Page 80 of Hounded: Ashes to Ashes

“That’s not what you were saying a few minutes ago.” His smile took on a sneering slant. “Rubbing all over me. Flaunting that ass like it was on sale.”

Panic spiked, and my tittering laugh bounced off the bathroom’s tile walls. “Yeah, well, it’s not.” I tried again to jerk my arm free.

Not-David-Bowie turned my attempted retreat into a game of tug-of-war. He was taller than me—most men were—and had enough muscle in the biceps bulging out of the cut sleeves of his vest to drag me in until we were chest to chest.

“Can’t buy it?” He didn’t wait for my reply before concluding, “Maybe I’ll just take it.”

My pulse had been speeding up since he grabbed me, but now it was racing, making my heart beat so hard I wondered if he felt it hammering against my ribs. I tried to backpedal, but my heel caught in the grate of the floor drain and this time, I did stumble.

Not-David-Bowie kept his grip, wrenching on my elbow as he stomped toward the open stall and hauled me along behind. I skidded across the grimy floor while prying at his fingers with my opposite hand.

“Hey!” I shouted, hoping someone in the hall outside would hear. “Hey, stop!”

He could pick me up, and practically did, swinging me around until I was pressed face-first against the cold, metal wall.

“You really think you weren’t asking for this?” His breath assaulted me again, so sour it might have made my eyes water if tears weren’t already flowing. He growled near my ear. “Begging for it like a slut.”

I bucked and swung my free arm until he caught it, too. The, he took my wrists in one of his large hands and pinned them to the wall above my head.

Anger edged in alongside my fear. Fiery rage that boiled in my gut and started to spread. Faster. I needed it everywhere. Filling this damn bathroom and melting Not-David-Bowie’s face off.

I squeezed my eyes shut and focused, trying to flame on like Johnny Storm. I could do that. I was therealHuman Torch. A match waiting to be struck, and this grabby bastard was about to get burned.

The slam of the stall door closing jolted me from concentration. The other man’s body was all over mine. His hand—the one that wasn’t squeezing my wrists together—roamed over my ass then lower, tugging up the hem of my skirt.

There was no fire. Not even a spark.

My heart rattled again, shaking me all the way into my suddenly weak knees.

No fire?

Gritting my teeth, I dug deeper inside, reaming out every bit of ire and trying to channel it into an inferno.

Not-David-Bowie kept groping me, stretching the waistband of my panties as he yanked on them, and no. No fire at all.

My eyes flashed open to an all-consuming view of that cold, cold wall. The warmth in me dispersed, like someone had thrown water on a wavering spark, and I shivered from the chill.

“I didn’t mean anything!” I sputtered while kicking out and connecting with nothing. “It was just dancing. I have a boyfriend?—!”

Not-David-Bowie snorted. “Yeah, well I don’t see him.”

My panties slid down my thighs, and the man palmed my bare ass.

Ididhave a boyfriend. A veritable hellbeast sitting in the next room with his beer and his Yeats poetry. He didn’t like the club. It was too bright, too crowded, too noisy, and the earplugs I’d given him may have rendered him unable to hear my cries. But I had to try.

“Lore!” My voice cut up my throat like fiberglass. “Loren!”

The hand left my backside and moved to my mouth, thick fingers smashing against my lips.

“Shut the fuck up!” Not-David-Bowie snapped.

I bared my teeth and bit him, sinking my incisors into his skin and fully intending to rip out a chunk.

He yanked his hand away with a hissed curse. I started to buck again, but he slammed his palm into the back of my head, smashing my forehead into the wall.

Pain spiraled through my skull, making everything spin. My eyes watered, overflowing.

Fire, fire, fire…

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