Page 60 of The Hate We Breathe
“Ugh.” I cup my hands over my ears, wincing at the noise.
Rough hands seize my arms, fingers digging into my skin as I’m yanked upright. Pain flares and my legs wobble, unsteady under the alcohol I’ve consumed. I stumble forward, dragged from the booth like a rag doll.
“Mother—hic—fucker—” I slur, the floor tilting beneath me. I slam into the man’s back when he suddenly stops short, my nose colliding with solid muscle. “Ow! The fuck was that?” I hiss, clutching my face.
The man yanking me forward doesn’t answer, but drags me around to his front. My knees barely lock into place before I crash to the floor. My vision spins, a blur of strobing lights and furious voices.
Note to self: don’t take any more alcohol from my boyfriend’s psycho gang leader father.
Viks has Darrio by the collar, dragging him like a bloodied offering toward the doors leading outside. The man’s face is flushed and wild, his shirt twisted from the choke of Viks’ grip. Around them, his men are circling, tension crackling, every eye flicking between me and their boss.
“Wait!” one of them shouts, palms raised as though it’s enough to stop Viks’ forward momentum. His eyes cut to me, then back to Viks. “You want the girl, right? We’ll give her to you. A trade. Our boss for her.”
I scowl at the man. How dare he. I’m not a fucking currency to be traded.
Viks doesn’t so much as pause. His hold on Darrio is iron. His face unreadable, carved from stone.
But Darrio—smiling now, teeth pink with blood—lunges upward, managing to get his feet under him for one wild swing, smashing his fist across Viks’ jaw. The crack echoes. The impact barely shifts the larger man, but the room shifts, all sound shattering into chaos.
Hosts scramble out of their booths, abandoning their guests while some hide behind the men who stare wide-eyed at the mess that’s become of The Dionysus Lounge. Damn it. I’m so fired and this time, it’s totally my fault.
“Enough!” A new voice tears through the din, sharp as glass.
Ma-Ri storms out from the back hall, her heels hammering the floor with each stomping step. Small though she is, she wastes no time in heading straight for the group of violent men standing in the center of her club. Right behind her is Lex.
The moment he sees me, his eyes widen and then narrow into slits of black smoky fire. “Oh shit…” I smack the guy’s arm that’s holding me. “Dude, you want to let me go now.”
“Shut up, bitch.” He shakes me and I groan.
“Fine,” I tell him. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
That seems to catch his attention and he scowls down at me. “Just shut up and we’ll—” It’s too late. Lex is on him before he can finish the words, his long, powerful legs closing the distance between us.
In a split second, I’m torn from the asshole’s grip and Lex whirls back around to deliver the coldest, fastest right hook I’ve ever seen. The man doesn’t even have time to grunt before Lex’s fist smashes into his face a second time. Then another. And another. Blood sprays, warm across my cheek as Lex snarls like a rabid dog over his kill.
One final hit and it’s lights out for the bastard. The dude goes down in a heap on the floor, crumpling like a house of cards. I blink down at him and then shake my head.
“Told you so.”
Arms close around me, the muscles pulled so taut that it’s almost like steel shackles sliding into place. I tip my head back and peer at the underside of Lex’s jaw. He smells so good, way better than Darrio Vargas’ fetid breath. I snuggle closer.
“Baby, are you okay?”
Burrowing my face into his t-shirt-covered chest, I choke out a drunken laugh before I wrap my own arms around him.
“Baby?”
I tip my head again and give him a smile. “I’m fi—hic—fine,” I tell him, those stupid hiccups rolling through me once more. My body folds against him, relishing the unyielding, possessive hold.
“Call the cops,” Viks bites out, voice cold. I glance up and around, realizing that he’s talking to Ma-Ri. He’s still holding on to Darrio, knuckles white even as Darrio attempts to yank himself away and get in another good hit.
In response to Viks’ command, Darrio coughs out a wet laugh. He tilts his head in Ma-Ri’s direction and despite thefacade of strength she’d worn when she’d powered through into the fray, she pales a bit at his dark look. “You do that, Ma-Ri… and you’ll regret it.” His smile is feral, broken lip split wide. “I promise you that.”
For a beat, everything is still. Ma-Ri doesn’t say anything, but neither does she rush to the phone.
Viks releases him with a curse. “Fine,” he barks. “Just get the fuck out.”
Darrio stumbles, but he straightens with the smugness of a man who’s convinced the game isn’t over—it’s only just begun. He wipes his mouth, smearing blood across his cheek as his men—the ones still conscious—cluster protectively around him.
