Page 8 of Unwritten Vows

I turn around to face Derrick. “I don’t know where I left my—”

“I’ve got it, little Liza.” He slaps a twenty dollar bill down onto the counter as I swipe my drink off of it.

“Damn, that’s generous!” I yell over the loud music.

He gives me a shark-toothed smile and shakes his head. “Not really. The Long Island Iced Tea in your hand is $16, and I left a four-dollar tip.”

I look down and remember now—it was the first drink that popped into my head because a friend at my last party told me you can’t taste the alcohol in these. I take a sip. It’s good, so I shrug and start walking away.

Derrick stays on my heels as I push through to the dance floor. It’s not like I’ve never been to a place where I danced. I’ve been to weddings, after all. I know how to have a good time.

“You left your bag at the table upstairs,” Derrick shouts in my ear over the music as we walk.

“I thought it was because you were nervous. I didn’t think you’d get accustomed so quickly, I have to say.

” He’s leaning so close to me that I feel him starting to perspire—feel the raw heat coming off his body and rolling onto mine.

We’re both already hot and crowded in this atmosphere.

It was disgusting when I was looking at it from outside, but now that I’m so close to him, taking in the spicy smell of him, mingling with the cologne that melted a tiny bit of my objection toward him earlier, I realize I don’t hate it as much as I thought I would.

Still, he can’t know that. I will not give into Derrick fucking Stepinov. “Accustomed? You act like I’ve never been out of my house before!”

As I look back at him, I bump right into a broad, hard chest. Even though broad, hard chests are all I’d expect from this place, I stumble back in surprise.

Before I can get too far though, the young man, who I’d guess is around my age or younger, reaches out to grab my waist and pull me in. As he squashes me against his body, I see the vacant expression and half-smile on his face. This guy is obliterated.

I slosh my drink on him, half on purpose, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. “Umm, no way,” I say, pushing backwards off of him. He’s huge though; his body is two of mine. He might be wasted, but he’s still strong as hell.

“Come on, pretty, a little kiss?” He slurs, and smashes his face to mine without waiting for an answer.

I turn my head in disgust, and he drools all over my cheek.

I have had a lot of self defense classes, but I’m pissed and drunk, so the best move feels like it’s slapping him across the face. So I do. As hard as possible.

“Ah, fuck!” He says, swatting my hand away from his cheek after I smack him, as if I’m an annoying wasp. He grabs the back of my neck to hold me in place and tries again.

Suddenly, the guy screams and rears back off of me.

Derrick holds his wrist in his hand, bent backwards at an unnatural angle.

His face is dark and full of a rage that I’m shocked to see.

I try to reject the excitement it elicits inside of me, but I can’t deny that I love it.

That anger is for me , my brain whispers, but I shake my head and replace the thought with something safer.

I’m just super happy that I don’t have to deal with this other guy on my own.

Derrick deposits me behind him and pulls the young guy closer, grabbing his neck and squeezing. The guy chokes and his eyes bulge.

“She’s here with me. Do you know who I am?”

The young man’s eyes get even bigger, bulging for a new reason this time.

“You’ve just touched my date. What should I do to you?”

The man seems to have sobered up quite a bit. He understands exactly what Derrick is saying. He shakes his head.

“You slobbered all over her. You made her spill her drink. Is that how you treat a lady?”

The man swallows audibly and shakes his head.

“Say you’re sorry.”

The man faces me, his expression cowed. I can’t hear his words, but he mouths, “I’m sorry.”

“Louder!” Derrick says, pinching his neck harder so he gags.

“I’m sorry!” he chokes out, reaching up to Derrick’s hand on his throat.

By now, the people around us have started taking note of what’s going on.

We have a small crowd. Derrick seems to realize this and looks off into the sea of bodies, tipping his head at the young man.

I see both my security team and his move in like a set crew, removing unnecessary items from the stage quickly in the dark.

Derrick makes a signal I don’t recognize at them, and before I know it, they’re hauling him away to god-knows-where. I certainly don’t fucking care.

He turns me toward him, wiping the areas I got slobbered on like he’s trying to wipe the other man’s essence off of me. “You okay?” He wants to sound nonchalant about this, but he doesn’t. Even drunk, I know he’s not.

I feel jittery and disgusted, but I just shrug. “Yeah. I mean, that kind of stuff happens all the time, right?”

He gives me a half smile, but grabs my waist and leans in closer. “Not to you, moya Zaychik . It won’t happen to you again if I have anything to do with it.”

I want to be casual, too. So I roll my eyes and shrug him off. His eyes narrow as if I slapped him in the face, but he likes a challenge, and I can see the determination in his eyes.

He grabs my waist again, but this time suddenly and in a punishing grip, dragging me toward him.

My body is thrust into his, my drink nearly toppling out of my hand.

Somehow, he steadies me before it does. “No one touches the girl I’m out with,” he yells into my hair, his hot breath on my neck.

“You agreed to go out with me tonight. For the night, at least, you’re mine. ”

I want to struggle away from him and out of his grip, but his hard body has me paralyzed.

I’ve danced with men, even ones that smelled very good.

I’ve had boyfriends, and I even let one feel me up behind one of the big trees away from the cameras on my grounds.

But it just wasn’t like this. There is something so dangerous and mysterious about Derrick Stepinov, and although I never thought I’d want any part of that bad-guy vibe, I find now that I’m incredibly attracted to it.

“You don’t really want to push me away, Little Bunny. Do you?”

I lick my lips. I’ve lied to him before—just little white lies. Why can’t I force my mouth to do it again?

So instead of pushing away, I turn. I need my face out of his neck. I need fresh air to come to my senses as quickly as possible.