Page 4 of Devil Within

“Oh my fucking god!” Vette squealed. “There are so many hotties in here! I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

“Hey now,” Nick growled good-naturedly, and Shiloh wondered about their situation. Friends with benefits? If not, it looked like it was headed in that direction.

Reaching the bar, she did a sweep around the room. The males outnumbered the females, and all she saw were men who were either players or wannabe players, and she wasn’t sure which category was worse. The bumping and grinding on the dance floor held no appeal, nor did the darkened swanky corners designed for coping a feel.

“I love this song!” Vette yells. She grabbed her hand. “Come on, let’s dance!”

Shiloh didn’t recognize the song playing through the speakers, but couldn’t imagine touching the sea of sweaty body parts. She pulled her hand away and gestured a shooing motion.

“Go on. Take Nick. I’m gonna get a drink.”

Vette cocked her head, ready to argue, but Shiloh nodded to the dance floor. She winked and grabbed Nick’s hand. Paul stood beside her, clearly undecided what he should do.

“Go ahead,” she told him. “I’m good.”

He shot her a lopsided grin and a second later he got lost in the writhing sea of people. Shiloh made her way over to the bar and pulled out a twenty. She asked for a soda, and the bartender nodded. He was what Vette would call a hottie, with big muscles and a flirtatious grin. A second later, he set the drink in front of her, and she held out the money, but he waved it off.

“We don’t charge the double D’s,” he said.

She glanced down at her chest. Clearly, he wasn’t talking about her bust line. “The what?”

He laughed. “Designated driver.”

She didn’t correct him. Free was free, and she was working on limited funds. So, she raised her drink to salute him. He winked and went back to pouring drinks. A stool opened up, and she took it, not minding one bit that she sat in the bar and was happy looking around to watch people.

As her eyes adjusted better to the low lighting, she noticed a man at the pool table, laughing his ass off as another man apparently told him something hilarious. He was different than the other men looking for a good time. Tight jeans. White t-shirt. Black vest with patches she couldn’t make out. Tattoos decorated his arms and neck, making her wonder if he had them in other places.

Clearly, he was a biker. Although he was by no means pretty, there was something about him that was striking. Broad cheekbones and wide, expressive lips formed over a jaw so chiseled it must have been carved from marble. His dark hair was buzzed in the back but longer up front, giving him a windswept look. Not many faces could pull the look off, but this man managed to make it sexy. Everything about him screamed bad boy.

As if sensing he was being watched, he suddenly looked around the bar until his gaze met hers, locking them together with intensity. Something inside her shifted. The bar melted away, the music muted, and for a whole minute of eternity, they stared at one another. The world faded away, leaving them in the aether that consisted of only him and her.

Never had she felt something so ... raw and powerful.

It made her want to run away and hide.

Then he disappeared from view when the man he’d been playing pool with stepped between them, looked at her curiously, and broke their connection. Immediately, Shiloh blinked, coming out of a daze that had hazed over her brain as the bar rushed back into focus. The second man was another biker, wearing the same kind of clothes. A friend? Bodyguard? If Sexy Biker Boy needed a bodyguard, then who the hell was he? Was he a real biker, or a poser?

Just as she was about to crane her head to the side to get another glimpse of the gorgeous guy, she suddenly noticed a man sitting two seats down who grabbed the arm of his girlfriend. It wasn’t a friendly grab, or even a protective grab. No, this was intended to inflict pain. She looked from the white-knuckled fingers encircling the girl’s arm up to her face, which had paled in pain, then over to the asshole holding her.

No matter how good-looking or ugly a guy may be, how rich or how poor, the look of an abuser was always the same. Cold, dead eyes that held no empathy, with anger bracketing the mouth, and a sneer that permanently scrunched up the nose as if he smelt something rotten. The boyfriend was taller, bigger, and stronger than his petite girlfriend, but that didn’t seem to matter. She was terrified because she knew what was coming.

The fear on her face was broadcast for all to see.

It was a fear Shiloh knew all too well.

A second later, the boyfriend yanked the woman off the bar stool and headed toward the restroom area. He wanted privacy to either give her a small taste of what was to come later, or he wanted to use her body in a demeaning way in order for her to be humbled. It was one of the oldest tricks in an abuser’s handbook. Assault her in a public place, surrounded by dozens of people who would not or could not interfere.

Screw that. Shiloh hopped off the bar stool and followed them. Several girls waited for the ladies’ room. They whispered behind their hands, staring down the hallway. All wanted to gossip. None wanted to help. As the asshole jerked the girl through the back door, she hurried forward, catching it before it banged shut. It led to the back of the building, which opened to an alley. Large garbage bins stood off to the side, reeking of old beer and rotten food, with a heavy scent of urine defiling the air.

The boyfriend hadn’t noticed Shiloh as he swung the girl around and backhanded her across the face. Down she went, and without a thought to her own safety, Shiloh flew at him. She shoved him, and because it caught him off guard, he stumbled back.

“What the fuck!” the asshole cried. He fell into a car and stared at her like she was a deranged lunatic. “Who the fuck are you?”

“A concerned citizen. What? You can hit a girl but don’t like it when one fights back?” Shiloh taunted. The adrenaline coursing through her body left her jittery, like she’d just drank twenty energy drinks and then chased them down with a tall glass of espresso.

“Get the fuck out of here, psycho bitch!” the man yelled back, still slumped against the car.

“Typical,” she snorted at him. “You’re all manly and high on testosterone when you’re smacking a defenseless girl around, but the minute one stands up to you, your dick goes all limp.”