Kade snakes his arm around my waist, already making me feel safer. His other hand is wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle, a joint between his fingers. He blows a cloud of toxic smoke towards Chris. His arm tightens around me, his hand fisting the material of my dress at my hip. In a deep, threatening tone, Kade says, very slowly, “Walk away before I make you one sorry motherfucker.” “Who are you?” Chris asks again, one of his hands slipping from the poles of the gate. “Just go,” I beg him as Kade lowers his chin to my shoulder, inhaling deeply.
