The stupid, neon-green drink you somehow already nearly finished.
There were probably like four shots of cheap vodka in there. How this place sustains their bottom line with that much booze, you’ll never know. Or maybe it’s just all the food coloring, but suddenly you feel like you’re going to be sick.
“I’m sorry,” you call over your shoulder as you pick yourself up, stumbling toward the ladies’ restroom.
Everything is blurry. It’s hard to even stay standing as you stumble.
There’s two doors to this bathroom—like one of those airport ones, you can go in either side.
And the world is spinning so hard by the time you make it to a stall, you have to grip the walls just to keep standing.
This was not how you envisioned this night going down.
But…
Maybe you still have a little luck, because after a few minutes, the nausea finally passes, and you’re okay. Crisis averted.
Mostly.
“Weird,” you mutter, shaking your head as you splash cold water on your face at the row of sinks.
You’re definitely still not fully of sound mind yet, though.
And things are still a little dizzy.
Because as you turn around, ready to go back and find Ziros…you realize you don’t remember which door you came in from.
And when you get outside, he’s not there waiting for you.
Maybe you took the wrong exit.
You take a few more steps out into the crowded club, trying to see if there’s a stupidly tall, handsome, dark-haired, steel-blue eyed hunk of a man standing around with looks that could kill.
Ziros is kind of hard to miss.
But he’s not there.
Not unless a pack of thirsty very-tall ladies got him cornered and surrounded while you were down for the count.
You swivel, planning to head back into the restroom and out the other door, when someone grabs your arm.
“Zir—” you start to ask, expecting it to be him.
But the face that you turn to find is dark and shadowed and angry. And a lot less handsome, if you’re being honest.
“You’re coming with us,” growls the strange man, clamping a meaty hand over your mouth and dragging you out the back door so fast, you don’t even have time to wonder what kind of horrible action movie you just fell into.
38
The Hot Guy Will Save You…Somehow
You
There’s a windowless white delivery van waiting in the alley upstairs from the basement bar, but before your burly attacker can shove you inside its open door, you twist, kicking backward as hard as you can.
Right in the nuts.
Score!
