The Girl in the Love Song (Lost Boys 1)

Holden laughed and danced out of the way of Chance’s swiping hand. River emerged from the kitchen.

“Show’s over,” he said, his voice cool and low. “Get the fuck off.”

Holden crouched and reached out a hand to River, crooning, “What a glorious feeling, I’m happy again.”

River snarled and smacked his hand away. He made a grab for him, but Holden sprang off the table with shocking agility. Both he and Chance chased him the short distance to the living room, where Holden hurdled the back of the couch, landing between two people, then jumped onto the coffee table. Beer cans scattered, a bottle shattered and the glass ground under Holden’s shoes.

“Just singin’ and dancin’ in the raaaaain…”

Like everyone else, I’d been so riveted by the surreal scene in front of me that I’d been ignoring the scene behind me.

“You’re dead, fucker,” Frankie snarled at Ronan, and I turned in time to see the crazy bastard pull a police-issue Taser from the back pocket of his falling-down boardshorts.

“Whoa, hey…” I began, then ducked as Frankie lunged for Ronan.

Ronan, who’d been like a stone statue all night, quickly feinted right and knocked Frankie’s arm up and out. The Taser went flying, and Ronan gripped Frankie by the front of his shirt and drove him a few steps toward Holden and the coffee table. The crowd scrambled out of the way as the guys went down in a heap on the carpet, fists flying and hands grasping and tearing at each other.

River and Chance rushed over to haul them apart, but Frankie—red blood roses blooming on the white bandages on his nose—spat and fought like a rabid dog.

“Fuck this guy,” he screamed, wrestling out of Chance’s grasp. “You are so dead.” He grabbed the broken beer bottle off the coffee table at Holden’s feet and brandished the jagged end at Ronan. “

I’m going to kill you, motherfucker!”

More shouts from River and Chance, but Frankie swung the bottle to ward them off. Amber gripped my arm, and I shielded her from the chaos as best I could while I tried to pull Ronan back, but he was as immovable as stone.

The crowd hushed as Frankie took a few swipes at Ronan, and we all gasped as one of them drew blood across his forearm.

Ronan glanced down at the red line opened on his skin, then back to Frankie. “That was a mistake.”

His hands balled into fists, and I felt the tension in him coil. Ready to spring. He was going to get cut worse, maybe even stabbed, but not until he beat the shit out of Frankie.

Or kill him.

Then Holden jumped down from the coffee table into the middle of the fray. He stepped between the two guys, ripped his shirt open from under his coat and bared the left side of his chest to Frankie.

“Right here,” he seethed, his voice low and cold and empty. He tapped his chest, over his heart. “Put it right here. Go on. Do it. Do it.”

The crowd hushed. Everyone stared. No one moved. Frankie breathed through his nose like a bull, eyes wide with shock. The bottle in his hand trembled.

Slowly, I pushed forward and took hold of Holden’s arm. “Hey, man. Come on. Hey…”

Holden backed up while River took the bottle out of Frankie’s hand. A moment of eased tension and then Holden jerked out of my grasp, pulled his coat together, drew a clove cigarette from his pocket and said jovially, “Anyone got a light?”

Chance’s bleary eyes widened. “What the…? Get out. You three.” He waved his finger between Holden, Ronan and me. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

Holden turned to me with a mock expression of shock. “Rude, right?”

An incredulous laugh escaped me and then another, until a full-fledged outburst was building in me. The tequila I’d stupidly drunk did me no favors—I didn’t need to look at my watch to know my numbers were sinking, making me feel underwater.

Or maybe it’s just this crazy-ass night.

“Get out!” Chance bellowed.

He lunged, and Holden and I, laughing like loons, made a run for it. We turned at the door to see Ronan level Frankie with a final glare, and then he strode in long-legged paces after us.

“You’re dead, Wentz,” Frankie screamed after us. “You’re fucking dead!”

We tore down the front steps and onto the expansive front lawn. I tripped—or maybe my strength was failing me—but I hit the grass hard, gasping for breath but still laughing.