When Wax’s hand was just inches from her face, Emma said, “Touch me and you’re dead.” Her wings twitched ominously, hands curling.
“Zat so, babe?” He glanced deviously at Tracer, his hand suspended in midair. He looked back at Emmaline, drawing closer and reaching again, this time for the back of her neck. Emma didn’t blink.
He’s going to try to kiss her! Tracer surged unsuccessfully, trying to escape the grip of Wax’s minions just as Wax drawled, “Why not just one little dan – ”
The crack of Wax’s nose made everyone flinch, but what followed made them gasp. He didn’t stop sliding through the crowd until he hit the sound equipment, leaving a streak of red behind him. The room was filled with silence, and his curses reached every crevice and hollow where people were hiding and making out. Everyone’s attention was on the arena in the middle, shifting slowly between Waximitt and Emmaline.
“That’s right, turdface,” retorted Emma. “Why don’t you go wash up in a toilet?”
“Hey!” whined somebody. “Don’t be mean!”
Oh, dang, that was so not the right thing to say, thought Tracer. He tried wrestling his way out of the grip of Wax’s henchmen, but they stayed firm.
“Oh, so now I can’t be mean?” yelled Emmaline, her face contorting in unmatched fury. She turned slowly, facing each area of the circle. “So I don’t get an excuse to be ticked off? I can’t stand up to people, huh? Like you guys were all nice to me!” She laughed coldly. It sent shivers down Tracer’s spine.
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