Even Sebastian, that dickhead.
Mrs. Lowe.
Gigi.
Cutting that last thought short, fucking pissed at myself for thinking it in the first place, I push the bathroom door open and step inside.
The thump of the music goes muted as the door closes behind me.
A guy is washing his hands, glancing at me in the mirror over the sinks. He's dressed in hipster pants and a tank top with silver letters, his hair sprayed silver. His face isn't familiar.
"Shem?" I call out, and when I get no reply, I open the first stall. "You in here? Dude, answer me."
The guy at the sink harrumphs, and leaves, the door banging behind him, letting inside a sliver of music.
As the sound dies again, I try the other stalls. One is locked, and a guy snarls a curse from inside when I rattle the door.
I kick the last stall open, and I find Shem sitting on the closed lid, his head in his hands. Blood is trickling down his face from a cut on his cheek, both eyes are black, and his jaw is swollen.
Christ. "Come on. Didn't you hear me looking for you, man? Mav and Angel are outside, waiting."
He lets me pull him to his feet, his knees bending, and I haul him back up, hissing a curse as my own knee protests.
"Your big mouth get you into trouble, huh?" I mutter, not expecting a response. "They didn't break any bones, did they?"
He grunts something I take to be a no, and resign myself to half-carrying him through the club. Could this evening go any worse?
Together we make it out of the stall, and then I have to maneuver him so he's propped against the wall to open the door. The music blasts at my eardrums like a gale as I loop his arm over my shoulders and pull him along, shoving our way through the crowd.
An elbow catches me in the ribs as I try to drag Shem through a group of yelling, jumping guys, then a foot kicks my shin, and I curse a blue streak.
Motherfucking ow.
Somehow we cross the whole fucking club, and the bouncer obligingly opens the door for us. I haul Shem outside, not one hundred percent sure Angel and Mav and the rest of the gang will be there as promised.
Yet there they are. Alfie and Jacinta break from the group that's been smoking pot in the dimness of the back alley and take Shem off me. I'm fucking grateful, and I bend over, massaging my knee.
That goddamn old injury will haunt my steps forever.
"Coming, Jarett?" Elena asks over her shoulder. "We're going to a new place Mav discovered. The night is young, baby."
Where they go I go, and they know it. I'm about to say yes, when a passing glance over the group tells me Seb isn't here.
"Where the hell is my brother?"
Angel frowns. "Didn't see him."
"Then he's still inside. I'll go get him."
"Boy, how long will you babysit that guy for?" Elena rolls her dark eyes, adjusting her hold on Shem who's scowling down at his feet. "He's older than you. He's a damn menace, and not worth your time."
"None of your fucking business," I growl. "Go ahead. I'll find Seb."
"When you find him," Angel says, "take him home. He's trashed. I doubt he's in any shape to party or work any longer tonight."
Disdain drips from his voice, and I find my fists clenching. Sebastian is an asshole, but Angel is a smooth-talking scumbag. He has no fucking right to talk.
Turning on my heel, I march back into the night club. The bouncer lets me in, back into the pounding beat and the swirl of sweaty bodies, and I start to search for my brother.
That's the only goal I have in my life, the only promise I can keep, and I'll be damned if I botch it.
What feels like hours later, the music beat hammering on the back of my eyeballs and against the inside of my skull, I'm forced to admit defeat. Sebastian is nowhere to be found.
My jacket is where I left it, on a stool right where he stood, but there's no sign of him. There's only one logical explanation: he left the moment I entered the Gents looking for Shem.
I fish my phone out of my pocket, check again in case he sent me a text, replying to my question where he's gone to, and if he's okay.
Nothing.
Pocketing the phone, I make my way to the Gents for one last look. If he's not in there, then I'm outta here.
My thoughts spin in eddies as I check the stalls, déjà vu from earlier. I can't find Seb anywhere, and I'm about to call it a night. My knee is killing me, and I've had enough. Elena is right. Why am I babysitting a guy who doesn't even have the decency to let me know he's okay so I can stop searching for him?
Then I see her.
Gigi.
It's her-but she's different. Sexier.
Her tiny mini dress is red, her legs are endless, her hair is loose on her shoulders, and her mouth is lush.
The rush of lust hits me like a punch. I'm hard in two seconds flat, and I brace a hand on the wall, light-headed. Am I hallucinating? What is she doing here?
Then I blink, and she's gone.
I'm going crazy. Or did someone slip something into my beer earlier? I stumble after her afterimages like a drunk, past the glowing bar and its phosphorescent stools.
It's the red of her dress, calling me like a flashing light, like a beacon, making my mouth water and my insides tight with need.
"Gigi! Hey!" But I can't see her anymore, and who would hear me in this din anyway? My voice is lost in the music.
I stumble, my knee twinging, and stop, trying to catch my breath.
What the hell am I doing? Even if she really is here, I should be getting out of the club and heading home, check Seb made it back in one piece.
Heading away from her.
Rubbing a hand over my tired eyes, I straighten and glance one last time the way I thought she went.
Then I turn and limp the other way, toward the exit. That's what I should have done from the start. Left Sebastian to fend for himself, controlled myself so I wouldn't go stumbling after a mirage of Gigi, and gone home myself to ice my knee and eat some fucking dinner before hitting the sack.
Clubbing is way overrated.
But my luck sucks balls tonight, cuz I'm not even close to getting out of the club when a commotion and shouts stop me. There's a jumble of bodies in front of me, blocking my way, and two bouncers pulling the guys apart.
Hell. Another fight?
Just as I'm about to detour and find another way out, punching everyone in my path if need be, I see another familiar figure and stop dead in my tracks.
Christ. This girl has no brain, seriously. And of course that means Gigi probably wasn't a mirage born of my need to see her, either. She's here, too. Where Sydney goes, Gigi is close by, and the realization heats my blood like a shot of pure fire.
Only Gigi isn't anywhere to be seen, and Sydney is in a heated argument with a long-haired, shabbily-dressed guy. I know him, though I can't recall his name. A junkie and small-time drug dealer Sebastian sometimes hangs out with.
The fuck. I scrub a hand through my close-cropped hair and wish for a smoke. What is she doing, huh? What will it take to teach her a lesson?
Why should I help her until her brain catches up? What is it to me? I've got enough shit of my own to deal with.
And Gigi isn't even here.
Not sure if I'm more disappointed with that, or with myself, I turn around to go, pissed at the world. This is Sydney's fucking fault for hanging around bad people.
Like you are?
Whatever. I wave the annoying little voice away, like an insect buzzing in my ear. I have my reasons.
What if she has her reasons, too?
Goddammit. She's a druggie, isn't it plain as day? Looking for her fix night in and night out, always talking to the dealers. She has to be buying, haggling over the prices, and that's why she keeps getting into trouble. She's a hot mess. What else is there to say?
But I'm already turning back, pushing people out of the way to get to her, see if she's all right, because let's face it, Gigi will never speak to me again if I let her friend get hurt-and that's all there is to it, I tell myself firmly.
I'm not a good guy. Sure, I don't kick puppies for fun, but I also don't go around playing at being the white knight to random chicks, either.
And sure enough, she's following after the guy, shouting something at him, until he turns back around and even from here, in the flashing lights of the club, I can see the anger written on his ugly mug.
Fuck. What is she doing, trying to get herself killed? The guy isn't known for his patience-or lucidity, for that matter, since he's always either high as a kite, or wallowing in terrible lows. I know the kind.
Like my brother. Living with Sebastian has taught me that.
Hell, I wasn't wrong. I reach them the moment he goes after her and she steps back, white-faced, obviously realizing her mistake.
Yeah, don't poke the manic bear.
A glint of metal catches my eye, and I swear viciously. Don't mess around with knives, that's my motto. Knives and guns. Bad things are bound to happen.
I make a grab for him, snag his sleeve and haul him back before he touches her. He swipes the small blade wide, and I twist my hand in the fabric and jerk him back again. The blade passes a mere inch from my face, and I duck, letting him go.
Stepping away before he takes a stab at me, I grab Sydney by the arm and drag her away.