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Tonight I’m continuing with a snippet from my Power of Zero side story, FanBait, and Tempest’s disastrous promotional dinner, when media tycoon Vince Franklin proves once and for all that Max was right to be concerned.
To give credit where it’s due, Tempest hadn’t looked forward to a pleasant evening. He’s also not too proud to ask for help when he needs it.
Apologies for overrunning the allocated six just a tad…
The bowls and serving dishes on the table blurred and wavered and the room began to spin. Franklin’s voice came from far away, hot and angry, but Tempest couldn’t parse the words through the ringing in his ears and the nausea that swam up from his gut.
A hard body slammed him against a wall and a sharp sting across his cheek snapped his head back. Another slap in the same place brought a sharper, brighter pain that cleared his mind long enough for him to struggle when a fist closed around his bicep and dragged him upright, when fingers tore at the buttons of his shirt. He pushed at the hands, tried to move away and found himself shoved back into the wall. Another slap sang across his face, harder this time, before the hands returned to destroying his shirt and scrabbled to reach skin.
Tempest rallied enough coordination to bring a hand up to his ear and twist the diamond stud. “Starburst,” he gasped through quickly numbing lips. “Second floor. Max…”