Malice walks ahead of me, holding my hand as we weave through the crowd. His friend puts a hand up in the air to signal us over, and I narrowly miss taking out a young girl as we rapidly change course.
“Hey, ball-sack!” the guy yells.
I cringe at how uncomfortable Malice looks at the crude greeting. He thumbs in my direction, and cocks an eyebrow at his buddy.
The man smiles, and with the snap of my fingers, I like him. He’s broad in the shoulders, and sports short, thick hair. But his smile lights up his eyes, and he comes across as the kind of guy who’s everybody’s friend.
“Jane, this is Bronx.” Malice points to the culprit. “And this dirty old man scoping the talent, is Tigger.”
Tigger holds up his middle finger whilst eyeballing the dancing women on the floor. He wriggles in his seat, looking as though he’s ready to burst. The lack of manners should shock me, but I like it; I like that they’re comfortable enough to be themselves around me.
We take a seat, and my feet itch to move some more.
“What you having?” Malice shouts near my ear.
I shrug. I haven’t had anything other than the odd wine or beer in years. I don’t remember what I like best. “You choose.”
He winks, and leaves me with his friends to head for the bar. Bronx moves around a stool to take Malice’s place, and he bumps his shoulder to mine.
“How do you two know each other?”
I look to the dance floor, trying to spot what Tigger has his eye on. Anything to buy some time while I figure out how to answer this. “Um,” I falter. “We bumped in to each other one day.” I shrug.
Bronx nods knowingly, his bottom lip scrunched up. “Fair enough. Hope the mongrel hasn’t been spinning lies about us.” He winks, and smiles.
I can’t stop myself from returning the grin. “Only enough for me to know I need to watch my back—or should I say, ass around you two.”
Bronx tips his head back, and laughs. “Yeah, that’d be it. He’d tell you we like to smack a woman’s ass, but not that we’re a bunch of good fuckers who’ve put up with his shit for too many years already.”
“Expect the best, plan for the worst.” I wink this time.
He nudges my shoulder again. “I like you.”
Malice returns to the table, and places a clear drink down before me.
“Vodka, and lemonade,” he informs me. “Start off with something sweet, not strong.”
“Like her men, huh?” Bronx ducks a flying elbow from Malice. He slips off the stool, and makes a grand gesture to Malice to sit.
I laugh, and take a sip of my drink. It goes down easy—too easy.
In a flash of color, Tigger springs from his seat, and stalks through the crowd toward a group of women.
“Should we be worried about that?” I ask Malice, tipping my head at the determined Tigger.
“Nah.” He shakes his head. “He’s always like that. Probably spotted something he likes.”
I nod. “Kind of looked like he was about to deck somebody.”
“He always looks like he’s about to deck somebody.” Malice chuckles. “You’ll get used to his intensity.” He watches me close, eyeing the way I’m wriggling to the beat. “You wanna dance?”
I’d love to, but I know my ribs aren’t yet up to being crushed in the crowd. “Maybe next time.” I turn my head to find Tigger, and the enormity of the bar dawns on me. There are at least a hundred people here. A person could get lost in this crowd. A person could also hide among them.
Panic grips me in its bone-crushing vice. What if Dylan is here? After all, I’ve never known where he goes every Friday. Who’s to say he’s not out every night now? What if he’s watching me? Planning how he’ll get to me?
My heart pounds with such a ferocity that my ribs ache. I cringe, and knock back the last of my drink. Malice looks over as I slam the empty vessel on the table.
“You after another already?”
I nod, and plaster my best ‘nothing’s wrong’ smile on. He narrows his eyes a fraction, but twitches a smile, and leaves for the bar.
“Everything okay?” Bronx asks, sliding in beside me again.
“I haven’t been out in a while, is all.”
He pulls his head back, and cocks an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Why’s that so hard to believe?”
“A girl as pretty as you? I would have thought you’d be out every weekend, living it up.”
“It’s not quite the same when you’re on your own.” I shut him down fast, and look back over the crowd.
People jump, and move to the song. The constant movement makes it hard to track the people I’ve checked, and those I haven’t. I’m aware that ignoring Bronx beside me is the height of rudeness, but I’m determined. If he’s here, I’m finding him.