But he doesn’t. He drags me along the dancefloor, cutting through the crowd as he heads toward the double doors of the entrance.
My eyes catch on them as I try to pull away, and then—
I look again. “Why the hell are the doors locked?”
But Buck has stopped too, tension lining his tall frame as he swears beneath his breath. “I forgot they did that.”
I stare at him. “How do you forget that you’re locked in a warehouse that definitely isn’t up to code?”
But my words wash over him as he turns, his head scanning before he jolts. “Fuck.”
“What?”
He swings back to me, hands raising to grip my face. “Sorry, sweetheart. Play along if you want to live.”
What the actualfuck—
My mouth opens, but Buck slams his lips over mine as I inhale in surprise. His arm wraps around my back, the other delving into my hair as he pins me to him, not pulling back despite my struggle.
I try to force my knee up, hampered by my fucking dress, but his grip tightens, as if in warning.
Play along if you want to live.
I swallow as Buck’s tongue sweeps between my lips. He tastes faintly of mint, the dark stubble covering his lower face brushing against my skin as he angles my head.
He’s moving, pushing us back into the crowd as I blindly follow his lead, but he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t pull his lips from mine.
I force myself to relax. To settle against him, languid and loose as my hands slip up to his neck. Buck’s fingers loosen for a moment – as if in surprise – before they tighten again, pulling me against him and tightening his hold in my hair.
But his lips, the harshness of his kiss…
That softens, into something gentler. More questioning.
More tempting.
The air around us turns cool, the music dampening as he pushes us through a doorway.
When he finally releases me, we’re both breathing deeply, the space around us quiet. Only the faintest hint of bass echoes beneath my feet. They must have some sort of soundproofing in place.
We stare at each other before his lip quirks. “I might have let that go on a few moments longer than wasstrictlynecessary.”
My brows draw down, but he’s already turning. “Come with me.”
Glancing down the dark corridor, I keep my feet planted firmly where they are. “I feel like if I’m going to die, it’s probably going to be this way rather than on the dancefloor.”
“That’s what you think.” He notices my watching his shaking hands and curls them into fists. “I’m going to—,”
I hear it a half second before he does, twisting.
Footsteps.
7 – Hatter
No.
I stagger back, a heavy weight appearing in my chest before I lunge for the railing again, scanning the crowd with increasing desperation.
I’m wrong.
