Page 127 of Stand: Part One
In a matter of seconds, I found myself swallowed by the swarming crowd, the scent of sweat and alcohol perfuming the air. The women circled me, their hips swaying to the fast beat of the music as they ran their hands down my arms, encouraging me to move with them.
With the drugs now fully influencing my system, it was uncharacteristically easy to let go, to allow my mind to wander away from my guard and focus on matching my body to the rhythm of the bass. It was all-consuming, the atmosphere surrounding me alive with an infectious energy that had me casting aside all my afflictions and vigilance.
Before long, I was grinding my body against the other women, joining with their movements and surrendering to the drugs swimming through my blood. I could feel myself giggling like a fool at the oddness of feeling so light and carefree.
I danced for several songs, losing track of time and all my accompanying fucks. I hadn’t danced like that in years, and it made me want to relive that feeling until I was so delirious with endorphins I couldn’t see straight.
But then it all came crashing to a halt the second my eyes glanced back toward the VIP section and locked with Darren’s. The way he was watching me, with such dark intensity, with such possessiveness, it made me second-guess myself and stumble back from my group.
That single misstep put me in the trajectory of a large woman rushing through the crowd, bumping me to the side and right into the back of a rather short man. His shoulders immediately hunched before he turned around with a mean scowl on his face, wearing a dark soaking-wet shirt, and clutching an empty glass in his hand.
“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry,” I said, eyeing the shirt now sticking to his chest. “I didn’t mean to?—”
“Watch where you’re going you stupid bitch!” he shouted, then slapped me across the face.
With my head jerked to the side from the force of his hand, I stood there absolutely stunned. My cheek stung, but it was almost laughable compared to the power of Darren’s hand. The drugs had clearly reduced my reaction time since he actually landed that slap, but certainly not my counter moves.
Growling, I reared back and slammed my fist across his face hard enough to throw him off balance, my knuckles smarting from the impact. The slight exertion threw me off balance too, my body stumbling back into place before he regained his footing.
Confused, he tapped his cheek, his eyes widening at the sight of the blood spotting his fingers from where my engagement ring had cut into his face.
“You fucking cunt!” he roared, rearing his elbow back for another strike.
Before it could connect, his fist stopped short against a large palm that reached out well above my shoulder and closed around his hand.
Dazed, I peeked up at the dark looming presence now engulfing my space. But the unexpected shiver that ran down my spine was nothing compared to the heat of the murderous rage blazing in Darren’s eyes as he trapped the man’s fist in place.
Suddenly, an ominous wall of dangerous men rapidly emerged at my back, crowding around me like a massive human shield.
“Hey asshole, let go!” the guy yelled as he tried to pull his arm away fruitlessly, but immediately froze the second he looked all the way up at his opponent. Recognition caused all the blood in his face to drain away, unmistakable horror reflecting back from his glossy eyes. “Oh shit,” he murmured.
Without sparing me a single glance, Darren wrapped his hand around my waist and pulled my swaying body behind him right into Clive’s grasp.
Snatching me up like a fucking rag doll, Clive quickly whisked me away in the direction of our table, my feet stumbling along to keep up while Owen laughed at my six. Dragging me up, Clive planted my ass back on the couch at our table and pointed down at me.
“Stay,” he ordered sternly and glanced back around at the loud commotion heading our way.
“I’m not a fucking dog,” I muttered with a frown, my upper body wobbling from side to side. Grabbing the back of the couch, I held myself steady as the room spun around me.
The next thing I knew, Darren was slamming my assailant down on top of our table with such force, it creaked beneath him. The velvet curtain was then quickly swung around the booth, closing the area off to the unsuspecting crowd still dancing away just outside.
I glanced across the way at Darren’s business associates who were watching the scene like they were about to see a tiger devour its next meal.
Darren clutched the man by the lapels of his jacket, easily holding him down as he struggled and cursed.
“Get the fuck off me, man! Maybe you should keep your bitch in check next time and she won’t get smacked!”
I closed my eyes and cringed at the sheer stupidity, the guy just digging a much more painful grave by the second. I’d seen plenty of times where they start scared, then try to get tough, then go to straight stupid right before they turn to apologizing and pleading for their lives.
Darren said nothing, his menacing gaze fixed on his squirming prey that he easily kept pinned in place with one hand. He then casually held the other one out to Scott. Answering Darren’s silent command, Scott pulled out a long hunting knife from his belt and placed it in Darren’s waiting palm.
Oh shit.
“Wait! What the fuck are you—ah!”
I sucked in a breath as I watched Darren calmly and slowly bury the knife right between the man’s ribs, his screams muffled by the blaring music beyond the curtain. Ripping the knife out, Darren did the same thing to the other side, puncturing both lungs, and causing the man to howl in pain.
“Stop! Stop! Ah!” he wailed. “I’m sorry! I didn’t recognize her! Let me go! Please!”
