He nods. “My pleasure. Would you like more wine?”
He smiles and a slight blush creeps up my neck. Now it’s my turn to nod because I definitely could use more alcohol.
“Great. I’ll go get it.”
“Wait–” I attempt to stop him, but he’s already up and striding to the bar with a slight spring in his step like he has no worries in the world. I realize that I was toasted last week and we didn’t get much of a chance to get to know each other, but there’ssomething different about him today and I can’t put my finger on it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a guy that particular level of happy.
By the time he’s on his way back, the food is arriving and my stomach makes a loud grumble when the scent hits my nose. It smells delicious. When he sets the glass in front of me, my face starts to feel warm, which is usually my cue that I need to slow down or I won’t walk out of here. If I’m going to be naked, riding his dick later, I’d like to remember it. Remembering it isn’t always a requirement, but with my assistant out of commission, I think it’s best to keep my memory intact.
The next hour is spent talking about work, family and kink clubs. Not in that particular order. Although, I make a very intentional choice not to go into too much detail because my general life is not all that exciting. We eat and sip the entire time and I’m genuinely having anot terribletime.
“You’re not drinking much. Do you not like it? I can order you something else.” It’snotmy favorite. I never understood how people could describe wine as anything other than tasting like bitter, rotten grapes.Hints of green apple and smoked cedarmy ass. I let out a slight chuckle at my own inner musings.
“I do. I just have a low-ish tolerance when it comes to wine, since I don’t drink it often, so I need to go slow.” It’s mostly true. “I’m actually going to go get a glass of water. My mouth is drier than the Sahara.”
As I begin to stand, a wave of dizziness washes over me and I fall back into my chair. “I’ll get it. You just relax and I’ll be right back.” He wipes his mouth with the cloth napkin that rests in his lap before walking away.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to relieve the throb that’s now pulsing through my head. Twirling some pasta onto my fork, I take a bite, hoping it’ll help soak up the alcohol. I don’t remember ever feeling this way while drinking. Nausearolls through my stomach as soon as I swallow and I realize something is very, very wrong.
Standing, I slowly work my way to the bathroom and send a silent curse to whoever decided we should sit so far away. When I eventually get there, I lean into the door, using my body to push through, since my arms don’t seem to have the strength. My arms hold me up when I get to the sink, and I give my head a quick shake to clear the fog that’s taking over my mind and my vision.
“Hun, are you okay?” I don’t know the voice, but I feel her arm land gently on my arm. “You’re sweating. Shit. Let’s sit down on that bench over there.”
Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion as she guides me to sit, but my limbs start to shake as dread takes hold. A burst of adrenaline follows and I reach up to grab her arms. “Please. I need help. I think my date did something,” I gasp.
“I don’t know how to help you. Is there someone I can call?”
I clumsily pull out my cell, scrolling by mom’s number. Out of the question. Same with Axel. No thanks. Wrinley goes straight to voicemail. My chest tightens as this nice stranger helps me scroll through my address book, when I see his name. Ryker Hart. My mother’s ex. I know calling him isn’t the right thing to do, until I think back to six years ago, when he made me promise to do just that, if I ever needed anything. I definitely need something. Will he answer? My finger hovers hesitantly over the bright green dial button for a long, silent moment. When another wave of dizziness hits me, I know I don’t have a choice, so I do what I probably shouldn’t and I call him.
12
Ryker
The club is in full swing and once again, I’m behind the bar, helping out my bartenders. I love helping out, but I should hire someone to help out on busy weekends. At least time is passing faster than it would if I was sitting alone at my place, with only my thoughts.
My phone buzzes against my ass and I want to ignore it, but everyone I know is already here and my curiosity has me pulling it from my back pocket to investigate.
Why is she calling?
“Arabella?” I yell as I push through the crowd to get to my office. It's so loud, I can’t hear much, let alone think. Finally through the door, I'm met with silence on the other end of the line. “Arabella, are you there? What's going on?”
More silence.
My throat starts to constrict with worry. I can hear her breathing, but it’s heavy as worry takes hold. “Ryker? I didn't know who else to call.”
Something’s not right. Her voice sounds shaky, as if her entire body is trembling.
“Take a deep breath and tell me what happened? Are you okay?”
“Um. I don’t know. I don’t think so? It happened so fast. You said I could call you if I needed anything.” I can't believe she remembers that. “I tried to call Wrinley, but she didn't answer. I can't call Mom. Oh my god.” She's sobbing now and it does nothing to ease the worry that’s building in my chest, as my heart rate rises exponentially.
“Where are you?” I bark.
“I-I don’t know,” she stutters with a slight slur in her voice. She sounds lethargic.What the fuck is happening?
“Um, hi,” a strange woman’s voice says in a shy, hesitant voice. “I just found her like this in the bathroom. I think she’s been drugged. She wouldn’t let me call the cops. Told me to call you instead.”
“Thank you for helping her. Where are you?”
