Page 6 of Guardian's Touch

Before O’Grady does.

Though right now, on the verge of exploding in blinding rage, I’m not sure which of us poses the bigger threat.

3

CAMILLA

Ishould have stayed home. I could be reading in bed with Georgie curled up next to me instead of feeling like my head's going to explode. The driving bass from the loud music thumps hard enough that I feel it in my bones. Everywhere I turn, it reeks of sweat and body spray and alcohol.

And it's not like I can talk to anybody since no matter how loud I scream, the music drowns me out.

This is how people have fun? People look forward to this?

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, a velvet-covered semicircular booth in what's supposed to be the VIP section. I don't see what the big deal is. Every once in a while, a barely-dressed girl comes by with a bottle of champagne or a tray of drinks. Big deal.

I meet Fiona's gaze when she turns away from the guy trying to hit on her. I think his name is Thatcher, but it was too loud for me to hear him well. He has to be at least twenty-five—meaning he probably isn’t a part of our group since we all graduated together. There are a couple of guys with him, but they hang out on the other side of the velvet rope that separates us from the rest of the club.

One thing I know for sure: he can't keep his hands to himself. Fiona's trying to look upbeat like she's having a good time, but I know her too well for that. Something in her eyes gives away how bored she is and how much she regrets coming here tonight. Just like I do.

That's what gets me on my feet. I take her hand and give it a tug. “I have to go to the bathroom!” I shout, speaking slowly so she can read my lips.

Thatcher only smirks and wraps a hand around her elbow. He gestures for her to stay, but she shakes her head and pries his hand away. I catch sight of his disgusted expression before we work our way through the crowd. Amazing how suddenly he went from grinning and trying to be charming to looking like he wanted to murder me.

I actually paid money to get in here?

“Where are you going?” one of his friends asks, trying to step in front of us.

“The bathroom!” I shout back, elbowing my way past him. The nerve of these guys.

We finally reach the ladies’ room, and at least it isn't as loud in here. My ears are ringing anyway, and my head is still aching. “I want to go home,” I confess to Fiona. “I’m sorry, but this sucks.”

“I know,” she mouths, eyes wide. Or maybe she isn’t mouthing it, and I just can’t hear her. “That guy was gross. Thank you for rescuing me.”

“I feel bad since it was all my idea.”

“No biggie. We tried, and we found out it was a bad move. It could be worse.” She has to be the most easygoing person I know. Nothing ever seems to faze her for long. That's probably why we get along so well since I tend to be a little more emotional. We balance each other out.

I catch a look at my reflection, and my heart sinks. I spent forever picking out the perfect outfit, a dress Fiona practically had to dare me to buy the last time we went shopping. It’s black, skintight, and the shortest thing I’ve ever worn.

Who did I think I was kidding? This isn’t me. I’m never going to be the hot, flirty girl. Not when every guy in this place seems like a little boy compared to the man at home.

“Dane’s going to kill me,” I groan. It's been hours since the face-off in his office, and I already regret reacting like I did. How will he ever see me as a grown woman if I don't act like one? All I can do is hope he never figured out I left. It's not like he ever comes to check on me at night. He's always too busy.

I usually wish he would come to my room. This might be the first time I hope he doesn't.

No, if I got away without one of the guards seeing me—and I know I did, or else I wouldn't have made it here to begin with—he's unaware. I'm just one more thing to tick off his to-do list. An inconvenience he took on a couple of years ago and wishes he hadn't.

The way I regret thinking I could handle coming out tonight. I've never been anywhere like this before, and I can’t say I want to go through it again.

We brace ourselves for what we know we'll find on the other side of the door before stepping back into the club. It's absolutely insane, so many strangers pressing in all around me. Our friends from school are still in the VIP section, but I'm sure they won't notice we left. Especially not with so many other people coming and going, total strangers trying to score free drinks or whatever. We won't be missed.

Or so I want to believe before Thatcher blocks our way. His friend stands next to him, and they look like they just walked off a football field. Tall and broad-shouldered with thick necks and bulging biceps.

In other words, they tower over us and make me feel shaky and unsure of myself. The thing about being in the middle of so many dancing bodies is anonymity. We might as well be alone in this club. Nobody’s paying attention, and I doubt they’ll hear us if we scream for help. A bead of perspiration rolls down the back of my neck.

“Aren’t you going to let us buy you drinks?” the friend asks, smirking. “We’ve been trying to all night.” I can barely understand what he’s saying, but his body language tells the story on its own. The way he hovers over me and makes me want to curl in a defensive ball.

“It’s really loud!” Fiona shouts, cupping her hands around her mouth to be heard. “We’re leaving!”

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