Shit. I don’t know what these rooms are for or what I could have just walked in on if that door had opened, but now I feel trapped.
I pull my phone from my purse and scroll to one of the only three numbers in there... Cal.
“I got a little lost.” I say, when he answers, amazed that the words sound normal and not slurred around the panic squeezing my chest and weighing on my tongue. “Which room did you say to meet you in?”
“I didn't tell you to meet me anywhere.” Cal says slowly, like he’s trying to recall the conversation in question. “Where are you?”
“Suite 6, right?” I force the closest thing I can to a laugh, but out of my peripherals, I see them walk by.
Three men, dressed in black suits, just like every other man here.
There's nothing about them that sets them apart from the rest, from the outside. But I recognize their voices, and my body recognizes their proximity.
“Drunk bitch.” One of them sniggers as they pass, giving me a lingering look.
I don't think Cal heard it, but he doesn't have to. He's already realized something's not right.
“I'm on my way, baby. Don't hang up.”
“Just your type.” Another answers.
I can tell they're not walking anymore, and that damn near puts tears in my eyes. I blink to try and keep them at bay.
“Hurry.” I tell Cal. “I have to pee.”
“Can I help you, sweetheart?”
My spine goes straight as one of the men steps up to me.
When I don't face him, he puts a hand on my shoulder, and I'm forced to turn.
I remember those fucking eyes.
“Do you need some help?” The man asks, frowning a little as he takes me in. I don't know if it's recognition making him look at me like that or just my clearly frazzled state.
“Just waiting on my fiancé.” I say, failing to force a smile.
“You shouldn't be wandering alone.” One of the others says behind him. “It's not safe for a girl like you.”
A girl like me.
A girl like me?
What exactly is a girl like me?
I cut my gaze back to the man closest to me and manage a small smile this time, enough to be considered polite and demure.
They don't recognize me.
In squalor or in opulence, a girl like me is prey. Because a girl like me is just a girl. Period. Because to men like that, every woman is prey... theirs for the taking.
“Thank you for checking on me.” I manage a laugh. “I think I drank too much while my fiancé was working the guests.” The ding of an elevator announces the presence before the doors open, and Cal strides quickly toward us.
“No problem, miss.” He winks. “We gotta look out for each other after all. Have a good night.”
He rejoins his friend just a moment before Cal reaches me, and they nod coolly at him as they carry on to the elevator.
“What happened?” He demands, his eyes wide with fear. “What is it? Are you hurt?”
