17. Hero – Enrique Iglesias
Skye – 17 years; Shay29 years
I cowered so long under the stairs, my knees gave out and I sat down on the floor, hating that I’d wasted such a beautiful dress on a pig. Pulling the pins that held my hair up, I shook out the curling tresses and let them fall to my waist in silky soft rolls. One more look at the torn fabric had me closing my eyes to deflect the tears stinging my lids.
“Blue!” My name bellowed through the music what seemed like minutes later.
I jumped to my feet. “Oh God, Grady, what did you do?” I mumbled as I slowly slipped out from beneath the staircase, coming face to face with Shay and Griffin.
Shay took one look at me and the muscles in his shoulders went rigid beneath the confines of his white shirt, enough to pop a vein in his neck. “Oh, hell fucking no,” he gritted out. His chest heaving with quick, hard breaths, the harsh set of his jaw said he wasn’t above murder right now. “Where the fuck is he?” The boom of his voice sent a rumbling shudder through the room. Even the music stopped.
My face burned, conscious of everyone gathering around us. I’d probably be labeled a queen bitch or worse, cock tease after the dance.
Concern framing his handsome face, he touched my cheek lightly, his gaze skimming the torn material. “I’m going to fucking kill him,” he growled, unbuttoning his shirt. Ignoring the gaping girls around him, he slipped it off and held it up for me. Ashamedly conscious of his naked body, this close to my face, I kept my gaze tacked to his chin as I poked my arms through the sleeves. With his eyes glued to mine, he buttoned up the shirt. Done, he stepped back, his fists clenching and unclenching, his jaw stuck in a tight lock.
“Please, Shay, leave it,” I tried as Griffin slipped off his jacket and tossed it to Shay.
“Skye,” he warned, only ever using my name when he was upset or angry and right now, he was seething. When I said nothing, he pulled on Griffin’s jacket and glanced around the room. “Where the fuck is Alan?” he barked at all the dumbfounded faces staring at us.
“Who’s asking?” One of Alan’s douchebag friends asked, his slurred voice an indication he hadn’t weighed up his chances against Shay if it came down to the wire.
“Me, fucker.” Griffin shot off toward the guy and before he could react, Griffin had him up against the wall in a chokehold.
Shit.
“Up there,” someone said as several hands pointed upward toward the room Alan hadn’t come out of yet.
“Shay,” I shrieked but he was already plowing his way into the room.
Two seconds later, a girl I didn’t recognize, hurried out of the room, screaming and clutching a shirt to her naked breasts. Looked like it didn’t take Alan long to find a replacement. I didn’t bother stopping Griffin as he released the guy he held against the wall and took the stairs two at a time to join Shay.
Dumbstruck, I gaped up at the closed door, my feet stuck to the floor as all sorts of scenarios of what Shay and Griffin were likely to do, winded me. The silence in the room was deafening as all eyes stayed focused on Alan’s door before a loud cry ripped through the walls. The hairs at my nape shot up in fear.
Moments later, a sudden burst of shouts and laughter from outside emptied the room in a matter of seconds. Not sure what to do, I gathered the skirt of my dress and walked out into the garden.
“Say it, fucker,” I heard Shay shout.
