Page 11 of Fatality

The DJ isn't even human, probably some advanced AI running on perfect calculations and the stolen styles of dead artists.

I'm definitely drunk or maybe I am.

All I know is that everything feels light, easy.

Dancing with Jules and Charlie beneath flashing holographic lights that paint our skin in shifting colors feels like an escape.

My mouth starts to dry out, so I make my way to the bar and order a water.

The bartender hands me the bottle, and I drink like I haven't had a drop of water in days.

In reality, I just finished my wine and whatever Charlie bought us—it was blue and pink neon mixed together, but not turning purple, that’s was like alive in that glass, just swirling together.

And tasted like bad decisions.

I sigh, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, content and ready to head back to the girls.

That's when a pair of hands settles on my waist from behind.

I tense instantly.

What the hell? Who's touching me?

I hate, being touched without warning. Whoever it is, is about to get punched.

The stranger leans in, warm breath ghosting over my ear.

I catch the scent of him, it’s sharp, sour, and smell horribly disgusting.

I grimace and turn my head away, I'm already slightly intoxicated as it is, I definitely don't need his breath.

“Hey beautiful,” he purrs “What are you doing here all alone? Don't you have a boyfriend?” He squeezes lightly my waist.

My jaw clenches so hard it aches.

Who the hell does he think he is?

I'm not some easy prey just because I'm sitting alone at the bar.

I turn slowly to face him. He's tall, with dark hair and blue eyes, his cheeks are flushed from alcohol, and he's at least twice my size.

Maybe more.

I don't stand any chance if he decides to drag me somewhere, and certainly not since I’m drunk as well.

“Move your hands.”

“Don't be like that beautiful.” He leans in again, and starts moving his hands near my ass. “Don't you want to have fun with me? I could make you feel really—"

I don't let him finish, I drive my knee up as hard as I can, straight between his legs.

The man folds instantly with a strangled gasp, before I can even think, instinct takes over.

With a strength that surprises even me, I yank my arm back, clench my fist, and drive it straight into his jaw.

His head snaps violently to the side, blood and spit spray through the air as he's thrown off balance, crashing onto the floor with a pained grunt.

The music never fades, no one see—or hear—him hitting the floor.