Page 91 of The Devil of Downtown

“I’ve been trying to get you alone all night,” he pushes, smile thinning into insistence.

Someone bumps into us, shoving me into Brody’s chest. He takes it as an invitation. His hands roam all over me, pulling me close, giving me no space to move. The strobe lights, the heat, the crush of bodies—it all folds in on me at once, the room spinning in a way that makes me dizzy.

I place my palms on his chest, pushing him away. “I said no.”

He just rolls his eyes like I’m being dramatic.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it. Just come—” He reaches out and grabs my wrist, fingers locking tight, pulling.

Pain slices up my arm.

“Brody—stop, you’re hurting me.”

He doesn’t let go. “I’m not—justcome on—”

He doesn’t get to finish. Out of nowhere, a figure materializes behind me, and before I can turn, he rips Brody away, slamming him against the nearest wall with enough force to make the people around us jerk in surprise.

For a heartbeat, I just... stare. I can’t even process what I’m seeing.

Brody’s pinned—lifted almost onto his toes—by someone bigger, broader, radiating pure violence. An arm is braced across his chest, crushing the air from him.

Then the man speaks, and the sound slices straight through the haze, “Get your fucking hands off her if you want to live to see another day.”

Dane.

My stomach drops.

He’s in jeans and a dark T-shirt, shoulders tense under the fabric, jaw locked, eyes black with fury. He’s not yelling—he doesn’t have to. His rage is cold, controlled, and ten times more dangerous for it.

Brody wheezes, his face flushing as his eyes roll.

Panic snaps through me.

“Dane,” I manage, stepping forward. “Let him go.”

He doesn’t move. Not even a twitch. He’s somewhere else entirely—buried in a rage so deep I’m not sure he can hear me over it.

The music thunders on, oblivious. People stare but pretend they’re not staring.

“Dane,” I try again, softer, moving close. I wrap my fingers around his forearm. His skin is hot beneath my touch, muscles rigid.

“Let him go,” I whisper.

For a beat, he doesn’t move.

Then, with a rough exhale, he releases Brody. Brody stumbles forward, coughing, sputtering something that might be my name or an excuse. Either way, I don’t care. I’m done. I’m not sticking around long enough to find out.

I shove through the crowd, through the suffocating heat and strobe lights and bodies pressing in on all sides. I burst out the front doors into the freezing night, my breath a sharp cloud in the air, and I keep walking.

Away from Brody.

Away from Dane.

Away from this whole damn night.

I don’t get far before I hear him behind me, breath hard and fast, footsteps pounding the pavement.

“Ivy,” Dane growls, fury barely contained. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”