“Friends use nicknames,” I pointed out.
His lips tilted up as his eyes flashed. “That means I need one for you.”
I couldn’t help but smile in excitement, because I couldn’t lie—I absolutely loved nicknames. My eyes moved across the room as I realized that India was on the dance floor with Silas, I believe, her completely black gown standing out in comparison to the brighter shades. I felt a twinge of insecurity thinking about earlier, but I tried to brush it off.
“What’s wrong?” Dermot asked softly.
“Wrong?” I arched my brows. “Nothing.”
“Dahlia,” he smiled, shaking his head. “Hate to tell you this, but your emotions are written all over your face.” Crap.
I frowned and blurted out, “I feel like Kingston and the others are hiding something from me.”
I watched Dermot’s expression for hints of deception, but instead he looked thoughtful as his fingers tapped on the table. “Why do you think that?”
“Just a feeling?” I shrugged.
He nodded. “I can assure you, Dahlia, thatifthey were, it would be because they were trying to protect you, not exclude you.”
“Are you a mind-reader?” I narrowed my eyes, trying to tease.
“Your thoughts are all right here,” he pointed out as he tapped my nose, making me smile.
Standing up, I squeezed his shoulder. “I’m going to go use the washroom real quick.”
He nodded as I crossed the room and slipped into the hallway. I let out a shaky breath, not positive how to feel about Dermot Ross. I mean… I knew how I felt, I just wasn’t positive how I felt about feeling that way.
Swallowing nervously, I made my way into the luxurious club bathroom, breathing out as I noticed that no one was in here. I looked at the door, considering locking it, but instead moved to stand in front of the mirror.
I felt good about myself tonight despite the messages earlier, but I knew that was because my boys and others had said I looked good. I thrived on others’ opinions to counteract my insecurity and the constant put-downs I received. I hated that. I hated that I could no longer feel good without any of that. Putting my hands on the sink, I lifted my foot slightly, the pads of my toes hurting from these damn shoes.
I loved heels, but holy hell, each year they seemed to hurt my feet more. I loved sandals and flats way more. I envied women that seemed to live in heels. I think I would lose my mind if I ever did that. Washing my hands just to feel the warm water against my skin and inhale the smell of the mint soap, I relaxed. It was a weird gesture, I knew, but also calming. Sometimes small things did wonders to anchor you. Drying my hands, I opened the bathroom door and stepped back into the hallway.
I should have realized what a bad idea it was coming out here alone.
“Dahlia.” Ian’s voice rang in my ear as I froze, stepping away from him, only to let out a small yelp when his hand came down on my shoulder. He spun me and pressed me against the wall right outside the bathroom. My breath came out in a harsh, panicked rush as the scent of his cologne invaded my nostrils.
“Let me go.” I found my voice and remembered what King had said. Unfortunately, the hallway that was normally filled with light had darkened into shadows following the sunset, so I felt more alone than ever.
He chuckled softly. “Now that’s not very nice. I thought you were supposed to be one of the little hostesses of this event—where are your manners?”
“Ian, I do not like your hands on me,” I snapped as his grip tightened.
“What about other things?” he mused, his arrogance never dissipating.
That was enough to get me to push firmly on his chest, catching him off guard enough to slip away from him. I breathed out in relief, but then a hard arm wrapped around my waist. I let out a small scream that was muffled by his hand slapping hard across my mouth, the skin stinging as I struggled against him. I stomped down on his foot as he cursed, but it didn’t help, his body pressing me against the wall and out of sight from the turn into the ballroom. Goddamn it.
I started to hyperventilate as I felt his lips press against my neck and his hand grasp at my hip, his body pinning me to the wall. My fingers dug into his arm hard as I tried to scream, even bite his hand, my vision going blurry at the hard hold he had on me. I whimpered as his grip turned bruising.
This was so fucked up. A bubble of an almost sob sound broke from my throat.
“You like that?” he hissed. “I fuckingknewyou were into me.”
Tears welled in my eyes as I tried to struggle again, refusing to let him do this. My pulse was racing so fast I thought I was going to pass out. If that happened, I would be so screwed. I felt my vision blur, and when the tears hit his hand, his grip tightened on my jaw tight enough that I felt like he may break something.
My eyes closed, never having felt so fucking helpless in my goddamn life.
I couldn’t pass out.I just couldn’t. I kept repeating that to myself, hoping for his lips to move from my skin and for his touch to disappear.