Forgotten Rules (Rules 4)

“Nope.”

Going mad it is.

His hands drop to my waist, and I swing my hips along to the rhythm. It’s fine at first. Until he sneaks behind me, getting a tad too provocative for my taste. He rubs himself against me, the arousal in his pants growing impossible to ignore.

“I-I don’t feel so well. I’m going to bail.”

“What? Why?” he asks, holding me firmly in place.

“I don’t need a reason. Let me go. Now!”

“Relax. We’re just having fun.” He presses his boner to my ass again, and I squirm in disgust.

“Get your fucking hands off me or I’ll scream,” I say as confidently as I can.

That’s when his true colors come out.

“Now, now, Kass. You can’t dangle food in front of a guy’s eyes and get mad when he wants a bite.”

I freeze.

Not because he’s

a disgusting pervert.

Because I never told him my name.

Zoey ordered the food earlier. There’s no way he could’ve known.

“How do you know my name?”

“Shit, did I forget to mention?” He inches forward to whisper in my ear. “Simon says hi.”

Every hair on my body stands on end.

“Smile for the camera, baby.” He points at a red booth containing five guys across the room.

My heart drops.

In the booth glaring at me is Simon, my awful rapist date who got beaten up by Will. Bearing a black eye and holding his phone up in the air, Simon offers me a cruel smile and waves. That’s why Chinese food came on to me. He probably bragged to his friends that he’d delivered to me earlier, and Simon recognized me as the girl who earned him the beating of his life.

Why the camera? I’m not sure. Maybe he was hoping my dancing would prove his point: that I’m a tease who deserved to be assaulted. Or maybe he wanted to catch my reaction when I put it together. Either way, he must’ve gotten what he wanted because he puts his phone down, cheered on by his friends.

“Get the fuck away from me!” I yell so loud Chinese food jumps, startled. I manage to put distance between us, but he’s not having it, gripping my wrist so tight I cry out in pain.

Then I see him from the corner of my eye.

Will.

Jaw clenched, fist tights, chest puffing, he tears through the crowd in record time. Chinese food doesn’t see him coming, completely clueless as to what awaits him. Will stops a step behind the guy cutting off the blood circulation in my arm, his eyes so dark you’d barely believe they were ever blue to begin with.

The DJ jokes about getting high for the next song, and the crowd goes wild as artificial smoke fills the air, wrapping around the dance floor and making it difficult to breathe. Add that to the blazing heat and blinking lights, you have yourself a bunch of drunk girls very likely to pass out soon.

“Get your fucking hands off her if you want to keep them,” Will warns through gritted teeth.

Preparing to turn around, Chinese food cackles and releases my wrist. “Would you look at that? Someone thinks you’re worth saving, tramp.”

Will doesn’t miss a beat, shoving me behind him. A lone tear rolls down my cheek at my pulsing, red wrist. Can’t help it. I have no tolerance for pain.