Slow Burn (43 page)

He says this last part with heavy sarcasm and bitterness.  I glare at him
, but choose not to comment on that.  “Like I said, I’m fine.  I don’t need any help, so why don’t you just go back to your friend?  She’s starting to look pissed.”

Johnny glances back at his truck like he forgot he had someone waiting on him.  Cursing under his breath, he turns to me with a
scowl.  “Stay right there,” he orders me.

He strides back to the Dodge.  I watch openly as he leans in through the passenger window and has a brief conversation with the girl sitting there.  She’s definitely pissed now.  I can practically feel her glare stabbing me in the forehead.

Johnny jogs back to me.  “You okay to drive home?” he asks shortly.  When I nod, he continues.  “I’m going to take her home, and then I’ll come get you.  Do
not
leave your house until I get there.”

He glares at me warningly, but I’m not arguing.  Heather’s too important to worry about my pride.
  I just give a quick nod, and climb into my car.  The sense of urgency is getting stronger.  Hurry, Johnny!

I’m bouncing
off the walls by the time he comes to get me.  He’s brought backup!  Dean, Mack, and Nick are waiting in Nick’s Range Rover, and I almost cry in relief at the sight of them.  Johnny and I jump in, and I quickly give directions to Dean, who’s driving.  I don’t have to tell him to hurry.

Johnny holds my cold hand in his warm one on the short ride there.  I’m grateful for the comfort, but I can’t help feeling a little sad, remembering a time when I could just crawl into his lap
, and thinking I was the only one welcome there.  Now…just sitting next to him feels strange.

Misha’s house is an older neighborhood, a lot like mine.  If we didn’t have the exact address, we still would have been able to figure out which house is his—the pale blue two story with all the cars parked in front of it.
  The garage door is open and light spills it

, illuminating
the people hanging out inside, and in the front yard.

At first glance, the party seems to be much more tame than the Leclare parties I’ve been to
so far.  The music’s much quieter, and the kids seem to be more mellow, and less obviously drunk.  Everyone notices our arrival.  It’s kind of hard not to, with these guys.  The murmurings that begin are not all admiring.

Inside the house, it’s standing room only.  I’m sandwiched between the guys, but I pop free so I can search for Heather.  I just want to find my friend and leave.  I recognize a few people here and there, and I stop to ask
them if they’ve seen Heather.  One of them—a guy with long brown hair named Ricky—tries to tell me something, but he’s giggling too hard to form a coherent sentence.  Finally, he points towards the kitchen.

There’s so many people in the way I can barely move a foot in any direction
.  Thank god for Mack.  He just starts moving towards the kitchen, and anyone in the way moves with him—whether they want to, or not.

A few seconds later, h
e reappears, Heather in tow.  I am so relieved to see her—until I notice her droopy red eyes.

“What the hell, Heather?!” I yell at her.  “Are you freaking stoned?”

She avoids looking at me, instead focusing on smoothing down her messy red blonde hair.  “What are y’all doing here?”

“Saving your ass,” I snap at her.  I notice Johnny glaring at a couple of guys who are watching us, and I grab Heather’s arm.  “Let’s get out of here.”

She pulls away, looking anxious.  “But Sloane is…”  She trails off, biting her lip.

Dean is suddenly standing next to us.  “Where is she?” he asks, locking eyes with Heather.

Heather shakes her head.  She points towards a dark hallway.  “She went into a room with Misha’s brother a while ago.  I tried to stop them…Misha grabbed me and dragged me into the kitchen, and he—”

Dean takes off for the back rooms
, his expression grim.  After a brief hesitation, I follow him.  I’m hoping to avoid a fight, especially since I’m responsible for bringing the guys here.  Um, judging by the look on Dean’s face, I might have to jump on his back to keep him from killing someone.  Even then, I can totally picture Dean swatting me off like a pesky fly.

We open two doors (one i
s a bathroom—occupied by a miserably sick person who did not appreciate the interruption) before Dean finds one locked.  Without hesitation, he puts a shoulder against it and slams into it.  The door crashes open.

I just manage to squeeze in ahead of him
.  It’s not good.  Sloane, wearing nothing but a thong, is lying on a bare mattress on the floor.  A beefy tatted-up guy is all over her, and....

The next thing I know, I’m
being picked up and set aside like a toy.  Dean grabs the guy off Sloane and throws him against a wall.  Beefy Tattoo Guy lands upside down, on his head, groaning.  Whoa…now I see why no one wants to piss Dean off.

Dean barely spares him a glance. 
He crouches down in front of Sloane, turning her face to the light to examine her.  Her dark eyes are glassy, her expression disturbingly slack.  There are red marks all over her breasts.  I quickly look away, sick to my stomach.

Dean is
also disgusted.  He straightens from his crouch.  “Get up,” he commands, his voice hard.

At first, Sloane is unresponsive
—and I start panicking, thinking she’s dead.  Then her arms move, and she languidly sits up.  Her head is hanging at an awkward angle, her glossy dark hair hanging in her face.  She focuses on me, frowning.

“What the hell is she doing here?” she mumbles.  Like that’s important!

Beefy Tattoo Guy is trying to get to his feet.  “Dude—what the fuck, man?!”  He glares at Dean.

Dean ignores him. 
He takes his shirt off in one swift move, and tosses it to Sloane.

Oh, damn
.

Beef
y Tattoo Guy and I stare at him, but for completely different reasons.  Dean’s arms, his chest, his abs…all cut, ripped, chiseled
perfection.
  I…what the…those powerful muscles…everywhere…smooth flesh over carved muscles…scars jagged across tanned skin…
homina homina homina
…

“Who the fuck are you?”  the guy growls, looking ready to lunge.

Dean turns to him, eyes gleaming in the dim light, gorgeous muscles tensed.  “Shut up.”

Beef
y Tattoo Guy stays put.

Sloane is fumbling with Dean’s shirt, snickering.  I stomp over to her
to help get her dressed.  I’m not gentle.  When she jerks her head to the side to glare at me, I glare back.  Yeah, that hair pull
was
intentional.

I get Dean’s shirt on her, a
nd it covers her decently enough.  Even though she doesn’t deserve it, I grab her things and stuff them in my purse.  Then Dean pulls her to her feet, and with a nod at me, he hauls her out of the room.  He’s still shirtless, of course.

Holy shit!  Look at the muscles rippling in his back
when he moves.

Not that I would notice that at a time like this.

The situation outside is bad.  Misha and some of his friends are trying to get in Johnny’s and Mack’s faces.  I can tell by the way Johnny’s skin is flushed under his perpetual tan that he’s in danger of losing it.  He wants to fight—his eyes are bright with anticipation.  So not good.

“Dean,” I say urgently.

Dean pushes Sloane toward me, and goes to head off the confrontation before it gets really ugly.  Sloane stumbles into me, and has the nerve to shove me out of her way.  I shove her back.  Heather, who has just made her to us, gasps and moves to support Sloane.  Just great.

I turn back to the guys, now standing in the middle of a
circle of gawkers.   A chant of “fight, fight” starts up.  Two girls move in front of us, blocking my view.

“OMG, who is
that
?” one of them says loudly.  “Daaamn, he’s hot!”

I can’t see what’s going on, and I can’t hear over the shouting of the other kids.  I get my phone out, re
ady to call the cops, but then I notice a guy feeling up an oblivious Sloane. I’ve got to get her and Heather out of here.

I grab both their hands, and start towing them towar
d the front of the house.  It’s next to impossible!  No one’s moving because they’re all watching the soon-to-be fight.  I am so frustrated, I could scream.  If these assholes don’t get out of the way, I’m about ready to drop down and start stabbing people in the foot with this plastic fork I’ve found!  Okay, I’m panicking. It’s humid, and there are bodies pressing up against me at all sides, and...  Wait, where did Sloane and Heather go?  They were squished together right next to me a second ago!

I’
m in the grips of a paralyzing claustrophobia when Mack finds me.  He pulls me out of the sea of bodies, and crushes me protectively to his chest.  I exhale in relief.  Mack’s got me, and no one would dare mess with him.

He practically carries me over to the others.  There’s Heather and Sloane!  The guys form a tight formation around us, and we move as one unit toward the door
, amid taunts and shouts of “Leclare pussies!” 

“Adler, get your ass over here!” Mack suddenly bellows.

Where
is
Nick?  Oh, there he is, sitting in a chair with a beer in his hand, happily gazing at the gyrating girl butt in his face.  He snaps out of his trance at Mack’s voice, and hastily jumps to his feet.

I don’t breathe until we’re outside, and the guys are hustling us to Nick’s Range Rover.
  I try to stop to see who’s calling my name as we leave, but Johnny just tosses me over his shoulder.  Something just dropped out of my purse.  I think it was Sloane’s phone.  Good.

I
tell Dean to drop Heather and me off at my house.  I have a few things to say to my best friend, but I’m not going to do it in front of witnesses.  I’m so pissed at her, I can’t form coherent thoughts—there’s just this fuzzy white static in my head, and my heart is racing from the adrenaline rush.  I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs.

I can’t stop thanking the guys for their help.  But Sloane—gr, I wanna smack the smirk off her beautiful face.  As Heather and I are getting out, she has the nerve to tell Heather to text her later!  What.

“You!  You stay away from her, or I swear to god, I’ll kick your ass!” I snap, lunging forward to get in her face.

“Jule!”

Heather grabs me around the waist, and pulls me back out.  Sloane’s grandly presenting me the finger!  Red mist settles over my vision.  Oh, no…

“Drive!” Johnny shouts at Dean, seeing my face.
  He thumps the back of the driver’s seat.  “Go, man!”

I watch the Range Rover swerve away from the curb.  Like I’m going to chase them, or something.  I whirl around and glare at Heather.

“Now do you see?!” I snap at her.  “She was just using you!  I told you not to—”

“Oh, just stop
it!”

Heather just screamed at me.  She never screams.  I stare at her in shock.  She’s looking at me like
she hates me, like I’ve betrayed her somehow.

“I don’t want to hear it, anymore, Jule!  I’m so sick you trying to tell me what to do, and who I can see, and—and acting like I’m such a mess, when—look at your life!  You’re not my mother, you’re my friend—and right now, you’re not even that!”

“Heather—”

She pulls away from me.  “No!  I can’t listen to your
stupid little lectures and I-told-you-so’s.  Do not try to make me feel guilty about this.  I’m seventeen—not forty.  I want to have fun!  I want to take risks!”  She folds her arms over her chest, and looks at me derisively.  “But you go ahead, and live in your safe little bubble—because god forbid you should make a mistake, and screw another one of Johnny’s friends!”

I gasp, horrified that Heather
would throw that in my face—and at the top of her lungs, on the street in front of my house.  The silence stretches on as I wait for her to take it back.

She doesn’t.  She starts walking away.  “Do me a favor,” she calls over her shoulder.  “Lose my number!”

Oh, my god.  That’s the drugs talking, right? 

I should go after her, but my feet feel like they’re glued to the ground.  I watch Heather’s long-legged stride take her further and further away from me.  I can’t believe she said those things.  She would have done less damage if she’d punched me in the face.

What the hell did I do, other than try to look out for her?!  How can she not see that she’s slowly going in over her head?  And that bitch, Sloane—Heather and I never fought like this until she came into the picture.  I don’t know what to do.  I guess…I’ll give us both a couple of days to cool off.  This was brutal.

There’s nothing to do but wave to my elderly neighbor (who’s peeping at me through the curtains of her front window), and trudge back into my house.
  It’s after one in the morning, but I have a feeling I’m not going to be getting any sleep tonight.

I’m right.  I lie awake in bed, mentally replaying everything that happened, images of Heather, Johnny, and a shirtless Dean swirling in my head.