CHAPTER THREE
Meltdown
Jenna woke with a jolt as a car backfired down the street. She sat up gingerly, wiping her burning eyes and taking in her surroundings. She had fallen asleep on the carpet in the lounge during a fit of tears, and her eyes felt like sandpaper as she glanced toward the window. It was already dark, with the moon in full bloom.
Getting up, she untwisted her skin-tight skirt and froze.
Everything flooded back to her.
The assault, the tablet, the gun, the blood, and a gorgeous, brutal dead man. In a panic, she grabbed her TV remote and switched it on, flipping straight to the news channels. Jenna held her breath as she scanned each one, but none mentioned a bank, her, or murder.
She frowned, looking down at her handbag, the gun’s handle just peeking out.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered, walking to the window and peeking out. No cop cars were parked on the street either.
She was no fool. The cops would be all over Mr. Crown’s office by now, and they would find her DNA. There was no doubt—she had to run, change her name, change who she was. A tear ran down her cheek at the thought of it all—the gun going off, the blood, and the memories circling her thoughts.
How had this happened to her?
Jenna jumped, muffling a scream as her cell phone vibrated on the coffee table behind her. She turned to see who it was, hugging herself tightly as she edged closer. She knew the name lighting up her screen—it was Haley, her best friend.
She reached for the phone, then stopped, letting it ring through to voicemail. She didn’t know what to say and feared that even opening her mouth might result in more damage. Sighing with relief when it finally stopped ringing, she picked it up and looked at the notifications. Jenna had a total of seventeen missed calls, most of which were from her shitty job.
The phone lit up again with Haley.
“Hello,” Jenna said, clearing her throat as she answered the call. She really did need to talk to someone, and perhaps Haley was the best option. After all, what were best friends for? Swallowing the tears threatening to spill, her mind raced to the FBI movies she had seen, where they tracked phone calls and listened in. What if they already knew?
“Jenna?” came Haley’s voice, half-lost in the loud background noise. “Are you okay?”
“Hey, doll, yeah, I’m okay,” Jenna said, clearing her throat again and blinking back tears.
“Then where the hell are you?”
“Huh?” Jenna frowned, the noise in the background drowning Haley out. “Where are you?”
“At Smoking Ace on 5th. Did you forget?” Haley laughed. “If you forgot, I swear I’ll get a cab and come kick your ass!” came Haley’s playful threat.
“Haley, I...” Jenna began. She had forgotten. With everything that had happened, she had completely forgotten their plans to meet for drinks.
“Don’t you dare cancel on me! The talent tonight is too good. You can’t miss this,” Haley threatened again. Talent was Haley’s way of saying there were good-looking men out and about, and they had both been out of the dating game so long they were hoping to catch some looks their way—or at least a few numbers from some cute guys.
Jenna closed her eyes. She didn’t want to go out. She didn’t want to do anything except curl up in a ball and die.
“Jen? Babe, are you okay?” Haley asked.
“Can we reschedule for another night?” Jenna asked so quickly she barely heard herself.
“No, I am not having you flake out on me again.
Get your cute butt in a shower and down here pronto! The mystery guy is also here—yum! Love you!” Haley said before hanging up.
Jenna sighed, looking down at her phone and its many messages. She didn’t have the strength to go through them all, let alone meet up with Haley. Tears welled up as she realized this might be the last time she’d see her best friend. Perhaps it was a good idea to go—to see her friend and say goodbye face-to-face. By morning, she would need to flee, leaving behind everything she knew and loved.
In the solitude of her shower, Jenna wept, the water cascading over her in torrents, mingling with unseen tears. She scrubbed furiously, as though trying to erase not just the traces of crimson, but the haunting memory of Mr. Crown’s blood and assault that clung to her soul. Though not a drop marred her skin, she felt as if she were drenched in it, stained irreversibly.
After what felt like an eternity under the relentless stream, her skin was raw from the abrasion of her desperate cleansing.
Dressing herself in a scarlet off-shoulder cocktail dress—a cruel mimicry of the hue she longed to banish—she slipped into matching heels, each step a reminder of the weight of her burden.
Summoning a cab with trembling fingers, Jenna paused only to send a hollow message to Haley, a feeble attempt to convey an impression of normalcy. “On my way,” it read before she closed her burning eyes in the
back seat.
Stepping out of the cab, Jenna paid and rushed inside, terrified she was somehow being followed, her mind running through a million what-ifs. Heading to the front left where the lockers and coat racks were, she paid and locked her heavy handbag inside, slipping the key card into her bra.
Entering the main section of Smoking Ace was an unparalleled experience; it exuded an air of sophistication intertwined with a captivating steampunk aesthetic. Towering above, the lofty ceiling cradled majestic chandeliers whose glow danced upon the supple black leather booths encircling the room.
At the heart of it all lay the pièce de résistance: a glass dance floor, the very essence of the venue’s allure. Stepping onto its transparent surface was akin to crossing into an alternate reality. Beneath one’s feet lay a mosaic of screens, each projecting a distinct vista onto the ground. Here, one could find themselves immersed in the lush embrace of the Amazon Forest one night, only to be whisked away to the enchanting streets of Paris the next, dancing under the Eiffel Tower.
Amidst this ever-shifting tableau, Haley moved with a fluidity that mirrored the pulsating rhythm of the room, her hips swaying in perfect harmony with the music.
Jenna strode confidently toward the elongated bar with a quiet determination. She ordered a double shot of spiced rum, tossing it back with practiced ease before signaling for another.
“Whoa there, beautiful. You know there are less harmful ways of getting drunk,” a voice interrupted, its tone laced with concern.
Ignoring the unsolicited advice, Jenna downed the next shot, her gaze shifting to the man seated beside her.
“Let me buy you something less damaging to your liver.” He winked, taking a step closer to her.
Jenna looked up from the gray suit and white shirt to a friendly face. He wasn’t her type, but his features were pleasing—big brown eyes, dark brown hair, and a boyish charm.
“Name’s Larry.” He stuck out his hand to greet her.
Jenna accepted his hand, unsure for the first time in her life whether to give a fake name or not, so she just smiled.
“Bad day?” he inquired, his touch gentle as he covered her hand with his own, his gaze probing hers.
Jenna felt a knot tighten in her throat, the mention of her horrific day threatening to unravel the facade she had meticulously crafted. She fought to maintain her composed smile, berating herself for any hints of vulnerability.
She had believed she was masterfully concealing her inner turmoil, even sparing a moment for a final touch-up in the cab to ensure her outward appearance betrayed nothing of her inner chaos. So why, then, did he see through her? Did he possess some hidden insight? Jenna’s brow furrowed at the insinuation, her mind spinning with paranoid conjectures.
With a conscious effort, she suppressed the rising tide of irrational fear, chiding herself. Her paranoia was beginning to verge on psychotic.
Arms wrapped around her, and a familiar, pleasing scent touched her nose.
“Finally, I was about to call the police!” Haley said, spinning Jenna around for a proper hug.
“No, why?” Jenna stiffened in her arms as panic gripped her.
But Haley didn’t notice as she looked up to see the man leaning on the bar near them.
“Who is your handsome friend?” Haley smiled, pulling away from the hug.
“This is Larry,” Jenna introduced, her gaze jumping between her friend and the man beside her. She noted with satisfaction how Larry’s eyes lit up at the sight of Haley. Good, she thought, turning back to the bar to order another drink. Let them entertain themselves for a while.
“Another double rum shot, and then I think I’ll have a Cosmo,” she ordered, glancing back at her friend, who was now engrossed in conversation with Larry.
The sound of their laughter reached her ears, and she couldn’t help but smile. She always admired Haley’s carefree spirit; with her straight blonde hair grazing her shoulders, bright blue eyes, and a complexion kissed by the sun, she was the epitome of effortless beauty.
Tonight, Haley was adorned in a green sequin mini dress, exuding confidence and charm as she playfully rested a hand on Larry’s chest, giggling at another one of his jokes.
Jenna turned back to the bar, accepting her shot with silent resolve—anything to numb the edges of reality enough to endure the night ahead. Bringing the glass to her lips, she tossed it back, the fiery liquid burning a path down her throat, momentarily distracting her from the whirlwind of crippling thoughts.
Her gaze wandered, and there he was. The enigmatic figure she had glimpsed countless times before at Smoking Ace, always shrouded in an aura of mystery. Surrounded by a throng of admirers, he remained an elusive presence, forever confined to the VIP booths beyond reach.
Jenna and Haley had often speculated about his identity, concocting fantasies of him being a famed singer or celebrity. Yet, their attempts to uncover his secrets had yielded nothing. Google searches proved fruitless, and inquiries at the bar were met with stony silence.
Now, for the first time, their eyes met across the bar. Jenna held his gaze as her next drink arrived, her body betraying her usual poise. Typically, she would have flirted or smiled, raising her glass in playful camaraderie. But tonight was different; an icy chill ran down her spine as she locked eyes with the mysterious stranger, and for once, she was rendered motionless.
Perhaps it was a mere projection, but she felt a shared sense of desolation in his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the unrest lurking beneath the surface. Despite the pulsating energy of the venue, his eyes conveyed a silent plea to be anywhere but here—a sentiment she couldn’t help but echo.
As he retreated to his secluded territory, Jenna released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, inhaling deeply to steady herself. The world around her faded into insignificance as she grappled with the inexplicable connection she had felt with the stranger across the bar, his gaze lingering on hers until he disappeared into the shadowy depths of his VIP booth.
Holy hell, if attraction was deadly, he was the Grim Reaper.
“Jen, come dance!” Haley demanded, hooking her arm and pulling her to the dance floor. Against her will, Jenna was dragged along with Larry to the floor and quickly introduced to four of Larry’s male friends who were already dancing.
Haley grabbed Larry by the waist, pulling him closer as they began to move to the rhythm. Jenna managed a weak smile, excusing herself from the group under the pretense of needing a refill. Dancing felt like an insurmountable task; drowning the ache in her chest with another drink seemed far more appealing.
“Don’t leave just yet, pretty thing,” one of Larry’s friends—John or Joe or whatever the fool’s name was—said as he pulled her back, her butt firmly against his groin as he held her hips, swaying awkwardly to the music.
Jenna closed her eyes, attempting to suppress the rage simmering within her. She didn’t want any of this.
All she craved was to drown her sorrows in alcohol and be left in peace.
“Maybe later,” she replied curtly, pulling away from the persistent stranger’s grasp.
She turned her gaze toward Haley and Larry, only to find them lost in each other’s embrace on the dance floor, oblivious to her plight.
“What’s your name?” the same creep’s voice persisted, his arms encircling her as his hand wandered inappropriately.
“I am not interested!” Jenna hissed, her patience wearing thin.
With a swift movement, she stamped her high heel onto his foot, eliciting a yelp as he released his grip on her.
Seizing the opportunity, Jenna spun on her heel and fled the suffocating atmosphere of the dance floor. Racing up the stairs to the rooftop, she gulped in the cool night air, desperately trying to regain her composure.
Why were men so insistent and handsy?
As Jenna burst through the door to the roof terrace, the haunting image of Mr. Crown surged to the forefront of her mind. Panic seized her, tightening its grip around her chest, making it impossible to draw in a proper breath.
Hyperventilating, she staggered toward the railing, her vision swimming with unshed tears.
The memory of the blood, the gun, the assault—it was all too overwhelming. Each gasp for air felt denied. Each attempt to calm her racing heart only seemed to escalate the panic.
Clutching the railing for support, Jenna’s hands trembled violently. She felt as though the weight of the world was pressing down upon her, suffocating her with its relentless grip.
“Hey, hey. Clear your mind. Deep breath in, hold for two,” a rich and sultry voice instructed, steadying her. “Close your eyes, and focus on just that.”
“I can’t, I can’t, I just...” Jenna said between short bursts of breath, hot tears running down her face. She couldn’t deal with life, couldn’t deal with the blood on her hands, the death she would never be able to run from.
Fuck. Her life was over.
They would find her; she would be killed!
She couldn’t be here!
“You can, and you will. Listen to me. You are your own worst enemy right now. Breathing normally is controlled by only you.”
The strong voice broke through her haze, catching her as she fell to her knees. Her vision blurred, her heart raced a thousand miles an hour, and her lungs burned, crying for air.
“Breathe. Hold for two. Listen to me.”
Strong arms pulled her onto his lap, holding her against his chest.
“It’s okay. You’re safe, I promise you. Nothing and no one will touch you. Just please, breathe,” the same persistent voice pleaded, stroking her hair and begging her to cooperate.
Jenna didn’t know who he was or where he had come from. She didn’t even care how many people saw her meltdown on the rooftop. The only certainty amidst all of this was the inexplicable trust Jenna felt toward this stranger—no, this guardian angel aiding her, allowing her to soak his shirt with her tears.
There was an undeniable sense of safety in his presence, a reassuring aura that enveloped her. Lost in the moment, she returned his embrace, surrendering to the overwhelming flood of emotions. She cried into his chest, unreservedly letting go of everything she had been holding back.