Fracture (15 page)

     I used to own my sexuality as much as she does. I miss that version of me. I push my glass into the center of the table. “Dancing. I’m dancing. Either of you coming?”

     Mila shakes her head. “I need more alcohol first.” Zlata’s eyeing the bar and a few of the men ranged around the end of it and doesn’t answer. With a shrug, I slide off my stool and make my way onto the dance floor.

     It’s not so crowded I have to worry about getting elbowed in the chest, which is sometimes a problem, being as short as I am. My joints are creaky and stiff; I could have used another drink or two myself. Normally I’d have a good buzz on before I’d venture out like this, but the track switches to an old David Guetta song, one I loved back home, and I forget about needing alcohol and Declan and betraying Ryan and the war outside. Nothing matters but the beat pulsing its way up from the floor. Lights flash, the volume rises, and the bodies around me undulate in synchronicity.

     Hands appear at my hips. Caressing them. Molding them. They’re unfamiliar, pulling me backward so I’m flush against a hard, lean chest. Also unfamiliar. Someone’s aggressive. Glancing over my shoulder, I’m met with a sly grin and dark eyes. Pretty. Since his hands haven’t wandered from my hips to my ass, I let him stay.

     A few more beats, and he spins me around, catching me in a smooth, obviously practiced move. He grins again, then leans in, lips brushing my ear as he shouts into it. Shaking my head, I lean back. “American!”

     Understanding crosses his face, and he bends forward again. “My English not so good. I am Danilo.”

     “Nora.” I see no reason not to enjoy this man’s attentions. It doesn’t happen often. I was used to my girlfriends being picked off one by one when we’d gone dancing in college. Going home with a guy I’d met in a bar was never appealing to me anyway. Getting the chance to flirt was good enough.

     We dance a while longer, and he’s good. Surprisingly good. He knows where to put his feet and if his hands drift every once in a while, he moves them fast enough to territory that won’t get them cut off. So when he points to the bar, I take his hand and follow him.

     What Cristian never could understand was I’d never needed to learn the language. Enough people spoke English, or a bastardized version of it, for Ryan and I to get around without issue. Though standing at the bar with Danilo makes for some awkward moments. His English really is as terrible as he claimed.

     Mila catches my eye and gives me a thumbs up, and I grin. She can believe whatever she wants. And Danilo is good–looking. Almost sinfully so. Sipping my drink, I try to keep the conversation going, and it sputters a few more times before it goes out. I give up and we head back to the dance floor.

     There are more people, crushing us together. The alcohol is a pleasant, warm burn in my belly, but it doesn’t make me brave enough to throw all caution aside and grind against Danilo the way some couples are doing. My exhibitionist streak never went quite that far.

     Beats rise and fall, the bass line throbbing through my body. Sweat trickles down my neck, along my spine. I needed this. This night, this carefree night. A night away from my brain. As long as my feet keep moving I don’t have to think.

     A few songs later, I stretch up on my toes and yell into Danilo’s ear, letting him know I need a glass of water. He grins in response, kissing my cheek for good measure, before squeezing my hand and moving away. My cheeks heat with pleasure. I’d forgotten how fun harmless flirting could be. Maybe I’ll try to find him later and do some more of it.

     I make my way off the dance floor, skin tightening with awareness. I swear I’m being watched. Scanning the bar, I spot Declan on a stool, his booted foot propped up on the lower rung of a neighboring one. I head toward him. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” I call out over the noise.

     “What the fuck was that, Nora?” He jerks his head toward the dance floor. A muscle jumps in his jaw.

     Why does Zlata find him so attractive? The scowl on his lips drags his whole face down, dark brows lowered over blue eyes like shards of ice. The last of the bruises have faded, leaving behind a slight yellow tinge. His jaw is scruffy since he hasn’t bothered to shave in several days.

     Not attractive. Not in any traditional sense. But he makes you look twice, and then he catches you looking and you’re stuck.

     I sigh. “Dancing. I was dancing. And before you go all caveman on me, he kept his hands to himself.”

     Declan grabs my hips and jerks me forward. “I saw where his hands were,” he grumbles. He strokes down and cups my ass. “They didn’t belong there.”

     I lift a brow. “And yours do?” I close my hands around his wrists. “It’s sex. Don’t pretend it’s anything else.”

     He flexes his fingers, making me yelp. “Isn’t it?” Dangerous. When he softens his voice, that lilt becomes dangerous. I’ll believe anything he says.

     “It’s not,” I murmur, distracted. His mouth is
right there
. All I have to do is lean forward an inch. “Let go of my ass.” His hold softens, but he doesn’t relinquish it completely. “Declan—”

     “I didn’t like it. Watching him put his hands all over you. I know I can’t dance, not with my leg in a cast. That’s no reason for another man to paw at you.”

     That’s enough for me. I dig my fingers into his arms, smugly satisfied when he hisses as I poke at his injured wrist. I yank his hands away and take a step back. “Do you think we can have a conversation without you manhandling me?”

     He glowers, and I step in so we don’t have to shout so much. “We have sex. Spectacular, amazing sex. It’s what you wanted. Spectacular, amazing sex does not entitle you to act like a jealous boyfriend.”

     The sneaky bastard palms my ass again, bringing me to him. “I never said it was just sex, lass. I said I don’t do relationships. I don’t go in for flowers and love notes. That doesn’t mean it’s nothing more than getting naked. Call it spending time together, if you like.”

     I scowl at him. “How about I call bullshit? That’s what it sounds like. We ‘spend time together’ because we live together.”

     “I call it exactly that. Do you think I don’t enjoy spending time with you, Nora?” Feathery, teasing kisses burn on my skin as his mouth works its way over my jaw, drawing me closer. I dig my fingers into his thighs as his tongue flicks over my earlobe. “Are you certain it’s not more than sex?” he whispers.

     I’m certain he’s a manipulative, selfish man. His words find their mark, though, as his mouth continues to taunt. He doesn’t have to spend all that time in the flat, talking to me. He’s already proven he can get around on his own, regardless of whether his leg is paining him. A moan escapes as he kisses the delicate skin below my jaw. I scramble to hold on to my frustration. “Stop it.”

     He lifts his head, lips an inch from my ear. “If that’s what you want.”

     It is. My feet are stuck. They won’t move. I have to move away from him, free myself before he changes my mind for me.

     “Nora?”

     Decadent. That’s what my name sounds like, coming from his mouth. Is it such a bad thing to take from him like this, when he so clearly wants to give? It’s the best kind of distraction, the most beautiful reminder that life goes on, even in the midst of destruction. Is it so bad to take comfort from that?

     I turn my head toward his and kiss him, sinking into it. Sometimes I think this must be what dying feels like, the air in my lungs burning to be released, unable to escape because my mouth is otherwise occupied. Then his teeth nip into my lip or his tongue curls around mine, and I figure if I’m dying at least I’m going to enjoy it.

     It happens so fast I’m not sure it’s real.

     Thunder rumbles, a fast, fierce roll. Someone screams. The shrillness of it pierces the thrum of noise in the club, drawing murmurs. Another scream, accompanied by yelling. Constant yelling. I whip my head around, trying to break free of Declan’s arms as I search for the source.

     Everything slows. A flash, a crack, a rumble, and he picks me up, shifting his hands to lift me onto the bar. A wince of discomfort crosses his face as he boosts himself up. His mouth moves. There’s smoke. He pushes me over the bar, and I land in unfamiliar arms. The bartender. He shoves me below the bar and Declan’s on his knees in front of me, dragging me toward him. I shove at his chest. I can’t see. I need to see. I have to know what’s happening. But Declan’s strength gives him an advantage and he won’t let go.

     
Let me go.

     Then it’s dark and sound rushes back. Another crack, more smoke. His arms tightening, pressing my face into his chest. Screaming. So much screaming. My mind blanks. He pushes me to the floor, stretching out over me. A protective shield. Bad. Something bad must be happening.

     Flashes of light. Smoke. A bomb? One side is trying to blow up the club? While I’m in it. While Zlata and Mila and my new buddy Danilo are in it.

     Who knows how long we lie there behind the bar. Another explosion, more smoke, a hell of a lot more yelling, and my face getting smushed against Declan’s shirt. One hand around the nape of my neck, the other arm braced at my lower back. He’s going to absorb whatever comes. It isn’t fair. He shouldn’t have to. He shouldn’t be here. None of us should. All we’re doing is having fun, and they — whichever side it is — have decided we can’t anymore.

     The screaming hasn’t stopped and it’s getting smokier. The place is burning around us. The bartender tugs at Declan’s sleeve and points toward the end closest to the entrance. Leave. He’s telling us to get out now before it collapses around us.

     We could be stumbling into an ambush.

     “Follow the bartender!” Declan’s shouting in my ear. He pushes me after him, and I shake my head frantically.

     “There has to be another exit! They could be waiting outside!”

     “No choice!” He points to the back of the room. Flames are licking the far wall, where the back exit would likely be, eating into the walls with glee. “Come on!”

     Crawling to the end of the bar, I peek to my right, to the rest of the club, and all I see is chaos. A fiery, whirling mass of it, flames and smoke and creaking furniture. Bodies. God, the
bodies
. Eyes smarting from the smoke and tears, throat stinging, I crawl along the floor to the entrance. Fire’s starting to work its way forward, judging by the increased screams.

     Someone steps on my fingers. A woman falls in front of me, then scrambles to her hands and knees and staggers on. Everyone’s forgotten that smoke and hot air rises. Everyone’s forgotten you drop to the floor in a burning building, not stand around like a herd of sheep, rolling your eyes in fear and confusion, waiting for the border collie to come along and make everything all right.

     My knees are crying along with the rest of me, the unforgiving floor bruising. Palms slipping and skittering on something I’m best not questioning, it’s an agonizing crawl to the entrance, navigating through fallen tables and chairs, around people milling about, pushing each other in their attempts to find the way out.

     The short hallway leading into the main part of the club is clearer. An enterprising soul propped the door open. My legs aren’t working. My brain isn’t working. Other club goers are rushing past us, squishing us into the wall. Mila and Zlata aren’t among them. I can’t back up to go search for them. No room to turn around.

     I pull Declan to his feet and we stagger out, into the bracing cold.

     The nightmare isn’t over.

     I’ve stumbled from one level of hell straight into another.

     The street outside the club is crowded with soldiers and club goers drifting around, their shouts and whimpers a blanket of noise. Smoke and dust choke the air. It’s hard to breathe. I’m cold. I’m
freezing
. I left my coat in the club. Goosebumps pop up, and I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself to hold in the warmth. I should go back and get my coat.

     Declan catches me around the waist before I can dart for the entrance. 

     “Let go!”

     “No.” I’m trapped by steel girders, his chest a wall at my back. “The building’s on fire. Or didn’t you notice that?”

     I try to elbow him in the gut. He simply grunts and limps backward, dragging me with him. “What are you going to do, Nora? Get yourself hurt?”

     Hurt. So much hurt. Pain. There are bleeding people everywhere. Shambling past. Crying on the sidewalk. Lying stretched out on the dirty, dirty street, inviting infection.

     There are
bodies
inside that building.

     Danilo might be inside.

     Mila and Zlata might be inside.

     Sirens rise in a wail, drowned momentarily by a thunderous
crack
. Dust and smoke billow outward. My throat closes off, and I double over, Declan curving over my back, our bodies wracked with throat–ripping coughs.

     I blink the tears from my eyes and straighten, scanning the street for Mila and Zlata. Danilo staggers out of the gloom, and I fight Declan’s hold until he releases me. Blood drips from Danilo’s nose and forehead. He tries to smile as his eyes light with recognition, the expression twisting in a grimace. There’s a cut at his hairline, the source of the blood on his forehead. The warm red coats my fingers as I run them over his face. 

     “Are you hurt anywhere else?” His grasp of English has to be good enough to answer this question. It has to.

     Before he can answer, he’s waved over by a black–clad soldier, and my hands fist at my sides. The street’s crawling with them, their boots stomping through the clumps of people, weapons at the ready. I step back, watching Danilo’s shambling progress through the street toward the soldier. Experience has taught me that where there’s government soldiers, there’s Cristian, and I don’t have the strength or patience to deal with him.

     The dark and the smoke and the dust are blinding. I squint against the gritty air, heart in my throat, nerves screaming and poised to jump at first sign of the soldier who won’t leave me alone.