Catching the Storm

27. Unwanted Dances

Crystal's POV

Jackson stood in place but turned to look over his shoulder just as Kurt Branson and his wife stopped in front of the doorway.

Another song had started up just seconds before they'd walked in, and more couples were beginning to join us on the dancefloor once more.

Branson had his hair slicked back, a black suit all buttoned up, a white shirt, a black tie, a white mask around his eyes, and judging by the way he'd walked in and how he was standing, I could tell he was armed. Mrs. Branson stood beside him, her arm looped through his.

Her hair was left down in loose blonde curls, she wore a long black dress with only one sleeve, though it was a long sleeve and covered her entire right arm. She was also wearing a pair of black gloves and while on her right side it was impossible to tell where the dress ended and the glove started, the glove went up to her elbow on her left arm. She also wore a white mask, but hers was similar to the one Jackson wore, it went around her eyes but also covered the right side of her face. In her free hand, she held a white clutch. There was a slit that went nearly up to her hip, and I could see a pair of white heels on her feet.

Jackson, who was still staring at Branson, continued to stand still with his hands on my sides. It was only when Branson once again continued into the room that Jackson made any move at all. He followed Branson with his eyes and his hands on my sides began to tighten, but I didn't think he even realized it.

I didn't think he even realized there was anyone else in the room with him besides Branson. I didn't say anything and instead took the opportunity to watch Jackson instead.

A muscle in his jaw ticked as it was clenched and unclenched, his whole body tense, and his eyes seemed alight with fire, but not a good kind. He watched Branson like a predatory animal, waiting for the exact moment to pounce. And his hands continued to tighten on me and while it was not yet hurting me, it was being to become uncomfortable.

"Storm," I whispered, pulling at his hands, but it was like he didn't even know I existed. "Storm," I said a little louder, still he didn't even notice.

His hands very suddenly tightened once more as he continued to watch Branson, and I could feel them bruising my skin.

"Jackson you're hurting me," I hissed, pain in my voice.

He suddenly turned to look at me, like he was just seeing me. He blinked a few times and immediately let go, taking a step back. He looked down at his hands briefly, then back to Branson. He clenched his hands into fists and walked away, leaving me standing in the middle of the dancefloor, alone.

I narrowed my eyes at his retreating form, but before I got the chance to follow after him, Damien came out of nowhere, looped his arm through mine, and pulled me off the dancefloor.

"Believe me," Damien said as he guided me to a table in a back corner. Julie was already sitting at it. "Storm does not want company right now. I've seen that look on people's faces before, it never bodes well." He held up a hand to cut me off before I could interject. "Second, thanks for telling your friend I'm single. She hasn't left me alone all night."

I smiled, Jackson Storm forgotten for the moment, and shook my head. "The night hasn't even been that long. It's barely started."

I looked over at Branson who had approached a table with two other couples at it. He and the two other men got up and left the table together, going to the bar. He seemed to be deep in conversation.

I nodded my head in their direction. "What do you think they're discussing?" I asked Damien.

He shrugged. "Nothing good. I recognize one of their faces from the FBI databases. He's got warrants out for his arrest. He's an arms dealer. Deals out some of the more explosive kinds of weapons."