Carrson’s eyes lift until they land on me.
His anger is unmistakable, contained in a way that only makes it worse, and I realize the fight hasn’t ended so much as turned.
My throat goes dry.
I’m in trouble.
Chapter eighteen
Hi!
Becky
Carrson’s eyes stay locked on me as he moves for the stairs.
The room parts without a word, bodies shifting out of his path before he reaches them. No one wantsto be in his way.
I don’t either.
For the second time tonight, I measure the distance to his room. How long it would take to get there and block the door.
But I stay where I am. It’s fine. I’ll explain to him. Calm. Reasonable.
Carrson reaches the landing and comes straight toward me without slowing down.
It’s not like he’s going to—
He grabs me, his hand snapping around my arm, his fingers pressing deep into my skin.
“Ouch!”
“Come on.”
There’s no room to argue. He turns, pulling me with him.
“Hey—” I stumble, trying to keep up as he drags me down the hall. “What the hell are you doing? Let go of me.”
His hand clamps down harder.
“Carrson—”
“Not now.”
The words are low, cut off like he’s forcing them out through clenched teeth. His tone makes me want to cower, but I push against it, twisting my arm, trying to wrench free.
“You don’t get to drag me around like this,” I snap, digging my heels in for half a second before he hauls me forward again.
He acts like he can’t hear me.
We hit the stairs, and he takes them fast, pulling me down with him, my hand catching the banister to keep from falling.
Word of the fight has spread. There are more men in the living room now, gathered in clusters, talking in low murmurs that go silent once Carrson hits the bottom step.
Jackson’s gone. Whether he walked or was dragged out, I don’t know.
They all turn to watch as we pass, and I can feel their eyes on me. My hair, the T-shirt, the way Carrson’s hand clamps around my arm.
Heat crawls up my neck.
