Funny how one moment you think you know someone and the next not at all. As I walk down an unknown, palm tree-lined street with tears rolling down my cheeks, I can’t help feeling betrayed somehow. I don’t have the right to feel this way. We’re not a couple. But my emotions are out of my control.

I wrap my arms around my body in an attempt to keep warm as the late night sea breeze sweeps across my skin.

I look around me and a chill tickles my spine. This place is isolated. No people on the street. All I see are mansions and palm trees.

I stop walking under the golden stream of a street lamp. I had meant to go to the beach, but maybe I should turn back. What if I get lost? But I take the next step toward nowhere. The thought of going back to the LaClaire villa, to face the truth of what Bryant had done, makes my stomach turn. I don’t know how I can ever look at him the same way.

The first man to ever sweep me off my feet threw his brother over a balcony because of a woman.

As much as I’m disappointed in his actions, I’m hurt that he kept it a secret from me. So what if I’m not his girlfriend. I come with my own shameful baggage too and I told him all about it.

It would have been best if I never came to the party, never found out about the other side of him. I would have walked out of his life with an untainted image of him in my mind.

Before I make it to the beach, I change my mind and lean against the rough bark of a palm tree, breathing in the sea air before I turn back. Whether I want to or not, I have to return. Being alone on the beach in a place I’m not familiar with could be dangerous. But I close my eyes for a brief moment, shutting out the image of Bryant’s guilty face.

“Hey, tú! Bella dama.” The voice comes from somewhere behind me. It’s slurred and rough around the edges.

My eyes fly open and I push away from the tree. The hairs at the nape of my neck bristle. The first thing I see is the red glow of a cigar.

As I watch the stranger slumped against a palm tree, two more men show up at his side. One of them is holding a bottle of what I assume to be alcohol.

My adrenaline spikes, and my body yells for me to run. But it takes a few heartbeats before my feet get the message and start moving. I keep my shoulders straight to feign confidence, but my head down. No eye contact. A scream gets trapped in my throat when I hear their footfalls behind me. I walk faster and so do they. They’re not far behind now. I can smell cheap cologne.

Stay calm. Keep walking.

“Hey, chica. ¿A dónde vas? ¿Hablas Inglés?”

“Yes, I speak English,” I mutter. “I—I have to go.” Not responding to them might offend them more than saying something. But I keep walking, my head down. “I have to go.”

“Hey, we just met you. Come on, stay a while?” He cackles, and his friends join in. “We want to play.” The man is so close now I swear I feel his breath on the nape of my neck. My instinct tells me to turn around and see if he’s about to grab me, but before I can, he steps in front of me. “Why so fast, eh?”

I slow down and try to get past him, but the other men appear to block my way. I’m trapped. I force myself to look up, to prove that I’m not afraid of him, even though my insides are trembling.

The leader of the pack has long greasy hair, reaching his shoulders. The others are all bald with dirty unkempt beards. They all reek of alcohol and stale cigarettes.

The leader leers at me, his gaze traveling the length of my body. I wish I were wearing my baggy clothes instead of the dress Bryant has bought me. I’ve never felt more exposed.

“Please, I don’t want any trouble.” It’s hard to keep the tremor from my voice. “I need to . . . My friend is waiting for me.”

They bark again with laughter. The bitter taste of bile lingers at the back of my throat. How the hell am I going to get out of this situation?

How stupid I was to walk out alone, and without a phone on me. My head is spinning, imagining all kinds of terrible things these man can do to me with no one to stop them. Of course I could scream, but what would they do to shut me up?

“Please, let me go.” I blink tears away because I don’t want to show too much fear. They would enjoy my discomfort more than be put off by it.

“Está me gusta. Yo me la cojo primero.” One of the men takes a step closer to me. My tears break free and trickle in streams down my cheeks as he reaches out to touch a strand of my hair.

Please God, help me.

I can no longer stop myself from trembling.

“My kind of girl.” His eyes still on me, he adjusts his crotch.

Still holding on to hope, I scan the faces of the men, searching for one that’s friendlier than the rest, someone I could reach out to and beg for help. I find no kindness in any of their eyes. There’s no way out, and no one knows where to find me. Why didn’t I tell anyone where I was going?

“Please, I’m begging you. Please.” My body quakes as sobs tear through me. “I need to go.”

The man with the long hair pushes the other one aside, coming to stand in front of me, way too close to my body. He places a finger under my chin, forcing me to look into his dark eyes. “Don’t be afraid, bella dama. I promise you’ll like everything I’ll do to you.”

I slide my gaze from his eyes, not wanting to see the desire in their depths. By looking away, I’m also shutting myself off.

I might have lost the fight, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing the naked fear in my eyes. He turns away from me and talks to his friends in Spanish.

Although I know a little Spanish from school, they’re conversing too fast for me to understand what they’re saying.

The leader returns his attention to me, placing his hands on my shoulders first, before running them lower toward my breasts.

I can’t stand here and allow him to have easy excess to me. It might be dangerous for me to react negatively to his touch, but I cannot make it easy for him to get what he wants.

Clenching my teeth, I smack his hands away from my body, punching and screaming and flailing.

The next moment, I’m on the ground, all of the men holding me down, the leader on top of me, his weight pushing me into the pebbled ground.

I shut my eyes so I don’t see his dirty face.

“Let me go.” The only thing I have at my disposal right now is my voice and I use it, screaming at the top of my lungs.

“Get off her, right this minute,” a man’s booming voice breaks through the pauses in my screams.

I open my eyes. It’s Bryant’s voice.

The leader rolls off me and jumps to his feet, trying to scare Bryant away, pushing out his chest and baring his teeth.

“Fuck off,” he growls. “It’s none of your business.”

“You’re wrong about that, buddy. This is my business.” Not a hint of fear in Bryant’s voice.

While the other men are watching the confrontation, I use their distraction to flail my arms, releasing my hands from their grasps. Instead of grabbing me back, keeping me down, they also jump to their feet and surround Bryant.

Between their heads, I meet Bryant’s eyes.

“Get out of here, Grace. Run.” I back away from all of them, but instead of running, I struggle with indecision. How can I leave him here? What if he gets hurt?

“I said go. Now. I’ll catch up.” Bryant slams his palms into the leader’s chest, shoving him away.

I don’t wait for another order. The only way I can be of use to him right now is by running to find someone stronger than me to help him.

My feet beat the ground as I run in the direction I hope is the right one. With each step, I pray that by the time I get him help, it won’t be too late. After running for a while, I stop and slump forward, my hands clutching my knees. My breath bursts in and out of my lungs. Tears drip onto my hands.

Heavy footsteps thunder behind me and I snap upright, holding back a scream. Have they hurt Bryant and come to finish what they’d started?

“Grace, it’s me.”

“Bryant?” My shoulders collapse with relief. I spin around as Bryant catches up with me.

“Come on, let’s go.” His face is covered in bruises and blood is staining his torn shirt.

“Are you okay?” I ask, breathless.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. We should get back to the house.” He takes my arm and we run together.

After running for a few minutes, he halts, raising his face to the black sky, gripping his side. “Keep running,” he orders.

I lay a hand on his shoulder. He wouldn’t be hurt if it weren’t for me and my stupidity. “Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe we should go to the hospital instead.”

“No, it’s not that bad. It was just a kick in the ribs.” He spins me around to face him. “Did they hurt you?”

I shake my head. “You came in time.”

“Good.” He takes my hand. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

I don’t answer but my hand remains in his.