Page 107 of Just My Type
The air is squeezed from my lungs as terror swamps me.
I try and yank my hands away, but Brett just lets out that dark chuckle and tightens his grip again. He’s going to do what he wants with me, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him. He’s too big. Too strong. Too angry. Too determined.
Angry men are dangerous men.
Alarm bells clang in my ears, and Brett’s rage rolls out of him in waves.
Cold sweat drips down my spine.
My breath comes in ragged pants.
Yell.
Scream.
Fight.
But I can’t. My body is frozen, and I’m stuck here, with no way to get away and no one coming to my rescue. Gritting my teeth against the panic churning inside me, I close my eyes and surrender.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
NOAH
“Where is she?” I mutter, my eyes roving the room, searching for Hannah. The last time I saw her, she was standing in a circle of all the girls, but they are now scattered all around the room, Hannah nowhere to be found. It’s late, and the wedding crowd is thinning out, so Hannah should be easy to spot, but I don’t see her anywhere.
I shake my head, laughing at myself a little, because I’m basically a lost puppy dog right now, looking for its owner.
Except I’m me, and my owner is a green-eyed, golden-brown haired romance writer who threw my world right off balance
She owns the fuck out of me.
“What’s your deal?” Elliot asks, as he and Amelia come off the dance floor, arms wrapped around each other.
“What do you mean?”
He smirks at me. “Your face. You look like a puppy who’s been kicked or something.”
Okay, so I guess that puppy dog thing was pretty damn accurate. “I was looking for Hannah, but I can’t find her.”
Elliot laughs and rolls his eyes at the same time, and I get it.I’m a stage-five clinger, but I don’t know how else to be right now. “You’re so completely fucked.”
I give him a fuck off look and glance between him and Amelia. “You’re one to talk.”
Amelia laughs and tucks herself deeper into Elliot’s hold. “He’s got you there, El. Hannah told me she was going to the bathroom earlier. Maybe she’s still there?”
“How much earlier?”
Amelia shrugs. “Before El and I started dancing so, like, twenty minutes or so?”
A shimmer of unease races through me, but I shrug it off, telling myself I’m being ridiculous and to get a fucking grip, but my brain doesn’t get the message. I’m not a worst-case scenario kind of guy, but something about this moment has my instincts screaming.
“You’re worried.” Elliot’s words are a statement, not a question.
Now it’s my turn to shrug. “No reason to be. There are a lot of people here and she knows most of them. She could be anywhere.”
And yet, now that I’ve gone down thesomething might be wrongtrack, my brain is a runaway train. I shake my head, as if to clear it, but it doesn’t help, so I make a split-second decision. “I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?” Elliot asks.
