“Bitch,” he laughs.
A tall, dark figure lurks from the corner of my eye. Suddenly, he has my assaulter on the ground, and he’s towering over him. Leaning down, he slams his black, gloved fists against his face, punching him.
Over and over.
He grabs him by the throat. “If you ever fucking touch her again, I’ll put you down like a sick dog.”
You can almost hear the crippling sound of his face crunching from each blow, as dark, red blood pours from his nose like a faucet.
The lyrics boom from the speakers, “I can’t wait to hear you, I can’t wait to hear you, scream.”
Everyone scurries out of the way, watching in horror and disbelief as the scene unfolds right before our eyes. Several people try to step in to help deescalate the situation. Yet, as soon as they try to pull him off, he jerks toward them, taunting them.
They immediately step back, not daring to be his next target.
My heart is pounding against my ribcage, and I finally realize that this was all for me. He helped me. He protected me.
The outline of his backside is daunting. Primitive. It’s as if he’s hunting his prey, and he doesn’t stop beating him until he’s knocked out cold.
The tall, dark figure dressed in all black slowly turns to face me, and the moment I see the Scream mask hiding his identity, I’m left a hot, quivering mess.
There’s just something about this moment that mesmerizes me. He approaches me, now towering over my small frame. He’s at least six foot three, and even though the dark fabric of his costume hides his body, it’s obvious he’s built like a God.
He tilts his head to the side, studying my reaction, and my body reacts right on cue. My nipples pucker, straining against the material of my corset. My inner thighs become drenched. My face is flushed, and my breathing is labored.
“Thank you,” I unthinkingly say.
“His face!” A guy in cowboy attire shouts, kneeling over my assaulter, who is still unconscious. Bleeding profusely, might I add. “You broke his face, man! I’ll kill you!”
Ghost snaps his head in his direction.
The cowboy rushes to his feet, bolting toward us, when fear overtakes me. With one, swift motion, Ghost swings, and his fist collides with Cowboy’s jaw.
He collapses onto the floor next, and remains there, completely motionless.
Everyone begins to scream. It’s a real-life blood bath, yet I don’t make a sound. Silently observing the blood as it spurts from his nose, I watch as it then trickles down his face.
Another tall, dark figure appears from the corner of my eye, bringing me back to reality. He grabs onto Ghost’s shoulders, trying his best to hold him back. Right there, it becomes evident that they know each other.
Without thinking it through, I push my way through the crowd of people, some laughing, some crying, and I lock my fingers around Ghost’s wrist. He looks back to his friend, who is wearing a Jason Voorhees mask, and in unison, they both nod.
Forcefully pulling him along with me as we exit the room, we turn a corner, nearly knocking someone onto their ass. Once we spot a large, spiraling staircase, I lead him to the top. It’s now much darker on this floor, although a bit less crowded, and the music only seems to grow louder. It echoes through the hallway, sounding like a beating heart.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Pushing open the nearest door and stumbling into the room, a pair of shoes knock me off my balance. Before I even have the chance to trip over them, Ghost catches me, bringing me close to his chest. He’s so firm. Masculine. Staring up at him through my lashes, I gaze helplessly into the large, black eyes of his mask.
Jason closes the door behind us.
Here I am, alone with Ghost and Jason, two people I’ve never met until only minutes ago, yet I’ve never felt so safe.
What does that say about me?
There’s red-hot sexual tension, an electrical current in the air, and my inner thighs once again become slick.
Well, shit.
I’m infatuated, on cloud nine. Over the moon.
Maybe it’s because Ghost is nearly crushing me against his body, and his cologne smells so goddamn seductive it makes my head spin. Or maybe, it’s the fact that he just kicked the shit out of some guy who wouldn’t take his hands off me when I told him to stop.
Suddenly, the rush of adrenaline makes me feel sick, and I peel myself away from him.
“There was so much blood,” I stutter, attempting to run my hand through my hair. Although it’s a sticky, tangled mess from the beer that was splashed in my face.