he interrupts. “I don’t want to hear a single word from you right now.”

---