Page 85 of Trapped and Tackled

Shit, I need to get out of here. I need to diffuse the situation.

The next debutante is presented.

Craig places his scotch down and takes a menacing step in my direction.

How did I not see this coming? The only reason I didn’t block Craig weeks ago is so I would have a pulse on his mindset and yet…he’s managed to catch me off guard.

Oh, God, he’s going to cause a scene. He’s going to ruin this event and everything I worked for. He’s going to rattle my confidence and topple the life I’ve rebuilt this summer.

Talon’s neck snaps in Craig’s direction and he hands Keller his glass.

Surprise and confusion blanket Keller’s expression as Marlowe curls her body toward mine.

“We should move,” she says, keeping her voice low. Her arm links with mine and she grasps my hand. “We should?—”

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Leni,” Craig’s voice rings out. It’s loud and booming and causes nearby tables to turn in our direction.

Annoyance flickers through the crowd, frustrated by Craig’s interruption and blatant disregard for the presentations taking place. He always was a cocky bastard, putting himself before everything. Even decades of tradition.

“You didn’t come home, sweetheart,” he continues, reaching for my other wrist and tugging harshly. Marlowe’s fingers dig in and for a second, I feel like the middle of a tug-of-war. “And now I find you here, smiling so prettily for?—”

“Get your fucking hand off her.” Talon’s voice is low but edged in steel. It’s frigidly cold, and shivers run up my spine.

He’s glaring at Craig with a look I’ve never seen him wear before. It’s furious, calculated, and downright dangerous.

Craig chuckles, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Holy shit, he’s fucking deranged,” Marlowe murmurs, still plastered against my side.

Craig wraps his arm around me and grabs my ass. I flinch but don’t shake him off. I don’t move. I can’t. I’m frozen.

It’s as if I’ve vacated my body and am watching the scene unfold as a neutral, third-party bystander.

“Well, I never,” a nearby guest gasps, literally clutching her pearls.

If I wasn’t fighting off the cold numbness spreading through my limbs, I would laugh at how cliché it is. But I can’t laugh, or speak, or even move.

Talon doesn’t miss a beat. His arm darts out and smacks Craig’s hand away. Craig’s palm slips off my ass and Marlowe pulls me back a step.

Craig turns toward Talon, squaring up and grinning. He’s taunting him and before I can clue Talon in, Talon takes the bait and snaps. He catches Craig with a clean jab across the face before closing his hand around Craig’s throat.

Phantom pain blossoms along my collarbone but the longer I stare at Talon and Craig, the more it fades, until a healing touch—with the lightness of a feather—grazes along my throat in its wake.

Marlowe sucks in a breath. Keller’s face looms nearby. Silence pierces the ballroom—thunderingly loud to negate the complete quiet.

“You’ll never put another hand on her again,” Talon continues, unbothered by the hundred pairs of eyes gawking at him in horror. “I’ll fucking kill you before that happens.”

The scary thing is, he means it.

As Craig’s face turns red and he begins to sputter for air, some part of my mind wonders if he’s going to end him right here.

“Talon, ease up,” Keller warns.

That night at Toby’s lake house rolls though my mind. Talon with his hand around Toby’s neck. Keller trying to ease the tension.

Déjà vu hits me square in the face and the only thing I’m capable of doing is blinking. I blink.

Craig swats at Talon’s arm. Once. Twice.

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