Page 83 of Running from Drac
The pounding bass disappears beneath the rushing pulse in my ears. The man’s fucking me long distance, and I’m way too close to combusting.
He drops to his knees, water splashing as he humps the stage over and over, never breaking eye contact as he focuses on me. His look’s possessive and burning through me like he already knows how I’ll taste tonight if I let him.
I grip the back of a chair to keep from collapsing.
He reaches out. My hand lifts on its own, drawn to him like a magnet.
Our fingers touch, his hand sliding around mine as he gently pulls me closer to the stage. The heat of his palm against my skin nearly buckles my knees. He lifts his other hand and cradles my cheek, his thumb brushing over my lower lip.
I swear to God my soul leaves my body for a hot breath.
He leans in, eyes never leaving mine, lips parting like he’s about to kiss me.
I can’t move.
I’m frozen in stone like a statue of Medusa.
His breath grazes mine, the heat forbidden and alluring.
But before our lips can touch, the music cuts and the emcee’s voice explodes through the room.
“Give it up for RYDER!” the emcee booms as the room erupts into screams I can barely hear.
Ryder.
The name slams into my chest like a wrecking ball.
He pulls back, hand slowly dropping from my face. The heat lingers, thick and cruel. His eyes never leave mine as he retreats, walking backward toward the middle of the stage, smirking like he’s already won something I haven’t agreed to give him yet.
He points down at me, then makes some kind of gesture to someone offstage, and I flinch.
The lights strobe across his body, turning him into something untouchably sinful. He’s already halfway gone, disappearing into the shadows as the other dancers crowd the stage before I can even muster a breath.
I stand there, frozen, clutching a glass I don’t remember taking, the tequila biting at my throat, the floor tilting beneath me like the entire room’s gone crooked.
Mallory grabs my wrist. “Holy shit. Do youknowhim?”
I nod slowly, my voice incredibly weak. “Yeah,” I breathe, bile creeping up the back of my throat. “That’s him. That’s the Vegas guy.”
Pippa’s laugh cuts through the chaos behind me like a razor.
I don’t want to know if she planned this.
I don’t want to know what’s in my drink.
I just want to get out of here before everything collapses again.
“I need to go,” I mutter, stumbling back, the room swaying around me.
Poppy’s arm wraps around my shoulders. “Come on, Amber. Let’s get you out of here before something crazier happens.” She looks past me and glares at Pippa, who smugly shrugs as if she had no idea he’d be here.
Her smirk tells me everything I need to know.
She absolutely planned this shit.
We’re almost at the door when a large man emerges from the shadows, blocking our path.
“I need you to come with me,” he growls, grabbing my arm.
