Chapter 1
Bratva Silk it's been months since I had a proper drink. The room tilts slightly as I move.
"You okay?" Tyler asks, steadying me with a hand on my waist.
"Yeah, just hot in here," I manage.
"Hey," Ethan shouts over the music. "We know a spot on the roof. Great view, way cooler up there."
I nod. Fresh air sounds perfect right now.
"Let's go," Tyler says, taking my hand.
Ethan grabs Fiona's hand, pulling her toward what I assume are the stairs. Tyler tugs me in a different direction.
"Where—" I start, but my tongue feels thick in my mouth.
"Shortcut," Tyler shouts, flashing that easy smile again. "Staff elevator!"
Something's wrong. My legs feel disconnected from my body, and the club lights streak across my vision like shooting stars. I try to focus on Tyler's face, but it blurs around the edges.
"I don't feel right," I mumble, the words slurring together.
The napkin, my brain screams. Something on the napkin.
"Don't worry, sweetheart," Tyler says, his voice suddenly clearer as he pulls me through a door marked Employees Only. "I got you."
The music fades behind us. We're in some kind of storage area, boxes stacked high, the fluorescent lights harsh after the dim club.
"Fee," I try to say, but my mouth won't cooperate.
"Your friend's fine," Tyler says, his gentle tone unchanged as his grip tightens.
My knees buckle. The room spins violently, and I can't tell which way is up anymore. Tyler catches me before I hit the floor.
"There we go," he murmurs, lifting me easily.
I try to struggle, but my limbs are useless, heavy as stone. Through the haze, I register that we're moving outside now, cool air hitting my face.
No. Fucking no.
I bite down hard on my tongue, using the pain to fight through the drug fog. My hand manages to find Tyler's face, and I rake my nails across his cheek.
"Bitch!" he hisses.
A van door slides open with a metallic screech. In the dim streetlight, I catch a glimpse of another figure waiting inside, dressed in black, older, definitely not college-age.
My drugged brain finally connects the dots: Tyler was never a student. This was planned. They've been watching me.
"Fiona," I try to scream, but it comes out as a broken whisper.
Tyler tosses me into the van's metal floor like a bag of dirty laundry. My head bounces off the ribbed surface. Stars explode across my vision.
"Should've made this easy," Tyler snarls, his nice-guy mask completely gone now.
The last thing I see before the door slams shut is his college-boy smile transforming into something cold and predatory.
I'm so fucked.