I felt a tingling sensation between my shoulder blades. There were only two things that created that kind of awareness: trouble and Nash Morgan.
I turned and found Nash flanked by Knox, Nolan, and Lucian, approaching like a team of stoic sentries immune to the merriment around them. The closer they got, the faster my heart beat.
Naomi threw herself into Knox’s arms. His eyes closed as he pressed his nose and mouth to her hair and breathed her in. Sloane glared at Lucian like he was the sheriff of Nottingham before smiling and waving at Nolan.
Meanwhile, I pretended not to notice Nash’s gaze boring holes in me.
“I missed you,” Naomi said as Knox released her. “Is everything okay?”
“Just dealin’ with some business. Didn’t mean to worry you, Daze,” Knox said almost tenderly.
“You weren’t really hiding a body, were you?” she teased.
“Angelina,” Nash said quietly. His gaze traveled my body. “Who are you supposed to be?”
“I’m Nancy freaking Drew and you’re late.” I put my hands on my hips and was trying to decide whether I was going to yell at him or ignore him when the universe delivered an answer for me. The band launched into the opening bars of Luke Bryan’s “That’s My Kind of Night,” and suddenly I wanted nothing more than to be far away from this exact spot.
“Let’s dance.” I grabbed Sloane, who grabbed Naomi, and off we went, leaving the men staring after us.
“I don’t know the steps,” Naomi said.
“It’s easy,” I promised, dragging my friends into the center of the crowd of dancers as they lined up. “Besides, with those boobs, no one’s going to care if you miss a step. Just follow along.”
We slid in between Justice and Tallulah St. John on the left and Fi and her husband on the right. Sandwiching Naomi between us, Sloane and I fell into step with the rest of the dancers.
I’d fallen in love with line dancing in my early twenties thanks to a honky-tonk bar near campus. Country music still reminded me of those early years of freedom when I could just be a girl on the dance floor and not some medical miracle.
We were surrounded by denim, leather, and a parade of Halloween costumes. The sharp clomp of boots echoed off the asphalt. Colors blurred as we whirled around. I forgot about Duncan Hugo. About Nash Morgan. About work and what came next. I focused on Naomi’s laughter, the platinum gleam of Sloane’s ponytail as we danced.
But I could only block out the real world for so long. Especially with those blue eyes locked on me.
Every time I spun, my gaze was drawn to Nash and company standing on the edge of the crowd, legs braced, arms crossed. Together they formed a wall of unfairly hot masculinity. It should have gone against the laws of nature to allow so many perfect specimens of alpha male to occupy the same territory.
They were all frowning.
“Why are they glaring at us?” I groused between boot stomps.
“Oh, that’s Knox’s happy face,” Naomi insisted, stepping the wrong way before correcting her course.
Sloane clapped in time with the rest of the crowd. “That’s Lucian’s asshole face.”
Dancers whooped as the song came to an end. But just as we all broke ranks, the next song started and Justice claimed me, spinning me out and pulling me back. Laughing, I joined him in a two-step until Tallulah appeared. Justice spun me out again and grabbed his wife. I hooted with laughter as another pair of arms found me. It was Blaze, one half of my favorite lesbian biker couple.
Together we cut an enthusiastic rug, singing along with the rest of the crowd. I barely heard the indignant squeak over the chorus. But there was no missing the shrill “Get your hands off me, asshole.” Blaze and I came to a halt on the dance floor, and I spotted Sloane, baring her teeth and struggling against the grip of one of Tate Dilton’s friends.
THIRTY-FOUR
INEVITABLE
Lina
He was a big, sweaty guy who had clearly had more than his fair share of beer. He also didn’t look like the type to crack a book, and I was willing to bet he’d crashed this party.
I pushed my way through the crowd.
“I said, back off,” Sloane growled as I arrived at her side.
“Now where you runnin’ off to, darlin’？” the big man said, flashing a grin with a gold canine tooth. He tried to perform some kind of dance step but only succeeded in twisting Sloane’s arm and knocking the glasses off her face.
“That’s it. Take a hike, micro penis,” I snapped, inserting myself between them and breaking his hold on Sloane’s arm.
His attention zeroed in on me. “Why don’t you give yourself a feel, sweetheart,” he slurred. He grabbed my wrist with a stinging grip and stupidly yanked it toward his crotch.
“I wouldn’t do that unless you’ve got enough sick leave saved up for a testicle retrieval operation,” I said, fighting the downward trajectory.
“Woooo wee! I like ’em spirited,” Drunky McBad Choice said, twisting my wrist painfully and leaving himself wide open. “Who are you supposed to be?”
I closed my free hand into a fist. “Get a clue,” I said, winding up. But instead of the satisfying connection of knuckle to face I expected, I found myself freed from his grip and airborne thanks to the strong arm that snaked around my waist.
“Hey!” I yelped.
“Hold her,” came the terse command as Chief Nash Morgan handed me off to his brother.
“Let me go!” I demanded, fighting against Knox’s grip.
In my rage, I noticed that Lucian had Sloane in a similar hold. The man was shooting daggers of the eyeball variety at Biker Big Mistake.
“You got this?” Knox asked Nash as he locked my arms at my sides before I could jump back into the fight. The Morgans were stubborn and strong.
“I got this.”
The steel in Nash’s voice, the arctic chill in his blue eyes had me going still. I’d never seen him so furious.
Hurt? Yep.
Amused? Sure.
Charming? Absolutely.
Stupidly stubborn? A thousand times yes.
But the icy mask of rage he wore now was something new.
There was definitely something wrong with me because that one look at his face made me hot. Like hand-a-girl-a-fresh-pair-of-underwear hot.
I gave one last flail, but Knox’s grip was unbreakable.
“I wanted to punch him,” I whined.
“Get in line, Leens,” Knox said.
There was a line, I realized. Nash was at the head, Nolan next with Lucian—still holding Sloane—at his back. Knox and I brought up the rear.
“You’re under arrest.” Nash’s voice rang with authority.
“Arrest? Me punching him would have been a hell of a lot more satisfying,” I complained.
“Be patient,” Knox said.
Sloane struggled against Lucian’s grip. “If you don’t get your hands off me, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Lucian interrupted her. “Kick me in the ankle and call me names?”
She growled in response.
“Maybe hand Sloane off to Graham?” Knox suggested belatedly.
“No,” Lucian said, his voice colder than an iceberg.
“You can’t arrest me! I ain’t done nothin’，” Booze Breath whined.