CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I went to the street dance alone.

I never told Mark about it and when he dropped me off at home, I reassured him that everything was fine. Everything was fine. I was going to make sure of it. Getting ready for the street dance was painful in the literal sense, but I chose a white camisole underneath a black sweater and black pants with little black ballet flats. All of it was easy to get into and that had been my main objective. My next goal was make-up. More was applied than I normally wore, and I was proud of myself; almost all of the bruises were hidden by the time I was finished. Then I swept my hair up into a high pony-tail. My hair had grown longer, so it was past my shoulders now. If Heather had been there, she would’ve told me it looked sleek. I didn’t care. I just needed to blend in. I was going into Roussou territory.

I wanted to find Heather first, but as I parked my car and got out, my heart sank. Brandon said one street was blocked off. That was true, but he never said it was the entire main street blocked off. She could be anywhere.

I sighed and started off on my mission.

Going through the first block was easy. It was during the second that people started to look at me. A group of girls jerked together and started whispering. A few pointed at me. My heart sank again. It was already starting, so I veered into the first bathroom I could find. Checking my make-up in the mirror, I didn’t see anything wrong. I looked fine. Normal even. The evening had grown dark so my face looked flawless with none of my bruises showing, but when I went back out, they were still there. There were more behind them and they were watching me now.

Frowning at them, I turned to slip away, but came to an abrupt stop.

Budd Broudou was in front of me, a leer on his face as he looked me up and down. I hardened inside. The longer his gaze lingered on me, the dirtier I felt. As they were transfixed below my waist, I shifted on my feet and snapped, “What do you want?”

He grinned and lifted his hand. A forty ounce bottle touched his lips, and he took a long pull from it before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he licked his lips and tugged at his jeans. They hung low on his waist, already baggy, but the top button was loose so they sagged even more.

I narrowed my eyes.

He chuckled as he caught my reaction. Lifting a hand to his chest, he rubbed it through his white wife-beater. His flannel shirt hung open, the ends of it were frayed and ripped with holes in them. As his hand fell back down to his pants, his finger caught on the end and tore it some more. He seemed unaware that he ripped his shirt, or he just didn’t care.

My guess was both. I was getting tired of his silent leering. “What do you want?”

Another deep chuckle came from him, and he pointed his beer at me. “You already said that.”

“Then answer the question.”

There was a collective gasp behind me, but I couldn’t take my words back. I said it. It was done. Now I waited for the consequences.

He started laughing. It was slight at first, but grew. As he kept going, he bent over and slapped at his knee. His beer jostled from the movement and he cursed, but shook his head as more laughter escaped. It took another moment before his chuckles ceased enough so his hand had stopped shaking. As soon as he could, he finished the rest of his beer. When it was empty, he tossed it to the ground. His hand went back out and someone put a new one there. When he went to open it, he kept shaking his head, watching me at the same time. His shoulders jerked up as he started laughing again.

I looked for a quick escape route, but there wasn’t one. Everyone around us was watching. They had taken a step towards us and closed ranks. I had to wait.

After another sip from his new beer, he burped. “You got a spine to you. I can see why he likes you.”

I stiffened.

His gaze travelled over me again, stopping on my br**sts. “You got a nice rack, too. Not too much. You’re damn skinny, but you got enough for a good bounce.” His tongue darted out and ran over his bottom lip before moving to the top one.

It was in slow motion. I began to feel sick.

“Hmm mmm.” He nodded, then took another long swallow. “You’re tight.” His eyes went to below my waist. “I bet you’re real tight there, too. He’s a lucky guy.”

I frowned. Feeling disgusted aside, he thought Mason was a lucky guy?

“Too bad my brother caught you first.”

His brother?

“Budd.”

I turned around. Brett Broudou was behind me. He wore the same baggy jeans and ripped flannel shirt, but there was no leering. He was glowering, but not at me. He said again, “Budd. Back off.”

Budd snorted. He lifted his beer again, but he stumbled to the side. The beer fell from his hand to the ground, and it sprayed everywhere, most of it on me. I jumped out of the way and slammed into Brett, but I didn’t care at that moment. My ribs protested, and a searing pain sliced through me. “Shit,” I whispered to myself, but then I bounced off of Brett and began to fall to the side.

The ground was coming at me. My eyes went wide. The pain was going to be paralyzing, so I readied myself for the impact.

It never came.

I had stopped halfway there and looked up. Brett caught me. His one hand held a twin forty ounce beer, but his other hand was wrapped around my arm. Our eyes caught and an apology flashed in his as he lifted me back to my feet.

“Thanks.” I had no idea what else to say.

He nodded, his gaze was lidded, but he looked over at his brother. “You remember our talk?”

Budd rolled his eyes and waved him away. “Yeah, yeah.”

Brett frowned. “Tink?”

Another goliath-sized guy spoke from behind the counter. “Yeah?”

“Give Budd another beer. He dropped his.”

“Already?”

Budd growled. “Fuck you both. I’m fine. I can get my own damn beer.” He swung around, but almost clipped a girl in the head as he did. Taking a few extra steps, he regained his balance and shoved through the crowd.

My heart was racing. It wasn’t until he left that I gasped for breath.

Brett touched my hand, stopping it from trembling. “Come on.”

I followed him through the crowd and concentrated on slowing my heart. It was nearing combustion; it wanted to explode out of my chest. It wasn’t until it had slowed a little when I realized that Brett was taking me somewhere away from the street dance. We turned down an alley and ducked into a side door where there was another party. There were people everywhere and most clapped him on the shoulder as he went past. Girls called out hellos, but it was different than when I walked with Mason or Logan. The attention they got from girls was sexual. This was genuine. These people actually liked Brett Broudou.