I watch Nate’s head disappear as Mr. Cowboy starts to pull me further away.
“Hey! Let go, jerk!”
Pulling me against him, he drops his head and puts his mouth against my ear. The feeling of his breath making my skin crawl instantly. When his mouth opens and he pulls my earlobe into his mouth I start to struggle against him with renewed vigor. My fear turns to panic when his teeth bite down on my ear, causing me to scream out—only to have the sound be swallowed up by the loud beats of the music around us.
“I’ve been waiting for you to come to me,” he slurs and pulls me against his hips. I want to vomit when I feel his erection poke me in the stomach. Memories long since suppressed, start to float to the surface and I start struggling harder. I can feel his frustration as his grip on my arms tightens. My arms burn with the strength of his hold and I just know I’ll have two nasty bruises.
“I could tell you wanted some of Big Daddy,” he moans when I stumble as he pulls me toward the back hall and my stumble does nothing but push me closer to his body. “Yeah, baby. I knew you wanted some of this.”
“Let me go,” I whisper, the panic starting to close in on me. “Please,” I squeak out.
He lifts one hand from my bicep and takes my jaw roughly, his thumb digging into my flesh and he jerks my head up. My eyes water and I let out a whimper.
“You want me. I’ll show you what all that teasing your dancing has been doing gets you.” He grinds his hips one more time and I almost lose the contents of my stomach.
“What the fuck!”
Before I can even process the move, a fist comes out of nowhere and crunches into Mr. Cowboy’s nose. The sickening sound of his bones breaking takes that battle I’ve been fighting against my stomach to a whole new level. Mr. Cowboy goes back but doesn’t remove his hold on my arm so I’m jerked like a rag doll.
“You think about taking my toy and I’m not going to be very happy, pretty boy,” Mr. Cowboy says through the blood pouring from his nose and into his mouth.
My stomach heaves.
“Get your fucking hands off her,” I hear Nate growl and his warm hand gently goes to the arm that isn’t being held. In my mind I picture some sick game of tug of war beginning.
“Fuck you,” he spits and in a move quicker than I can process he lunges forward and clocks Nate right in the left side of his face, jerking my body again so hard that my head snaps back and I feel a sting against my back as the chain on my dress snaps.
He doesn’t even flinch. I can see Nate torn and not wanting to fight while I’m in the middle of them like some convoluted game of monkey in the middle. Well, that is until the jerk that is still holding on to me moves to punch Nate and gets me right in the back of my head.
Luckily for me, he had been drinking enough that the power in his punch was dulled down quite a bit, regardless, my vision swam and between the fear and pain—the battle with my stomach was instantly lost. I lurched forward and spewed every ounce of Long Island Ice Tea I had consumed tonight, along with my dinner, all over that stupid cowboy.
Shock held him still and even though he was covered in my vomit, Zac, coming from behind, grabs a hold of him and started pulling him through the room. I lost sight of them when Nate stepped in front of me and gently tipped my head up. He gives me a quick look, his face stone-cold serious. An expression rarely seen on his carefree face. Seeing this version of Nate jumpstarts the reality of just how serious this situation could have become.
“Come on, Megan, let’s go get you cleaned up before the cops get here.”
“Cops?” I ask, confused.
“Yeah, babe. You’re going to have to give them a few minutes. No way is that douchebag going to get away with trying to force his hand with you.”
“What?”
“Megan, are you okay? Jesus Nate, give her your shirt or something.” Dani rushes around her brother and I feel her messing with my dress. When I look down I almost throw up again. The whole top of my dress is torn and hanging by my hips. “Your back is red. Did he touch your back?”
I shake my head to tell her it was just when the chain snapped but no words come out. I’m too mortified that my dress malfunction had me exposed during my struggle.
“I saw him pull against the top of her dress. When the back ripped I think it snapped against her,” Nate snaps, his tone hard. He’s holding on to his anger by a thread.
“What?” she questions.
They stop talking and I feel fabric being pulled over my head.
“Megan, he was taking you to the exit.”