Inside, the club was a crushing mass of bodies. The music pounded so loud I felt it in my chest.
“Stay close,” I yelled into Beatrice’s ear, my lips brushing her skin.
We pushed deeper into the club, weaving past drunken groups. I kept Beatrice ahead of me, with one hand on the small of her back, steering her through.
The crowd swallowed us, providing cover, but I knew it wouldn’t last. The Volkovs would find a way in. If not those three men, then they were bound to send in other back-up.
We needed to get through and out the back.
Beatrice suddenly stopped, nearly causing me to crash into her. I followed her gaze to see a suspicious-looking man shoving his way through the entrance, his eyes scanning the crowd like he was looking for someone.
Probably us.
“Keep moving,” I urged, guiding her toward the back of the club, where a hallway led to the offices and rear exit.
We were halfway across the dance floor when it happened. Some idiot DJ hit a button, and a cloud of smoke billowed from the machines above the dance floor like a result of some kind of short-circuit, quickly filling the space around us.
The crowd cheered, thinking it was part of the show. But Beatrice froze, going completely rigid under my hand.
“No,” she whispered, so quietly I almost missed it over the music. “No, no, no.”
Her breathing changed immediately into quick, shallow gasps that wouldn’t get enough air to her lungs.
Her eyes went wide and unfocused, like the time she had that panic attack in the back of my car when we escaped from the fire at the club.
“Beatrice.” I cupped her cheeks and forced her to look at me. She was somewhere else entirely. “Beatrice, look at me.”
But she wasn’t registering my presence.
I made a split-second decision, wrapped my arm around Beatrice’s waist, and pulled her toward a door marked ‘Staff Only’.
We needed to hide before we got caught. I guided her, and she moved as if on autopilot. I tried a bunch of doors until I finally found one that opened to a storage closet. I pulled her inside and locked the door behind us.
The space was tight, with barely enough room for both of us. Our bodies pressed together in the darkness, and I became hyper-aware of how my chest almost touched hers.
I could feel her trembling and was worried about how pale she looked.
“Beatrice,” I whispered, cupping her face in my hands again. “You’re safe. It’s just me. It’s Arko.”
Her eyes were still wild, and her breathing still erratic.
“Can’t—breathe,” she gasped. “The smoke—they left me—they left me to die—”
“No one’s leaving you,” I said, the worry gnawing in my voice. What the hell was she talking about?
“There’s no smoke here. No one is leaving you to die. I’m right here. The smoke out there isn’t real fire. It’s just for the club. You’re safe.”
I stroked her cheeks with my thumbs, trying to anchor her to the present.
“Focus on me,” I commanded gently. “On my voice. On my touch. You’re not there anymore. You’re here with me.”
Gradually, her breathing slowed. Her eyes began to focus on mine in the dark.
“That’s it,” I encouraged. “Just breathe with me. In. Out.”
Her hands came up to grip my wrists, holding on like she wanted to check this wasn’t a nightmare.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered after a moment. “I just—when I saw the smoke, I panicked.”
