Bad Things (Tristan & Danika #1)(92)

I was nearly close enough to touch him when he started singing, and I loved that. He’d never sing for me off stage, and I’d asked a lot. This was the next best thing, and I swayed to the beat, my eyes glued to the man I loved. The man I adored. The man I’d become completely obsessed with.

The downside to being that close to the stage was that it was also the most crowded part of the room, bodies that I didn’t know pressing up against me.

The band was on their second song when I felt big hands grip my hips, and a hot, hard body press against me from behind.

I stiffened. The bump and grind was a familiar element to the Vegas dance scene, but I usually managed to steer away from it, since I did actual dancing, and not the stand-up humping that some people called dancing.

The whole thing couldn’t have lasted more than thirty seconds.

A greasy, unfamiliar voice whispered something suggestive in my ear, and I felt a strange erection poke into my behind. I didn’t even have time to react, or even consider how I wanted to react.

My eyes shot to the stage as the singing stopped, though the music kept going.

“Get the f**k off of her!” Tristan shouted into the mic about a millisecond before he was jumping off the stage.

The creeper behind me was ripped away, and I did my best ‘get the f**k out of the way’ move, backing up three steps fast.

I saw Tristan gripping the man’s shirt, saw him knee him in the groin hard, and saw him yell into his face.

That was as far as it got before security became involved, tearing the two men apart, but I saw the murder in Tristan’s eyes, and wondered just how far he would have gone.

It was pure chaos after that. I don’t think anyone knew quite what to do when the lead singer started the fight in the crowd, but needless to say, the performance was over after that.

Me, Frankie, and all of the guys ended up in the green room, and the strange perv from the crowd in another room, for obvious reasons.

It was a mess.

I was mad at Tristan, because it was a fact that he had overreacted.

Dean, the prick, was mad at me, even going so far as to tell me that it was all my fault.

That had Jared, Frankie, and Tristan all furious at Dean, though in all fairness, Tristan seemed to be mad at everyone in the world just then.

Tristan was in a state. He stood as far away from us all as he could get, staring at the wall, rage coming off him in waves of nearly visible hostility. He was a huge man, and when he was angry, he was scary to behold. Even the security guards gave him a wide berth the second we got into the room, and they were big men themselves.

We were waiting a good twenty minutes when I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I strode up to the security guard, asking, “What’s going on? Are we waiting for the police? Are they going to arrest him? Is that what’s going on? How long are we going to have to wait here before we know what’s going on?”

“We are waiting for answers, as well,” the one closest to me said, sounding calm and reasonable. “All we were told was to sit tight while this thing is figured out. No police were called, as far as I know.” The man put a hand on my shoulder as he said it. It was an innocent gesture. I knew that. Any sane person would have assumed that, as well.

But Tristan was not feeling sane. Sanity had left the building and he was striding across the room, shouting at the man to get his hands off me.

I watched him lose his mind, feeling a shot of fear at the sight, even knowing that it wasn’t directed at me.

Thank God he didn’t hit the man, just got in his face and started yelling like a maniac.

I had no clue what to do with him like this, so I just walked across the room to get away.

“Yoko Ono over there doesn’t want to deal with all of this, even though she started the whole f**king mess,” Dean said, his voice low and mean, but loud enough for me to hear.

I shot him a glare, but I wasn’t the only one that heard him, and Tristan stopped yelling at the security guard mid-sentence, striding across the room, a finger pointed at his roommate, his eyes wild with his fury. “What did I tell you, Dean? What did I f**king tell you? Not one word. That’s what I told you. Not one more f**king diss on my girl!”

I gasped, then covered my eyes when Tristan’s huge fist made solid contact with Dean’s face. I heard two more sickeningly fleshy thuds that meant a fist was hitting flesh, and then it stopped.

“I f**king warned you, you little prick!” Tristan shouted at him.

I was on the ground, curled into a little ball against the wall, not letting myself look. I hated fighting. I didn’t understand it, and I never knew how to deal with it.

I felt Frankie sliding down next to me, her arm going around my shoulder in a comforting hug.

“It’s okay. The guys pulled him off Dean.”

“It’s not okay. It’s so not okay that he’s acting like this. What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “But I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t kind of fun to see him punch Dean in the face. The prick deserved it…”

I opened my mouth to respond, when the door opened, and James Cavendish walked in.

It was the strangest thing, how all of the chaos seemed to just calm in his wake. He walked directly to Frankie and me, nodding to the men as he passed, and giving Dean, who was holding his jaw and glaring at Tristan, a puzzled look.