Page 32 of Heresy

A fight to stay on my feet.

A fight not to be sucked back by the crowd.

A fight to keep my eyes on Everly.

Unfortunately, it’s the last fight that I’m losing.

Everly, like me, is getting shoved around and sucked into the ever-deepening crowd until she’s almost out of view.

The crowd continues to surge as sheer desperation holds my gaze on her.

She halts just at the front door, her body getting jostled by those running out.

Behind her, Patrick finally storms in. Everly is not-so-gently shoved aside as he rushes forward, his eyes lifting to the second floor of the club.

I can’t help myself. I follow that steely stare.

My brain tries to make sense of the people shoving past each other, a stream going up the stairs, while another fights to descend to the first floor.

From up there, the chaos grows louder.

It finally occurs to me what’s happening, that stranger’s voice from a minute ago floating back to me.

Fight.

A big one.

And from the sound of glass breaking, of masculine war cries and feminine shrieks, it’s a fight that’s taking up the entire second floor.

I don’t want to lose my view of Everly, but the instinct to glance up the stairs is too much. Danger lurks just outside of my perimeter, a single bouncer ascending the steps to take control of what sounds uncontrollable.

Wrenching my neck, I stumble forward as the crowd surges behind me, desperate to find Everly again.

She’s gone. Whether still inside the club or finally retreating outside where it’s safe, she’s nowhere that I can see her.

I’d love to retreat with her, but the option isn’t in the cards for me. Too many bodies are being shoved around, those who want to watch the chaos unfold and those who have lost the ability to push through and escape it.

I refuse to get trampled underfoot, and with that thought in mind, I shove back hard, barely breaking through the crowd to plant my back against the bar.

It’s safer to have the bar at my back than to be crushed in the middle of a deluge of moving bodies.

From upstairs, laughter erupts followed by Patrick’s stern voice. I can’t tell, but it seems Patrick is losing the battle, his voice booming louder as more glass is broken, and a few people escape the fight to come running downstairs.

Panic locks me in place. Not only have I lost Everly, but I remember Ames was dancing upstairs.

Fuck.

What do I do?

I mean, what the hell can I do?

Nothing. That’s what.

My only option is continuing to stand here dumbfounded with my drink clutched to my chest like a security blanket, helpless to step even an inch from the bar for fear of being pulled back into the crush of bodies still pulsing and moving without any discernible pattern.

One voice rises above the others again, my gaze darting right just in time to see a man bounce backwards down the stairs.

Landing with a heavy thump, he doesn’t move for what feels like an eternity.

---