Date Me

"You're trying to get me all turned on so I can't think straight."



Oh, thank god. He doesn’t know I’m trying to find the gun.



"Is it working?" I purr.



He gives me a grin that if I didn't know how sick he is, would have made my heart flutter.



My heart is fluttering, but it's a bad way.



I'm going to have a heart attack way.



"I almost forgot," he says. "I did something just for you." He pushes me back just a little, flips over his hand, and shows me the chaos tattoo on his wrist. "Now we match."



“I heard about Tiny. How he died in a mugging gone bad. Suspiciously the same way your mother died.”



Vincent smiles a sick smile. “I heard that too. You really have to be careful on the streets these days. Bad stuff can happen to anyone.”



“Is that a threat?”



“No, Abby. It’s a promise.” He tucks his fingers under the waistband of my skirt and pushes it down slowly.



I know what he wants. He wants to see my tattoo.



I back away quickly, causing his hand to fall in front of him.



He grabs my arm and squeezes hard, pulls me back close, and gets in my face. "Don't even think about it. I want to see your tattoo. Now."



I hesitate.



“I said now."



I lean my back away from him and slide my skirt down a little further on my hips so that my tattoo is visible.



He puts his wrist against my skin.



Making our tattoos touch.



He keeps his hand in place but pulls the rest of my body back in closer.



"It's like our tattoos are making love," he says.



He pushes his hips further into mine so I can feel how this has aroused him.



I can barely choke back the bile in the back of my throat.



I really feel like I’m going to puke.



Maybe that would be a good idea. If I puked, wouldn’t someone come help me?



Or would he say that I’m sick and he is taking me home. No one would believe he was being anything other than helpful.



My chin is up by his shoulder so he can't see my face.



I allow myself a moment to be horrified.



To stop acting.



I shut my eyes tight. Breathe heavily and try to keep myself from crying.



"Keep doing that," Vincent says. "That way you’re breathing. Having our tattoos touch is turning you on too, isn’t it?"



I can't say anything.



I can't act anymore.



I cannot do this.



I just nod my head into his, so he thinks I am agreeing.



"Abby, god, this is amazing," he says, pulling me closer and rubbing his tattoo harder up and down against mine.



Gun.



Remember the gun.



Find the gun.



Get away.



I move my hands down his chest. To his front pants pockets.



He moans again. “Abby. Abby.”



I still don’t feel a gun.



Instead, I feel his erection.



Definitely not a gun.



That leaves his ankle. James always keeps a spare gun in an ankle holster.



I pull myself closer to Vincent and slide my foot down the side of his left leg.



I don’t feel a holster.



That leaves his right leg. Which I should have checked first. He’s right handed. Of course, it would be on the right side. A plan forms in my head. I’m going to find the gun. Shake into him or something. Drop it low. Get the gun. Tell him to get the fuck out of here and that if he touches my tattoo one more time, I’m going to shoot him.



But then I’d be the crazy person in the club with a gun.



I’d have to kill him, so he’d have no defense. So that he couldn’t make up a story.



I have to kill him.



"What the—” Vincent says.



Vincent is shoved away from me and knocked to the ground in a blur.



Dallas grabs my hand and pulls me off the dance floor, with Riley right behind us.



"No!" I yell at Dallas. "I have to go back there. He has a gun."



"He said that? That he has a gun?” Dallas’ face goes white and he looks scared.



"Yes, he said if I didn't do what he said that he'd start shooting people."



"Fuck," Dallas says. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and sends a text. Why he's doing that at a time like this, I have no idea. “I’m sorry,” he says, “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved in this mess or put you in danger. Come on, we've got to leave."



He pulls my hand, bringing me and Riley with him.



I follow him, even though I have no idea how he could have put me in danger. I’m the one that’s putting them in danger.



I listen for gunshots. I'm praying Vincent doesn’t follow through with his promise to shoot Damian, who is still on stage singing.



I've got to warn him.



"I've got to go backstage first. I've got to tell Damian. He knows we came here with him. He threatened to shoot him.”



Dallas looks like he's ready to cry. He runs his hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. This is all my fault."



I don't understand why he's rambling about it being his fault, but I do know I need to get to Damian.



Fast.



I run to the door leading backstage. Flash my backstage wristband to the guy standing in front of it.



I sprint through the hall, up the three black metal stairs leading to the stage, run across the stage and leap on Damian, bringing him and his guitar crashing to the ground.



Big guys dressed in black rush onto the stage, surrounding us and trying to pull me off Damian.



"What the hell did you do that for?" he whispers.



"He's here. Vincent is here. You've got to get off this stage."



The bouncers pull me off him and carry me off. They pull Damian to his feet, and he runs after me.



"Put her down," he says, once we're both safely offstage.



I can see the other backstage door from here. I see Vincent standing in front of it. He passes a wad of cash to the bouncer. The bouncer opens the door and lets him in. Riley and Dallas, who are both out of breath, come running up to us.



"We're leaving out the back. This way," Dallas says as he pulls me to the back exit.



I don’t even have time to think. I just let him lead me. He seems to have a plan.



As we rush out into the back alley, I see three identical blacked out Suburbans. Men in dark suits pull me, Dallas, and Riley into one and Damian into another.



The trucks split up and we go flying down the street, slowing only to make numerous turns.



Dallas doesn't say anything, but I can tell he’s as tense and scared as I am.



I put my shaking hand on his leg and start to say something. He gives me a slight headshake and moves his eyes toward the guys.



How did Dallas get these men here so fast? And just who are they?



After a fifteen minute drive full of turns and doubling back, we pull into an underground parking lot and are hustled to a nondescript elevator.



After a short ride, we enter a plush hallway to a huge Presidential suite with sweeping views of Biscayne Bay.



Dallas stops to give me hug and whispers in my ear. "They are going to want to debrief us. Just agree with me. I’ll explain everything to you later. I’m so sorry that I put you in danger.”



“But . . .”



“We’ll talk later,” he says firmly.



I nod as he leads me to a sofa, which I promptly collapse on.



I look out at the beach.



Try to pretend I'm back in Malibu and Vincent doesn't exist.



Two guys in suits sit down.



"Tell us what happened," one of them says to Dallas.



"I did what I was told to do if I ever felt threatened. An old guy had ahold of her on the dance floor and wouldn't let go. He grabbed her arm hard. At first, I thought it was just because she's pretty and turned him down or something. But I could tell he was threatening her. Riley and I decided to get her away from him. When we did, she told me he had a gun. That's when I texted."



The guy in the suit turns to me. "What did he say to you and did he threaten the Senator's son directly?"



"He told me he had a gun and that if I didn't dance with him he'd start shooting."



"But he never mentioned his name?"



I shake my head. What is going on here? Do they think Vincent was after Dallas? “No, he didn’t say anything about Dallas. He only mentioned Damian, the guy you put in the other truck. He’s my friend. That’s why we were at the club in the first place. To hear him sing.”



Another black-suited guy stands in front of us. “We’d still like to question him. I have a man in the club. Can you give us a physical description of the assailant?”



“He was white, dark haired, about six-two, and was wearing a dark jacket,” Dallas replies.



“That’s half the people at the club.”



I could give them his name and a much better physical description, but I’m a little confused right now, because I think they think he was going to shoot Dallas, not me and Damian.



“Look, guys,” Dallas says to the suits as he takes a calming breath. “I’m sorry for the hassle. It's the first time I've ever been in a situation like this and I panicked."



"Well, you're safe. That's all that matters,” the suit says.



The other guy in the suit, who has been on his phone the whole time we've been talking, raises his head. “The senator will be calling you shortly. We've kept him abreast of the situation and we'll make sure you get safely back to school. You're free to retire, Miss Monroe."



I'm pretty sure I'm being dismissed.



"My friend, Damian, where did you take him?"



"We took him to where you were staying. He was not followed and is secure. We’ll get your belongings brought here.”



"Thank you,” I say, because I can’t come up with anything else.



I'm led to the door of a large bedroom. I walk in and collapse on the bed.



A few minutes later, Dallas and Riley walk in. Dallas grabs the bottle of champagne that was chilling in the corner. Probably waiting for the senator’s arrival.



He pops it and pours us each a glass.



"So now that we're safe, I need to apologize to you," Dallas says as he climbs on the bed with me.



"Why would you apologize? You helped me.”



"Because I've told you more than once not to lie to me, but I told you a lie."



"You did?"



He sighs and runs his hand through his short blond hair. "Yeah."



"What did you lie about?"



"I told you I got caught smoking weed and that I was an embarrassment to my dad."



"Yeah, I kinda thought your dad sounded like a dick."



"He's not. My dad is awesome."



"So why did you lie?"



Riley has been pacing the floor. "You lied too, Keatyn. About why you're here."



I lower my head. "Yeah."



"We'll talk about you next," Dallas says. "I need to get this off my chest."



He leans back on the pillows. I pull my feet under my legs and snuggle up next to him.



Riley turns from the window and leaps across the room and onto the bed. "How ’bout we all get naked and do something worth lying about?"



Dallas and I laugh.



Riley pulls me back into a hug. "You seem like you're doing better. Are you?"



I kiss his arm and nod.



Dallas says, "Okay, so I'm the youngest of five kids. I was the oops baby. I’m the same age as most of my brothers’ and sisters’ kids. They are all grown, married, and spread across the country." He pauses and sighs. "So, my dad was threatened by this extremist group. They specifically threatened our family. My mom and me. They were going to make me leave my normal school and go live in Washington with them, but I didn't want that." He rolls his eyes. “I threw a bit of a fit. So the drug thing was a lie. Dad let it be publicized. Said he was sending me to military school. That drugs are killing our youth, blah, blah, blah, and I went to Eastbrooke. To stay safe."



"I keep dangerous company," Riley says with a laugh. Then he looks at me seriously. "So that guy at the club. Is he the guy you told me about? Your mom's ex?"



"Um, yeah. He . . ." I don't know what to say. I want to tell them both the truth so badly. But I can't. Just yesterday, I was going to tell Dawson everything. I can't fully trust anyone. And even though I do trust these boys, I also know they are human. They could accidentally say something about Abby being my mom. If that happened, the whole school would find out in seconds. And I can't risk it.



My phone rings, startling me.



Shit. It's Garrett.



"I need to answer this," I say to the boys.



I try to act nonchalant. "Hey, what's up?"



"Keatyn."



"Yes?"



"Where the fuck are you and why aren’t you wearing your necklace?”



“I'm out of town, but I think you already know that."



"Yes, I know that you’re in Miami. I know that you went to see Damian. I know that you had a run in with Vincent. I know that you tackled Damian on stage and were whisked into black Suburbans by what might have been the Secret Service."



“That about covers it. I’m fine.”



"I need to know what he said to you. Damian has already filled me in on the rest."



"I can't now,” I say and hang up.



I get tears in my eyes. What could have happened to me is sinking in.



I'm gonna start crying.



I look at Riley. He’s helped me so much. I’m not going to have another meltdown in front of him.