Page 97 of Fashionista's Playbook

And just like that, we stepped out of the cavernous room and into a brightly lit hallway.

“I’d steer clear of the locker room for the next little while—it gets messy in there.” His smile was easy, relaxed, but the rest of him was not. The team was celebrating, but their general manager was still in work mode.

“Not a problem, just looking for my sister.”

He gave me a wink and took off down the adjacent dark hallway that led back into the stadium. I went the other way, toward the large lobby and bar area where we usually waited for the players. The hum of conversation was occasionally punctuated with shrill, female laughter.

The double doors at the end of the hall opened briefly, and my sister weaseled through them, pulling them shut when she saw me.

“Moriah?” Her harried expression turned to one of fear, colorless and ashen. “What are you doing out here?”

“You texted me.”

“I—no.” She patted her pockets and stopped, cursing under her breath. “Vin must have it.”

“What’s going on?” This was Travis’ night, and if his brother had done something to ruin it for him…

Judging by Elise’s reaction he probably had.

Anxiety twisted in my chest and made my skin grow cold.

“Where’s Vin?”

She blinked once, grabbed my wrist and started back toward the room where everyone else waited on the guys. “Let’s go back to the party, I’m sure Travis will be out soon.”

“Elise…”

“Please,” she caught my gaze and held it. Her voice took that stern tone she often had when correcting her boys. “I won’t lead you through those doors a second time Moriah. We’ve come too far. Let’s go back where you belong—with people who deserve you.”

My heart raced. Something was going on, something bad, and it had nothing to do with Travis. This was about me. The old memories were burned into the core of who I was and now they flared to life.

“I’m so sorry, Moriah.”

As I pulled from her grasp to march down the hall, face whatever this was head on, a lone figure strolled down the hallway from the locker room.

“Sneaking in the backdoor, Mo?” Garret Ward’s eyes were unusually wide, his smile too bright. I hadn’t known many addicts in my life, but the weird, almost jerky way he moved was textbook.

The effect left him looking more menacing than he had before. This was not a guy I wanted to be stuck alone in a dark hallway with.

Elise’s eyes narrowed and her back straightened, my sister was used to jerks like Ward. “Fuck off.”

When she tried to move past him, he side stepped her and blocked the way.

“I heard there was a party in your honor, Moriah. I was headed to check it out.” There was a mean inflection to his voice, the sort of thing bullies weaponized.

“He’s full of as much shit as he is coke.” This time Elise shouldered her way through him, never one to be bullied.

Ward continued to leer at me in such a way that I was nailed to my spot on the floor, unable to follow my sister. She called to me, jogged the few steps to my side, her face twisted with anguish.

And then I heard it, the old familiar chant that turned everything in my stomach sour. Old memories rolled up, forced away the celebratory vibe of the night. Everything turned dark, ugly, and I trembled.

“Pigmo. Pigmo. Pigmo.”

My vision narrowed until the only thing I could see was Ward’s mean, triumphant smile.

It was self-inflicted torture to turn toward the chant, to take those first few steps toward the lobby doors, but I couldn’t stop myself.

“Moriah, don’t. Please.” Elise begged me. “I didn’t…I never meant for this to happen. Travis’ brother, he—”

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