Another man cuts closer to the dance floor, pretending to work his way through the crowd while his eyes stay fixed on Olivia. Connor steps into his path.
Good.
The man complains. Connor doesn’t respond.
Better.
The music shifts heavier, and the crowd presses tighter. Olivia’s group gets pulled slightly toward the center. I move with the flow, staying close without entering the crush fully. She looks back once. Finds me immediately.
Good girl.
My focus sharpens. Too many variables. Too many hands. Too many fucking men looking at her. A body bumps my shoulder. I don’t look away from her.
“Watch it,” someone mutters.
Blaze would’ve had a joke. Joker would’ve smiled.
I just turn my head enough for the man to see my face.
He disappears into the crowd.
Smart.
Olivia lifts her drink, takes a small sip, then keeps it in her hand instead of putting it on the table next to her.Good. She’s listening even when she pretends she isn’t.
Tessa shouts something near her ear, and Olivia laughs again, head tipping back.
The man behind her notices. Mid-thirties. Blue shirt. Intoxication in his face, but not enough to excuse the way he moves. He slides into the space behind her like he belongs there. He doesn’t.
My body goes still. Not tense.Ready.
Olivia doesn’t see him.
Mia’s turned toward Tessa. Tessa is laughing. Eli is blocked by two women moving between him and the dance floor. Connor’s line is cut off by a group near the side.
The man steps closer. Too close.
No.
His hand lands on Olivia’s hip. The room changes. Not slowly. Not with thought. One second I’m at the edge of the dance floor. The next I’m moving. Fast. Explosive.
I reach them before the man’s fingers tighten. My hand clamps around his wrist. I rip him off her.
He stumbles back, shouting something I don’t care enough to hear. Olivia turns fully now, eyes wide, but I’m already between them.
The guy shoves at my chest.
Mistake.
I drive him backward with one hard hit to the sternum. He drops against a table, knocking drinks over, glass smashing across the floor. The crowd around us jerks back, noise changing from music and laughter into shouts and panic. “What the fuck, man?” he yells, trying to stand.
I step in. He swings.
Worse mistake.
I catch his arm, turn it, and use the momentum to slam him face first into the edge of the table. Not enough to kill. Enough to teach. Blood hits the surface, and his knees buckle.
A friend of his lunges from the side.
