Page 2 of Keegan's Promise

Apparently, I didn’t read far enough the first time. Entry times and fees are listed beneath the festival name. Beneath that are hundreds of people’s names, most printed in tiny font. Those at the top are bigger. I don’t recognize a single one.

“Fifty dollars?” I squeak.

“Unless you plan to be here tomorrow, too. Then, it’s seventy-five.”

“I…I d-don’t have fifty dollars.” The money I grabbed before I fled Texas slowly dwindled to nothing after months on the run. My job at the diner barely pays my bills. If I spend fifty now, I’ll be starving soon. Or freezing. I don’t even have my car this time. I had to leave it behind this morning, along with the rest of my possessions.

“Then you gotta go,” the man says, his expression flat.

“No, please,” I whisper, on the verge of panicking again. If he kicks me out of here, Garrick and the MC will find me. I’ll become their property. “Please don’t.”

“Rules are rules, chick. Either you pay or you leave. Your choice.”

“P-please,” I beg, trying not to cry as everyone passing by slows to peek in our direction. I see the pity and judgment on their faces, but it’s not like it’s the first time I’ve seen the same thing. Probably won’t be the last, either.

Most of them won’t even look me in the eyes as they pass by. They want to watch the show, not interact with one of the participants. It must be so easy to look down on others when you have safety and security, when you’ve never lived in fear or wondered if you were going to survive or starve. Even here, amongst the people the rest of the world judges harshly, I’m the outcast. The poor little pathetic girl, begging for scraps.

What else is new?

The brawny giant who meets my gaze is new. He stares right at me, his expression soft. Empathy wells in his strange eyes—not quite hazel, but not green, either. They’re somewhere in between, some unnamed shade that’s stunning. So is the artwork covering every inch of his muscular arms. A simple T-shirt stretches across his broad chest,Bleaker Street Tattooemblazoned across the front. His faded jeans encase thick, corded thighs that make mine clench in a way that’s also brand new.

Or maybe it’s the way he’s staring at me so intently, like he actually sees me, that has my nipples turning to hard points. Men like him never look at me. Honestly, most people look through me or around me. A chubby girl with wild eyes wearing wrinkled clothes? I’m a problem to ignore. Even before I ran away, I was a problem best ignored.

This stranger isn’t ignoring me. His gaze doesn’t slide from mine like he’s uncomfortable, either. He just…looks right at me.

“Let’s go, chick.” Mohawk yanks on my arm to get me moving.

I stumble slightly.

The stranger’s lips compress, his expression hardening as he breaks my gaze, looking at the man trying to drag me out of the building.

“Let her go, Tyler.”

“What?” Mohawk—I mean, Tyler—says like he didn’t hear that lethally soft command.

The stranger steps forward, his presence overwhelming. I’m not the only one who notices. The whole crowd moves back slightly. They murmur to each other, all eyes locked on him. He’s become part of the show now, a participant in their entertainment.

“I said, let her go.” His sharp command cracks through the silence of the crowd, landing like thunder rumbling. “Now.”

“Shit.” Tyler lets go of my arm as if I burned him…or as if the stranger’s command did. “Sorry, Keegan,” he says, holding his hands up as he quickly steps away from me. “I didn’t realize she was yours.”

“I’m no–”

“Well, she is,” Keegan says, cutting off my indignant protest. “I suggest you keep your hands off her in the future.”

Tyler gives him a jerky nod, looking faintly sick. The whole crowd is wide-eyed, completely silent. They aren’t staring at me with pity now, though. They’re looking at me in pure speculation, as if trying to figure out how someone like me could possibly be with someone like Keegan. As if they know I don’t belong.

My stomach churns with anxiety as they watch. Too many people are really noticing me now, committing me to memory. Two minutes ago, they wouldn’t have been able to tell anyone the first thing about me. Now, they’ll remember me. They’ll talk about me, simply because the kind of man you remember spoke up to defend me.

This is bad. Really bad.

Keegan steps forward, holding out one big hand toward me. “Come on, sweetness.”

I hesitate for only a second before slipping my hand into his. What else am I supposed to do? Cause an even bigger scene? Give these people another reason to remember me and point Garrick and his goons in my direction? No. Absolutely not.

Keegan immediately pulls me up against his side, as if sheltering me from the crowd with his body. He doesn’t say anything as we stroll away, heading deeper into the convention center. I feel two dozen sets of eyes following us, though.

“T-thank you,” I whisper when we’re far enough away not to be overheard. “You didn’t have to do that.”

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