Page 62 of From West, With Regret

We’re standing chest to chest. The dancers surrounding us slowly push us together, and within moments, I find myself looking up at West.

“What are you afraid of, London?” he shouts over the music. “Falling for me?”

“Yes!” I shout back, not caring if he knows my truth. I’ve kept it safely locked inside a vault, not even telling my sister. Now I’ve cracked the code, opening the safe door wide open. Istiffen my arms at my sides, balling my hands into fists. “I alreadyamfalling for you West.”

He blinks, shocked by my answer.

“But we shouldn’t, and I can’t,” I continue. He opens his mouth, but I stop him, grinding my teeth until they crack. “And I swear, if you try to argue that this is about Heath… I’m only going to tell you one last time that it isn’t. If you suggest it again, I might just lose my mind.”

“Then, what is it? Because I’ll be damned if I’ll let you walk out of here like you walked out of my bar last night without you knowing exactly how I feel about you.”

A knot twists in my stomach, and I feel nauseous. Nauseous in a good way. If that makes any fucking sense. West makes me feel whole and complete. Like puzzles pieces falling into place without me even trying. He’s familiar, but how can I tell him that? How can I tell him I have memories of him when I know it’s impossible? Right?

I remember his hands and his voice, even before he touched me the other night. It’s as though I’m looking through a kaleidoscope. The image of him is there, but the picture doesn’t make any sense. He’s a Picasso painting to me, blocks of colors not quite lined up. They make a picture, but they don’t quite make sense at first glance.

“West, I?—”

“Hey there, gorgeous.” A deep voice comes up behind me, loud and clear straight for my ear. “How about I take you out of here and you can dance all over my cock instead of on this dance floor?”

West’s attention immediately lifts to whoever is over my shoulder. His eyes have darkened, transforming to a full deep shade of black. His nostrils flare, and his neck swells. I can see the muscles in his jaw ticking with pulsating fury.

The man behind me leans closer, and his hand slinks around my hip, down to the top of my thigh.

I freeze, my skin turning as cold as ice.

My mind is screaming for my body to move but it doesn’t listen.

But the next several moments happen in a flash.

I gasp as West pushes me behind him, stumbling and catching myself before spinning around. An ear-splitting crack pierces the music as West’s fist connects with the face of the man who touched me. He drops to the floor with a thud, and West is quick to stand over him.

“Stay the fuck away from her,” he seethes, venom dripping from him as he leans down and fists the man’s shirt. He lifts him up effortlessly before he rears his free arm back in the air and drives his fist into the man’s face again. Then again. Then again. Blood sprays from the guy’s face as he’s jerked to his right, the crowd jumping back as crimson hits the floor around them.

The stranger’s eyes roll to the back of his head, but West doesn’t relent, delivering another blow. The music hasn’t stopped, and neither have the lights. The club descends into chaos. Some people move away from the fight while others stand and watch in shock.

I leap forward, trying to stop West from delivering another blow to the man before he kills him. “West!” I shout, grabbing at his shoulders. “Stop.”

He doesn’t listen, instead punching the man again. He lifts him up with a single hand again, inches from the dance floor. Snarling, he presses his nose to the man’s. “You motherfucking pussy. Say shit like that again to my girl and I’ll snap that tiny dick of yours and shove it right down your throat until you fucking choke on it.”

“West,” I cry out. “Please, stop.”

The man’s eyes slowly roll to me over West’s shoulder.

“Don’t you fucking look at her, you piece of shit,” West threatens, snarling. He shakes him as if he doesn’t already have his attention. “Do it again, and I won’t think twice about killing you.”

The man eyes roll to the back of his head, and West unravels his fist. The stranger drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

The feathers of darkness return as I watch him lying there, lifeless, head to the side, blood pouring from his face. Lights dance across his body, and I watch his chest, waiting to see if it rises.

“London,” West says in my ear, his voice warbled and distorted, like I’m trapped underwater.

“Dimples, look at me!” West shouts.

At least I think it’s him. It could be the cacophony of voices around us. Or the champagne still lingering in my blood and swimming in my head.

The man on the floor doesn’t move. He just lies there, lifeless.

I’m watching his chest move just an inch when West steps in front of me, blocking my view.

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