Page 156 of Broken Breath
“Ah, worried about my son now, are you?”
I snort. “I don’t think rats are really the clubbing type. Pretty sure the music would scare him half to death.”
Luc chuckles. “Non,he’s living the good life back at the hotel, snacking on crackers, probably stretched out like a king. He’s fine.”
His thumb mindlessly rubs lazy circles against my palmas he speaks, soft, slow strokes that make it hard to catch my breath. Then he turns my hand over like he wants to explore it, but abruptly stops as his eyes narrow on my skin.
Isla’s fucking number.
It’s smudged from where I scrubbed my skin raw trying to get it off, but it’s still readable, suddenly burning like a brand. Luc presses his thumb over the heart she drew, his body going stiff against mine.
“C’est quoi, ça?” His gaze flicks up to mine. “Who the fuck’s number is that?”
I try to pull my hand back, but he holds on tight, turning it toward the dim light overhead, glaring at the smudged digits like they’ve personally offended him.
“It’s Isla Raine’s,” I mutter.
Finn twists in his seat so fast I hear the leather creak. Dane turns slower, brows furrowing deep.
Eavesdroppers.
“What?” Dane snaps.
“She pushed herself on me,” I say evenly. My gaze flicks from Dane to Luc, but lands hard on Luc. “Grabbed my wrist and wouldn’t let go. Wrote it down herself, even though I tried to make it clear I’m not interested.”
Luc’s thumb presses against the inside of my wrist like he’s trying to feel my pulse. “Have you texted her?”
“What? No. Fuck no,” I hiss, then grab his hand with mine, hiding the number. “Iscrubbedat it, Luc. It wouldn’t budge. I hate her, she’s a fucking bitch.”
Luc exhales and rests our hands in his lap. After a moment, his fingers link back through mine like nothing happened.
“Seems like I can’t let you out of my sight,” he says to me, but his eyes are on Finn, that grin curling back onto his face. “Every time I do, you get harassed.”
Finn’s eyes flash for half a second before he turns back to the front, hiding his expression.
I roll my eyes. “Ha ha.”
“Not your fault,” Luc murmurs, leaning close to my ear. “You’re just too cute.” He presses a soft kiss to my temple, lips lingering. “Trop mignon.”
Fuck me, if that doesn’t make my messy heart kick.
The van pulls up outside the club, all pulsing lights and bass you can feel in your bones before the doors even open.
Piper sidles up next to me with a reassuring smile once we get out, her hand brushing against mine like she knew how out of place I’d feel.
Luc stays attached to me, but at the entrance, he lets go of me to clap hands with the bouncer, a guy built big enough to bench press the van we rode in on, then pulls him in for a quick back-pat hug. They exchange a few words in rapid-fire French, both laughing, and then we’re waved through without even a glance at our IDs.
I shoot Piper a look, but she doesn’t seem even a little surprised.
“Luc knows everybody here.” She leans in closer so I can hear her over the muffled bass leaking through the walls. “This part of France isdownhillcrazy. I wouldn’t be surprised if people know you too.”
I rear back. “What?”
She grins wider, nodding toward Luc. “He’s the local hero, and everyone loves him. You’ll see.”
The music slams into me as we step inside, vibrating all the way to my ribs. The whole place thrums with it, bodies moving, lights pulsing in time with the beat. Luc grins as he points toward the DJ perched high on a pedestal. When I glance up, the DJ’s voice cuts through the wall of sound, crackling through the speakers.
“Luc Delacroix is in the house!”
