Catrina saw Michael coming for her, but she didn't seem afraid. In fact, her attitude was quite the opposite. She smirked and straightened up, Micky forgotten as she strode over to Mike.

"Hello handsome," she purred in that low, sultry voice.

Michael smirked, bemused. "Are you drunk?"

Catrina giggled, but she didn't answer. Michael rolled his eyes and all Micky could do was watch in a stunned, somewhat terrified silence.

"You must be if you don't remember me," Michael muttered. "No matter. One of the worst fucks of my life."

Catrina's eyes widened and Micky gasped. They had hooked up?

Catrina's face flamed with color. "How dare you!" she spat, sobering up a little. "You have no right—"

"I believe I have every right," Michael spat back, interrupting her. He gently pushed the woman to the side and she let out a loud, overdramatic gasp. Michael ignored her as he grabbed Micky by the arm, digging his fingernails into the younger man's soft skin.

"Ow!" Micky yelled out. "Hey man, cut it ou—"

"You're comin' with me," Michael interrupted, dragging Micky to the men's restroom. Micky tried to break free, but Michael had an iron grip on his arm, and a quick glance around told him that Davy was nowhere to be seen.

Michael barged into the bathroom, yanking Micky in tow, and slammed the door shut. He shrugged off his coat and shoved it underneath the door so nobody could get in—or out.

Micky gulped.

They were alone.