“Hurry up,” Sydney hisses, dragging me by the hand through the night club, under the strobing lights. “We’re late.”

“So what? We’re fashionably late.” I tug on her hand, but she’s strong for such a tiny person. “Relax. We’re supposed to be having fun.”

“You’re always about the fun, aren’t you?” She pulls me deeper into the club, like a short, red-haired missile locked on target.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Getting annoyed, I tug my hand harder, freeing it and stumbling back a step on my stilettos. “It’s our night out. Of course I want to have fun. Don’t you?”

“Yes! But if I’m not on time… Seriously, I can’t be late.”

“On time for what? Late for what? God, you’re turning into a grump.” I step farther back, heat seeping into my neck. “Is it because you’ll finally have to choose between all the boys you’ve been hanging with all this time? Poor baby.”

“Whoa. Really?” She stares at me, her cheeks reddening.

“Hey, you’re the one who’s all stressed out.”

Normally I don’t go off on her like that. I’m an easy-going person, light-hearted and fun. Syd likes that I’m fun. So why throw it into my face like an insult?

And now she’s staring into the dancing crowd, and I’m not even sure she hears me. Something’s definitely off.

Sort-of-dating three dudes at the same time can be stressful, I guess, especially if you’re all good buddies.

I honestly don’t understand the dynamics of her little group. Her three friends seem nice, sure, and they’re handsome as hell and friends with each other. I get that choosing one will destroy the group—but hey, you can’t marry all three, now, can you?

She has to make a choice. But surely not tonight?

Or maybe it is tonight? That would explain her odd behavior.

“Look, I gotta go,” she whispers, turns around, and before I can even blink, she vanishes into the crowd.

O.M.G. What in the world just happened?

“Syd! Sydney!” I start after her, pissed and annoyed and kind of scared. She’s never walked out on me like this before, not in a night club where I’ve never been before. Plus, she’s my ride back home.

Looks like I’ll be calling a cab, instead.

But heck, no. I’ll find her, sit her down and have her explain to me what has gotten into her tonight. All this is… no bueno.

She’s my bestie. My bestie can’t abandon me like that without an explanation. The world just doesn’t work that way. We’ve been best friends since I moved to St. Louis almost three years ago. Almost three full years of trust and late-night confessions in the dark, nights when she told me about her dreams and fears, about her three friends.

She knows practically everything about me, probably even things I don’t know. I thought I knew her like the back of my hand.

Where is she?

Hurrying through the drunken crowd, the music blaring in my ears, I tug ineffectively on the hem of my short dress as I search for her familiar head of red curls.

Where was she heading anyway? There’s nothing back here but more people and the neon-lit bar with its shelves of bottles and bustling bartenders.

Cursing my stilettos—remembering Sydney warning me not to wear them if I wanted to dance, but they’re so damn pretty I ignored her—I slow down, walking down the length of the bar, anxiously checking the swaying, shaking, jumping bodies on the dance floor.

My stomach is twisted up in a knot. It feels like fear. For her, and for me.

Oh come on, I tell myself. You’re a nineteen-year-old woman. You’ve spent as much time inside night clubs as you have outside them by now.

Probably.

Anyway, math doesn’t matter. I’m fine. If Syd decided to disappear, then I’ll just hop into a cab and go home to my bed.

Or maybe stay and dance a little first.

My little pep talk makes me feel a bit better. Taking a deep breath, I move toward the back of the club. Who needs Sydney to have fun? I can party on my own. Plenty of guys around I can talk to. Never been shy, that’s for sure.

Although, damn, I’d counted on her to get us drinks. Sydney’s twenty, and I’m turning twenty in a few months, so that’s not good, but one of her boys is twenty-one already, which comes in useful.

Syd’s been turning into such a party-pooper lately, anyway. Not that she vanished like this before, or we’d have had words already, but she hasn’t been her chipper self.

Trouble in foursome paradise? Who knows?

Not me, that’s for sure, since she hasn’t breathed another word about her three buddies in a while.

More annoyed than ever, I decide that’s it. I’m done. Let Sydney come find me. What’s up with acting all weird and stuff, huh? It’s our Saturday night out, and I’m in no mood to go back home and stare at the ceiling over my bed.

Turning, I lean against the bar and nod at the bartender. “A rum and coke, please.”

Dressed in my little black dress, my hair swept back, red lipstick and so much mascara on my lashes I can hardly lift them, I look older than I actually am, and I’m counting on it.

Still, the guy hesitates. He’s dressed in black pants and a T-shirt, his muscular arms inked. “ID?”

“Left it at home,” I say quickly, and flash him a smile. “Come on, I’m old enough. Can’t you tell?”

He struggles with it, but his gaze drops to my boobs quickly, before lifting back to my face. In the dim light, I think I see a flush spread over his cheeks. “Yeah. Okay.”

Smirking, I glance to the side and catch a guy watching me. There’s something familiar about him, but I can’t put my finger on it. He’s dark-haired, lanky, leaning back on his stool in a lazy sprawl.

I avert my gaze, a shiver running down my spine.

The bartender asks for my ticket, then places my cocktail in front of me. I take a sip and swirl the ice cubes in the glass, the faint clinking sound soothing despite the heavy bass vibrating through the club.

It’s hypnotic. My body is shaking with it, trying to move to the rhythm. A kaleidoscope of colors swirls over the bar, creating mini explosions on the bottles lined up on the shelves.

“Hey.” The bartender appears again, sliding a shot glass in front of me. “From the guy over there.”

I turn to look and swallow hard. The same dark-haired man from before nods at me and lifts his own shot glass.

It’s whiskey, and it burns going down. A buzz starts in my head. I lick my lips, savoring the smoky flavor.

He’s not bad looking, I decide, giving the guy another quick look. Not sure I’d want to start anything with him, but he’s not all that hard on the eyes.

So when he gets up and comes over to me, I smile.

“Wanna dance?” he shouts over the music, and I shrug. I still have my cocktail, but what the hell, right? I’m here to have fun.

This is what fun looks like.

Taking a long gulp of my drink, I put it down and get up, letting him drag me to the dance floor.

We move among the hot, sweaty bodies, the music pounding through me, and I grin, letting my body sway to the beat. A couple of cute guys glance at me, and I wink.

Let’s party, baby.

But, belatedly, I realize the guy is still going, parting the crowd and emerging on the other side, at the dark far end of the club where booths and lone tables are taken up by kissing couples.

Um. “What are you doing?” He doesn’t reply, and I doubt I’d hear him over the music even if he did. In fact, I doubt he heard me, so I try again. “Stop.” I tug on his hold, trying to free my hand. “I said, stop.”

Still no reply. He’s moving fast, and I stumble after him. When he drags me toward an empty booth, I start to panic.

I dig in my heels and pull harder on his hand. “Let me go, let go right now!”

He yanks on my hand and slams me into the wall, suddenly looming over me. He’s really tall, and his eyes are hard, shiny and empty.

“Don’t I know you?” he asks, and maybe he does, who knows from where, but that’s not what’s on my mind right now.

“I said, let go,” I hiss, shoving at his chest with my free hand, the other one held between us in his bruising grip. “Jesus, what’s wrong with you? Leave me alone!”

He’s still looking at me, with that empty expression, though his dark brows have drawn together in a frown, as if he’s trying to puzzle this out. Where he knows me from—or why I’m resisting him?

Sicko.

And he hasn’t moved a muscle yet. He’s pressed too close to me, barely two inches separating our faces. His breath stinks of alcohol, and his body of chemicals and sweat. On a guy I like, I wouldn’t mind the smell of sweat. But on this one, it makes me want to throw up.

Fear keeps me still, so still. The rushing of blood in my ears and the beating of my heart are the only sounds I can hear, louder than the pounding music.

Is this how mice feel, I think, when a snake is about to strike? This cold panic that holds you like a spider’s web, like a fisherman’s net, so you can’t do anything but stare back?

“Man, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” a male voice says very close to my ear, and I jerk, my breathing uneven. “Let her go. Come on.”

The guy blinks. “Go away, Fen.”

“Nah, no can do. See, girl’s got her boyfriend searching the club for her. I thought to warn you. Can’t let you get beaten to a pulp now, can I?”

What is he talking about? A boyfriend? The only boyfriend I ever had was Quinn, back in Destiny, when I was seventeen, and we only ever kissed.

Tearing my gaze with difficulty from the asshole who’s still holding me, I glance sideways at the new guy, and in the flashing lights, I catch a glimpse of a handsome face and spiky hair.

“He won’t let me go,” I whisper, and my stomach churns.

Who is he? Is he my rescuer, or more trouble?

I’m dizzy.

I’m terrified.

The man’s empty eyes slide from me to this Fen guy. “I said, go the fuck away.”

“Come on, man. You don’t want trouble, not tonight. Plenty of chicks around. Take your pick.”

“Damn you. Spoiling my fun.” The hold on my wrist slackens. “Pass her back to her boyfriend, or whatever the fuck. I’m going to get another drink.”

“Yeah. You know I’ll always have your back,” Fen says, and grabs my other wrist. “Come on, sweet cheeks. Let’s get you back where you belong.”

Where do I belong? Everything’s fuzzy. My knees buckle.

“Whoa.” He grabs my elbow with his other hand. “Easy there.”

“Can’t breathe,” I mumble.

Memories crowd the back of my mind, trying to break free, memories I keep under lock and key. Hands shoving me into a corner, pawing at me, tearing at my clothes.

Nothing happened, I remind myself. Nothing that matters happened. I got away.

But here’s the catch: in my mind, in my dreams, I didn’t.

“You had a shock,” the guy, Fen, says. “Let’s get you some fresh air. You didn’t take anything, right?” He pulls me away from the wall, in an indeterminate direction. “E? Any other drug? Didn’t let anyone spike your drink?”

I shake my head, then stop when the nausea worsens.

“Good,” he grinds out, and hauls me along faster. “Come on.”

I should stop him. Yank my hand away. This is going exactly the same way as before, when he rescued me. He’s going to take me out—where, into an alley?

God.

“Stop, just… stop.” I manage to slow him down and pull my hand back. “Ow. Let go.” I’ll have such bruises there come tomorrow. Don’t boys really know their strength, or are they doing it on purpose? “I’m not looking for a hook-up, okay?”

And I mean it. My heart is hammering behind my ribs, and darkness is seeping into the edges of my vision. The sounds of ragged breathing fill my ears, the stench of old, sour sweat and the sweetness of weed…

“Wait a minute.” To my surprise, he lets go, turning to face me, lifting a brow. “You think I want you?”

“I…” I stammer, fear an icy current running through my veins.

He laughs, shakes his head. “You look like you’re gonna puke. I was helping you to the door, that’s all.”

Now why do I want to punch him in his handsome face? All of a sudden, I feel embarrassed and offended. Why is he so amused that I might think he wants me? Plenty of boys want me, thank you very much. What’s so frigging special about him?

Taking a better look at him, I’m struck with another case of déjà vu. What’s up with that tonight, huh? I mean, it’s hard to really make out his face in the flashing lights and half-darkness. Am I seeing things?

“There’s the door.” He gestures. “Feel free to go and puke on your own.”

What a douche. Lifting my chin, I start toward the outline of the door, the Exit sign on it glowing faintly. But my legs feel strangely heavy, and the pounding in my head is growing louder. The world tilts sharply, and I’m falling.

“Fuck.” His hand comes under my elbow, steadying me, pulling me up. “Sure you didn’t take anything? No shame in confessing, you know.”

“To you?” I snap, angry at having to accept his help after all, and at how good he smells, pressed so close to me—unlike the other douchebag from before.

“Well, sure, if you like,” he replies easily, “you can confess to me.”

“Shut up. Just… shut up.” All I want is to shove his arrogant ass away—only he’s already opening the door with his free hand, and we’re stepping out into the muggy air of the back alley.

The beat of the music falls away as the door swings closed behind us. His hand is still clamped on my elbow, and I’m grateful for that as we go down two steps I hadn’t noticed.

Finally on level ground, I take a deep breath stinking of trash and urine and probably vomit, when I notice two figures a few feet away.

I don’t know the girl she’s talking to, but I’d know the one with her back to me in a dark room full of people.

Sydney, her red curls cascading on her shoulders, her skirt barely covering her ass. I helped her into that skirt earlier tonight.

My head is spinning despite the fresh air and the quiet.

What is she doing here? I expected to see her with her friends, but instead she’s talking to an unfamiliar girl with pixie features and pigtails, a girl in a long overcoat, in spite of the heat coming off the asphalt. She has that coat open, showing something to Sydney.

The guy still holding my elbow—I’d forgotten about him for a second—hisses a curse under his breath, and yanks me backward.

What’s going on here? All those little bags hanging from the inside of the pixie girl’s coat… Oh God. Are those drugs?

I open my mouth to call for Syd, and his other hand presses over my mouth, stopping me.

“Come on,” Fen whispers in my ear, lifting his hand, and his scent hits me again, spicy and mouthwatering. “We’re going back inside.” He hauls me up the two steps and back into the club before I can formulate any objection. “Now.”

“Wait. What are you doing?”

“Saving your ass.” He’s still hauling me deeper into the club, his grip like a vise. “You don’t wanna be a witness to a drug deal, trust me. Stay the fuck away from that girl.”

“I can’t.”

“Steer clear of any of—” He stops so suddenly I almost fall and faces me. “What? Why can’t you?”

I swallow hard. “She’s my bestie.”

We’ve stopped near the long expanse of the bar. The guy’s looking at me, and I stare at his face. God, he’s so hot. His mouth is pursed in annoyance, his eyes narrowed, and he’s gorgeous.

That expression… it reminds me of someone I used to know, and that feeling of recognition hits me again.

“She’s bad news,” he says, and jabs a finger in the direction we came from. “You’d stay away from her if you had any fucking sense.”

Or maybe I’m mistaking annoyance for recognition? “Yeah? And what about your buddy? Talk about bad news.”

His mouth tightens more. “Stay away from that asshole, too.”

Someone is calling my name, and turning, I see Sydney. She’s waving at me, all bright smiles. Jeez. “All I’m saying is, you keep really bad company, so you’re one to talk.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t know shit. Seb is my goddamn brother.”