Page 11 of Fang
“Oh, fuck off,” Misty says before pushing me back.
The force of her hit catches me off guard. I stumble but catch myself on a chair. She stomps past me, heading toward the locker room.
Bitch.
I’m so lost in my thoughts I miss the man approaching until he’s right on top of me.
“Hey baby, how about you give me a private dance?” he says.
I start shaking my head before he even finishes his sentence. “I don’t do private dances. Sorry.”
Before I can take a step back, he reaches out and grabs my arm. I can’t help but hiss as he pinches me on the underside of my arm.
That’s what triggers me. My whole body starts to shake as I feel tears prick my eyes.
“Now wait a minute. There’s no need to play hard to get. I’ll pay whatever you want,” he says as he licks his lips.
Disgust rolls through me. Still, I have a hard time keeping my emotions in check. I cannot stand having his hands on me. I can feel the pain from his grip.
“Let go,” I demand.
“Nah, I don’t think I will,” he says as he squeezes my arm tighter and shakes me a little.
My mind is on the edge of the past and present. Reminding me what follows a small show of violence. I can already almost feel my ribs aching with it.
Before he can pull me into him, someone steps in.
Happy slides his body between mine and the stranger’s. I watch as his hand wraps around the man’s throat.
Relief fills me as my body continues to shake. I try to get it together as Happy faces the man.
“She told you to let go,” he says with eerie calmness.
“And who are you? Her pimp?” The man scoffs.
Happy sighs and squeezes the man’s windpipe until he lets go of my arm. His eyes are bugging out of his head.
“What does the rule on the door say, huh?” Happy asks him.
The man gasps for air as he tries to pry Happy’s fingers off of his neck.
“I don’t think he can breathe,” I point out unhelpfully.
The words are soft. A joke I throw out there to distract myself from my own emotions. I swear I would be the one laughing at a funeral. My mind handles shit in inappropriate ways.
Happy frowns and dips his chin. “You’re right.”
I watch as he loosens his grip.
“Answer my question. What’s the rule on the door?”
“Don’t touch without permission.” The man gasps.
“Exactly, and did my girl Cami give you permission to touch her?”
The man’s eyes narrow. “Come on, man, she’s a fucking dancer. They like the attention and know the score.”
Happy tsks. “I think you’re wrong. Do you like the attention?”
