Page 50 of Dance of Defiance

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Nothing happens. No trumpets or fanfare.

Nothing.

Me

I’m VERY sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you like that.

Me

I liked it.

Me

Not the hitting you part. Before.

Me

You and I…

I stare at the phone, wanting something to happen. Fuckingneedingsomething to happen. But nothing does. No magical response. No parade.

No answer at all.

This time, the bartender shakes his head when I ask him for another two shots.

Fuck him.

As soon as he turns to serve a few goth girls near the end of the bar, I reach over it, grab the bottle of vodka from the speed rail, and storm my way back into the surging mass of violence roiling and churning in front of the stage.

Madness consumes me. Violence ignites in my veins as I throw my head back, drinking deeply, and smash my way blindly through the crowd.

MORE.

I needMORE.

I toss my head back again, howling bloody fucking murder into the thunder. Bodies slam into me, and I slam back. Someone whirls and hits me, and when the blood explodes from my lip, I roar in delight, grabbing the guy by the shoulders, cackling madly, spraying blood into his face before he shoves me away.

Back into the madness.

Into the violence.

Into the endless hatred surging through my heart.

Someone grabs my shoulder from behind.

“ROMAN.”

I snarl, my face feral as I turn, my hands shooting out and wrapping like iron around the neck in front of me.

“ROMAN!”

Hands are shaking me even as I’m squeezing, snarling, not even seeing as I allow myself to drown in the violence that numbs the self-hatred.

And then the guy hits me, hard, in the face.

My grip loosens enough to be pried from the throat it was wrapped around. I’m violently steered through the crowd and thrown bodily against a wall. When I whirl with pure murder bubbling from my chest, a palm slams into me, shoving me back to the wall again as he roars my name.

“ROMAN. LOOK AT ME.”

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