Probably.
Anyway, math doesn't matter. I'm fine. If Syd decided to disappear, then I'll just hop into a cab and go home to my bed.
Or maybe stay and dance a little first.
My little pep talk makes me feel a bit better. Taking a deep breath, I move toward the back of the club. Who needs Sydney to have fun? I can party on my own. Plenty of guys around I can talk to. Never been shy, that's for sure.
Although, damn, I'd counted on her to get us drinks. Sydney's twenty, and I'm turning twenty in a few months, so that's not good, but one of her boys is twenty-one already, which comes in useful.
Syd's been turning into such a party-pooper lately, anyway. Not that she vanished like this before, or we'd have had words already, but she hasn't been her chipper self.
Trouble in foursome paradise? Who knows?
Not me, that's for sure, since she hasn't breathed another word about her three buddies in a while.
More annoyed than ever, I decide that's it. I'm done. Let Sydney come find me. What's up with acting all weird and stuff, huh? It's our Saturday night out, and I'm in no mood to go back home and stare at the ceiling over my bed.
Turning, I lean against the bar and nod at the bartender. "A rum and coke, please."
Dressed in my little black dress, my hair swept back, red lipstick and so much mascara on my lashes I can hardly lift them, I look older than I actually am, and I'm counting on it.
Still, the guy hesitates. He's dressed in black pants and a T-shirt, his muscular arms inked. "ID?"
"Left it at home," I say quickly, and flash him a smile. "Come on, I'm old enough. Can't you tell?"
He struggles with it, but his gaze drops to my boobs quickly, before lifting back to my face. In the dim light, I think I see a flush spread over his cheeks. "Yeah. Okay."
Smirking, I glance to the side and catch a guy watching me. There's something familiar about him, but I can't put my finger on it. He's dark-haired, lanky, leaning back on his stool in a lazy sprawl.
I avert my gaze, a shiver running down my spine.
The bartender asks for my ticket, then places my cocktail in front of me. I take a sip and swirl the ice cubes in the glass, the faint clinking sound soothing despite the heavy bass vibrating through the club.
It's hypnotic. My body is shaking with it, trying to move to the rhythm. A kaleidoscope of colors swirls over the bar, creating mini explosions on the bottles lined up on the shelves.
"Hey." The bartender appears again, sliding a shot glass in front of me. "From the guy over there."
I turn to look and swallow hard. The same dark-haired man from before nods at me and lifts his own shot glass.
It's whiskey, and it burns going down. A buzz starts in my head. I lick my lips, savoring the smoky flavor.
He's not bad looking, I decide, giving the guy another quick look. Not sure I'd want to start anything with him, but he's not all that hard on the eyes.
So when he gets up and comes over to me, I smile.
"Wanna dance?" he shouts over the music, and I shrug. I still have my cocktail, but what the hell, right? I'm here to have fun.
This is what fun looks like.
Taking a long gulp of my drink, I put it down and get up, letting him drag me to the dance floor.
We move among the hot, sweaty bodies, the music pounding through me, and I grin, letting my body sway to the beat. A couple of cute guys glance at me, and I wink.
Let's party, baby.
But, belatedly, I realize the guy is still going, parting the crowd and emerging on the other side, at the dark far end of the club where booths and lone tables are taken up by kissing couples.
Um. "What are you doing?" He doesn't reply, and I doubt I'd hear him over the music even if he did. In fact, I doubt he heard me, so I try again. "Stop." I tug on his hold, trying to free my hand. "I said, stop."
Still no reply. He's moving fast, and I stumble after him. When he drags me toward an empty booth, I start to panic.
I dig in my heels and pull harder on his hand. "Let me go, let go right now!"
He yanks on my hand and slams me into the wall, suddenly looming over me. He's really tall, and his eyes are hard, shiny and empty.
"Don't I know you?" he asks, and maybe he does, who knows from where, but that's not what's on my mind right now.
"I said, let go," I hiss, shoving at his chest with my free hand, the other one held between us in his bruising grip. "Jesus, what's wrong with you? Leave me alone!"
He's still looking at me, with that empty expression, though his dark brows have drawn together in a frown, as if he's trying to puzzle this out. Where he knows me from-or why I'm resisting him?
Sicko.
And he hasn't moved a muscle yet. He's pressed too close to me, barely two inches separating our faces. His breath stinks of alcohol, and his body of chemicals and sweat. On a guy I like, I wouldn't mind the smell of sweat. But on this one, it makes me want to throw up.
Fear keeps me still, so still. The rushing of blood in my ears and the beating of my heart are the only sounds I can hear, louder than the pounding music.
Is this how mice feel, I think, when a snake is about to strike? This cold panic that holds you like a spider's web, like a fisherman's net, so you can't do anything but stare back?
"Man, I've been looking everywhere for you," a male voice says very close to my ear, and I jerk, my breathing uneven. "Let her go. Come on."
The guy blinks. "Go away, Fen."
"Nah, no can do. See, girl's got her boyfriend searching the club for her. I thought to warn you. Can't let you get beaten to a pulp now, can I?"
What is he talking about? A boyfriend? The only boyfriend I ever had was Quinn, back in Destiny, when I was seventeen, and we only ever kissed.
Tearing my gaze with difficulty from the asshole who's still holding me, I glance sideways at the new guy, and in the flashing lights, I catch a glimpse of a handsome face and spiky hair.
"He won't let me go," I whisper, and my stomach churns.
Who is he? Is he my rescuer, or more trouble?
I'm dizzy.
I'm terrified.
The man's empty eyes slide from me to this Fen guy. "I said, go the fuck away."
"Come on, man. You don't want trouble, not tonight. Plenty of chicks around. Take your pick."
"Damn you. Spoiling my fun." The hold on my wrist slackens. "Pass her back to her boyfriend, or whatever the fuck. I'm going to get another drink."
"Yeah. You know I'll always have your back," Fen says, and grabs my other wrist. "Come on, sweet cheeks. Let's get you back where you belong."
Where do I belong? Everything's fuzzy. My knees buckle.
"Whoa." He grabs my elbow with his other hand. "Easy there."
"Can't breathe," I mumble.
Memories crowd the back of my mind, trying to break free, memories I keep under lock and key. Hands shoving me into a corner, pawing at me, tearing at my clothes.
Nothing happened, I remind myself. Nothing that matters happened. I got away.
But here's the catch: in my mind, in my dreams, I didn't.
"You had a shock," the guy, Fen, says. "Let's get you some fresh air. You didn't take anything, right?" He pulls me away from the wall, in an indeterminate direction. "E? Any other drug? Didn't let anyone spike your drink?"
I shake my head, then stop when the nausea worsens.
"Good," he grinds out, and hauls me along faster. "Come on."
I should stop him. Yank my hand away. This is going exactly the same way as before, when he rescued me. He's going to take me out-where, into an alley?
God.
"Stop, just … stop." I manage to slow him down and pull my hand back. "Ow. Let go." I'll have such bruises there come tomorrow. Don't boys really know their strength, or are they doing it on purpose? "I'm not looking for a hook-up, okay?"
And I mean it. My heart is hammering behind my ribs, and darkness is seeping into the edges of my vision. The sounds of ragged breathing fill my ears, the stench of old, sour sweat and the sweetness of weed …
"Wait a minute." To my surprise, he lets go, turning to face me, lifting a brow. "You think I want you?"
"I … " I stammer, fear an icy current running through my veins.
He laughs, shakes his head. "You look like you're gonna puke. I was helping you to the door, that's all."
Now why do I want to punch him in his handsome face? All of a sudden, I feel embarrassed and offended. Why is he so amused that I might think he wants me? Plenty of boys want me, thank you very much. What's so frigging special about him?
Taking a better look at him, I'm struck with another case of déjà vu. What's up with that tonight, huh? I mean, it's hard to really make out his face in the flashing lights and half-darkness. Am I seeing things?
"There's the door." He gestures. "Feel free to go and puke on your own."
What a douche. Lifting my chin, I start toward the outline of the door, the Exit sign on it glowing faintly. But my legs feel strangely heavy, and the pounding in my head is growing louder. The world tilts sharply, and I'm falling.
"Fuck." His hand comes under my elbow, steadying me, pulling me up. "Sure you didn't take anything? No shame in confessing, you know."