Rescued By The Don's Brother

n't, though, because we wouldn't be walking hand in hand with my hand tucked in his arm right now. The only good thing abo

sipping their drinks and disgustingly running their filthy hands on the girls on their laps. I hate this sight, but more, I hate the part where they walk up to the rooms upstairs to do only God know

help them! But

s at quarter to seven. That's the part where girls twerk their naked asses on stage, with these brainless men cheering them up. S

reserved for Ejay and me, I can feel m

ay she will be on the b

Damn! It will be hotter than ev

er. It will be a goal to have he

can't do that. I want to cry, but the only people who will sympathize with me are helpless girls like me. All I am left to do is hope that

s. It makes me feel some kind of connection with it, like I have a bond with it. I have enjoyed most of the songs I have heard here, but the one that is currently playing has a special spark. I get

, but it does not feel like the previous one. I just don't quite bond well with this one. That special song made me forget where I was. I deeply sigh, trying to put my mind together, but that song is still playing in my head. I close my eyes and shak

or worried. Or maybe I misinterpreted his r

say, not lookin

stions, and I can feel

his time turning to look at him,

uests, who am I? I mentally curse myself for being such a fool to make

back of it with his thumb, but he stopped immediately I threw him a deadly glare. I will k

u

actly could it trigger in

confusing. I can't explain the

ask the DJ

ee to my request? Wow

ething in his ear, and I see the guy walk

g much appreciation. He gulps down the remain

hand, but he beat me to it, grabbing mine with his left hand. I try with my other hand, but, my bad! He grabs it too, and now he has my two hands in his one hand, pressed under the table. Every attempt to free myself f

tly but deeply grumbles, and I peel my ey

people that we are not fighting, as his left hand moves around my back, crisscrossing with his right. I am now circled in his arms, and the situation stirs a very suffocating feeling in me. "I do this to protect you from these hungry sex animals. If I show any sign of disinteres

eventually feed me to them

rts to protect you, huh? Ah, I forgot. You hate me!" Before he can rant any further, my song—I mean, that special song—starts playing again, and I a

have heard lots of songs in the past two weeks, but this one hits me differently. I am hearing it for the first time, and I am so sure. But why does it feel like I ha

s my head toward him and cups my face. "Hey, relax! W

e and music, or with that particular song?" I ask, because this all feels so strange. I mean, why t

u can handle the

, Ejay! You'll spare me the

m!

your first album when you suffered that accident." Total confusion! "You are a musician, Gia Wilsons!" I would li

a w