Page 57 of Painted Scars
I signal to Charlie. “Do you think they’ll sharpen each other’s weapons before bed?”
Charlie giggles and sips from her water bottle. “Absolutely. It’s romantic.”
We leave them and form a new girl cluster on the edge of the floor where it’s cooler. Sweat clings to my back. Strobe lights slice through the darkness. Smoke hazes the crowd, swallowing some in it. We dance until we lose track of time, bodies spinning in a blur of lights and heat. Eventually, my throat begs for mercy and hydration.
“I’m grabbing my water,” I tell Charlie, taking her hand, pulling her with me.
My bottle’s still on our high-top table, lipstick mark facing the same way, condensation pouring down the plastic. I chug half the bottle down, cold water soothing my throat and streaming down my chin.
We take a break and sit, Charlie and I doing our best to chat over the constant musical thumping, me occasionally flicking my gaze to Harper and her man fucking in the shadows. She knows exactly where the cameras can’t reach yet dares everyone to watch.
Countless songs pass, my stomach lurching more by the second. Too many shots.
“I don’t feel so good.” I stumble to my feet to make my way to the bathroom, but don’t make it. Is the floor swelling like a tide, or are my legs not working? Lights blur and people merge into an outline. Noise dissolves into static. The room tilts, and I crash into a velvet booth.
Charlie’s voice cuts through the fog. “Kate. Come back!”
My mouth won’t work, and I can’t reply to her.
A new voice shouts over the din. Male. Nasally. Too close. “Whoa. Easy. Need help?”
Panic hits with full force. This isn’t drunk, it’s something else. Somewhere in the crowd, danger awaits. Possibly the man who has hold of me now and drags me away from my friend, and I can’t fight him.
CHAPTER 16 - AUGUST
The second Kate stumbles, I know something’s wrong. She’s too sharp, defiant, too bold to stumble. Not with her hands out fumbling.
I don’t hesitate and break from my position watching the girls.
After our night together, I needed space and time apart to think. Shame burns into me that she trusted me to enact her fantasy, and I can’t bring myself to tell the truth. Growing feelings for her are a liability to my mission, and I can’t afford to get sloppy. Tell that to the villain in me who enjoys crossing the line. The prospect of him assuming control scares the shit out of me.
I turn to signal Grayson, but he’s vanished from our position, and I spot him lifting Kate’s other friend, who’s collapsed in a mass of tears. He steadies her with gentle patience familiar with panic, guiding her away from the crowd. Medical records flagged by him detailed her prescription medication for social anxiety disorder. The instant I said Charlie was coming, he grabbed his coat and bolted for the bunker door, forgetting the shield he hides behind.
Katar is sucking Murder Spice’s face, breaking strict orders forsurveillance only.
We’re all breaking orders. Discipline is meant to keep us sharp, but everyone has their fault lines.
I push forward, muscling through the pulsing crowd to find Kate. Nobody blinks twice at me in my full-face helmet, or Katar in his disguise. Anything goes in Antonio Morrone’s club, not just collars, as long as you’re loaded and shell out for drinks and drugs.
Darkness and my visor make it difficult to see, and I lose her in the strobing chaos. My heart jackhammers in my throat. Last I saw, someone was dragging her through the sea of sweaty bodies, and it wasn’t one of her trio.
I move faster, shoving anyone in my way, and a guy cusses me out for bumping his coke. Searching frantically, I catch her thirty feet up ahead. A guy’s got her by the waist, hauling her dead weight. She’s not leaning in, not laughing or flirting. Hell, I doubt she’s conscious. My blood goes arctic.
“Fuck.” The word rips from my chest.
I elbow past a guy and ignore the curses and flailing limbs. Kate’s vanished into the dark beyond. I make three laps around the perimeter. Nothing but spilled drinks and smeared mascara and the pounding realization that she’s gone.
I fumble for my phone and text the team.
Me: Someone’s taken the unicorn.
No response. Figures. Katar is probably tangled up in vigilante voyeurism right now. He gets off on toying with his prey. Murder Spice doesn’t look like the kind to let him get away with it. Slash first and ask questions later.
Then I spy the soon-to-be-dead asshole with Kate outside the velvet ropes of the entrance. Nightclub security is trained topick up these kinds of things to prevent kidnappings and rapes. I’ll kill them myself. Pluto club or not, I don’t give a fuck.
I jump into a run and knock someone out of the way. Kate’s slumped, arms limp as the bastard loads her into his cheap sedan. I cross the distance of the parking lot in ten seconds flat, grab him by his shirt collar, and slam him into the side of the vehicle. His head bounces and eyes go wide.
“Where do you think you’re taking her?” I snarl.
