Page 35 of Heresy

Only it does none of that.

If anything, it causes the crush of bodies to squeeze together tighter, a path left open for the police and their captives to walk while my space becomes dense and suffocating.

I get jostled again by a particularly heavyset man to my left, his thick arm brushing mine, the liquid sloshing in my cup but not quite topping the rim.

My skin crawls, the lack of space around me setting every nerve on edge. But I keep my eyes trained on Jackass, my newfound, or maybe newly deepened, hatred of him distracting me from the disaster brewing at the perimeter of my personal bubble.

Before Jackass, I would have intuited the danger surrounding me, but since Jackass, all I can see is him. As if he is the only danger, the thought trapping my mind that his sudden presence in my life spells trouble.

I just don’t know why.

And it’s that very attention on him that again puts me in a position where my welfare and state of mind crumbles, my lack of focus on my surroundings making it so I don’t notice the heavyset man allowing his larger friend to squeeze in beside us at breakneck speed.

They both slam into me just as Jackass and his police escorts cross in front of us, my cup finally relinquishing its contents to pour over my shirt, my arm flying out to grab the bronze bar rail to keep from falling and becoming trapped beneath the feet of the crowd surrounding me.

At that same moment, my eyes meet a blue stare from where he’s being led to the front door of the club, the blood on his face still dripping as his stare narrows on the assholes beside me.

Everything happens so fast.

Like a rubber band snapping into place.

Or a hunter’s trap being triggered that catches the leg and snaps the bone.

Jackass somehow breaks free of the cops walking him to the door. Before I can react to shove Ames out of my way and escape what’s coming, he manages to break through the crowd in front of me, his fist cracking the cheek of the asshole who’d knocked into me just seconds prior.

“The fuck?”

Asshole manages to shout the question as he loses his footing, his falling body damn near taking me down with him.

Jackass reaches out to grab me and hold me up while he hovers over the other guy, anger written across his features as his police escorts fight to get through the crowd to recapture him.

“Watch what you’re fucking doing,” he growls. “You almost took her out.”

Took who out?

I look around.

Me?

He can’t mean me.

His blue eyes lock on mine. That lethal stare searches the surprise in my expression before panning down lower to survey the drink now soaking my shirt. His mouth quirks with amusement.

Just as the violence in him bleeds out, he laughs.

Leaning into me, he presses his mouth to my ear, the scent of blood and alcohol wafting from his close proximity. My heart beats just a little faster, and I like to think it’s hatred that heightens my senses and not simply because his body is brushing mine.

“I can’t help but notice you’re always wet when I come near. We have to stop meeting like this.”

Our eyes lock, his crinkled at the corners from his smile and mine narrowed into a warning glare for the obvious sexual innuendo in his comment.

“I have a better idea,” I answer, contempt lining every word. “How about we stop meeting at all?”

His grin widens, his swollen eyes glimmering more.

Somehow the blood and bruises suit him, making him appear more like a man in his own element, the chaos of his presence worn like a second skin.

Heat soaks into my skin as he presses his body into me tighter.

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