Page 22 of Just Wait

I think.

I don’t know.

There are so many people and smells.

It’s a lot, and I usually have no problems being in a crowd.

“Yo, why don’t you back up off her?” Malcolm growls.

“There’s nowhere for me to go,” the guy snaps back incredulously. “Don’t tell me you stopped the show to pick out your groupie for tonight.”

He only manages to get closer, and I slam my elbow back into his gut.

Screw him.

“Well, look at you. Wanna be my date tonight?” Malcolm asks, wiggling his eyebrows. He chuckles darkly. “I swear to fuck, I’m about three seconds away from knocking that guy out.”

Kincaid slides up to his side and leans in, saying something that I can’t make out.

Malcolm nods, and they both reach over the barrier.

Everyone pushes and shoves, trying to touch them while begging for autographs.

Kincaid’s hands land on the guy behind me, holding him back enough that I can finally take a full breath.

“I’ve got you, Lumen.” Malcolm wraps his arms under mine. He lifts me, and my stomach and side scrape against the metal as he yells at the security guys to get their shit together.

My hands land on his shoulders, and he backs up once my feet are over the barrier. A hand or maybe a forearm lands over the bottom of my skirt, likely holding it in place to keep me from flashing everyone worse than I already have. Both of Malcolm’s arms are accounted for, so that must have been Kincaid.

Someone grabs my leg, and I kick, trying to shake out of their hold.

“Nah, don’t do that shit,” Kincaid growls, but I have no idea who he’s talking to.

The noise is intense.

I’m frazzled as Malcolm places me on my feet.

“Are you okay?” he asks as my heart thunders against my rib cage.

“Y-Yeah,” I choke out, trying to ignore the absolute insanity still going down three feet away.

“We’ll talk about this later, but you need full-time security,” Malcolm says, his crystal blue eyes staring into mine.

After this mess?

I might just head home.

If only I had a home to return to.

“Jesus Christ, I’m shaking,” Malcolm says, brushing the backs of his tattooed fingers over my cheek. “Did someone hit you?”

Did they?

So much happened in such a short period of time that I shake my head on instinct.

Someone knocked into my cheek, but they didn’t do it intentionally. Also, the last thing I want to do is cause more trouble.

Kincaid pops up next to us, asking, “Are you okay?”