The club is full, Harrison talking to the owner and some patrons in one of the VIP booths. Of course he made himself at home.
The crowd is mostly people who want to escape for the night. I give them every ounce of my focus, sweat and attention.
I catch Harrison’s eye once, and I’m rewarded with a long, smoldering look of appreciation that adds to the high of being onstage.
When he finally turns away to speak with someone, I notice another man in the adjacent VIP booth watching me over the rim of his drink. Unlike his buddies, he hasn’t averted his eyes once in the last two songs.
I play my mind out. At the end of my set, I sneak a look at the voting for Wild Fest on my phone as I duck offstage.
Twenty-third. It’s a minor blip. But people can vote more than once. Ten times in a twenty-four-hour period, technically. Which means every person in line for selfies is that much more important.
“Two minutes,” I shout to security before ducking out back.
I need to catch my breath before heading back in.
The alley is a reprieve—no cooler than inside, but I inhale deeply anyway.
I’m going over what went down in my mind, reliving it with a breathless smile in this moment of privacy until movement at the mouth of the alley draws my attention.
A large, dark form.
Harrison.
I start to call out, but as he comes closer, I realize it’s not Harrison.
This man’s coarse where Harrison is sleek, jerky where he’s smooth.
“I was watching you in there. Making everyone want you.”
He wedges up against me, and I can’t breathe. My heart explodes.
“I thought you were someone else,” I manage.
“Come on. You want this.”
Really fucking don’t.
There’s a chance to lunge under his arm and run for the street, but I’m a second late and his hand goes around my throat and cuts off my air.
I grab for his wrist, fingernails digging into his skin. He flinches but doesn’t let go.
An icy sheet of fear slices me in two.
It’s not like what happened with Mischa. I was freaked but knew someone was only a breath away.
This is dark. No one is here.
The sounds of the party are distant, and no matter how strong I am on the inside, all that matters is this man’s grip.
“Miss?” security calls into the alley from way too far away.
I can’t speak, can’t breathe. I wave my hands, trying to signal.
“Hey!”
The man pulls back, and I shove at him and duck away, staggering down the alley toward the club entrance.
My surroundings are a blur. I trip inside, looking both ways, and find my way back to the green room.