Chapter 8 Club Spiral
The bass splits my eardrums, and I cringe. Rachel shrieks as a coworker hands her a shot of clear liquid.
“Thirty shots for her thirtieth birthday!” Of course, most of them are water.
“Go, go, go, go, go!” the crowd chants as Rachel yanks down her red mask and chugs it like a champ. She reaches for another one, and I grab it from her.
“I got this.” I smile.
The alcohol burns down my throat—vodka, the cheap kind. It hits my head in a flash. I’ve always been a lightweight. Two shots max, three if I’m lying to myself.
Club Fantasia is filled to the brim tonight.
They’re having a Mardi Gras-themed masquerade, which means everyone’s dressing up in glittering outfits and over-the-top masks.
Smoke curls along the floor like low-lying fog in a dense forest. Everywhere I look are painted smiles and flirtatious caresses.
It’s also been my secret for the last few months.
Clubbing. Drinking. Losing myself in music and crowds so I don’t feel alone.
Or haunted. Or pissed off about the little girl who “fell down the stairs” being back in the ER, this time with a concussion.
When her dad rolled in with fake concern, I wanted to bash his head in with an IV pole so he could get a taste of his own medicine.
But of course I didn’t. I’m a professional.
Although that didn’t stop me from drawing a voodoo doll at home and stabbing its eyes out.
I confessed my thoughts to the only person who’d understand, Ghostface444. But he didn’t answer this time. A knot forms in my chest.
I wonder if he’s tired of me. Or hurt. Or gone.
Will he vanish from my life like Blake did?
Because he died. He didn’t want to die, Aria.
“Aria! Want another shot?” Rachel hollers, and I shake my head.
“You should slow it down there. I won’t hold your hair up when you meet your friend, the toilet, later.”
She laughs and turns back to the group.
Scarlett and Lana think I’m studying for the GRE.
I should be studying, but every time I crack open the textbook, my heart aches and I think of Blake.
How he used to chuckle when I complained about the politics I’d have to deal with after getting my master’s and moving into a policy management role.
“You don’t have to do it. I’m more than happy with you being a nurse. You don’t even need to work. I can take care of you.”
I scowl and toss a wadded ball of paper at him.
“I’m not doing this for you. And you doctors will be lost without us.”
His smile falters. He rubs his temples, looking more tired than usual.
“What?” I ask.
Blake huffs out a sigh. “Bad stock tip. Lost more than I should have.” He grips my fingers. “I’m sorry. I set us back.”
My stomach sinks, but I force out a smile. “Then it’s a good thing I’m going to ace the GRE.”
It’s not even about the raise. I’m doing it for myself, for Grandma, who had a wonderful patient advocate before she passed.
For little Grayson, who can’t play soccer with his friends or be a regular kid.
I want to do more—change policies, have a bigger voice, be a better advocate for patients like them.
But for now, I shove all of it aside.
Time to dance.
I slam my glass down, a warm buzz spreading through me.
“See y’all in a bit. Going to work up a sweat.”
Dr. Cavendish—our ER doctor sponsor for tonight’s festivities—stands, clearly intending to play big brother and follow me onto the dance floor, but I shake my head.
I don’t want company.
Adjusting my white lace mask, I make my way to the acrylic floor, which flashes purple and blue.
A woman in a silver dress stumbles, clearly drunk.
Her friend catches her elbow before she face-plants.
A man idling by the bar pretends to be wasted.
It’s obvious with his sharp eyes and balanced stance.
Damn nurse brain. I need it off.
I throw myself into the sultry beats, twisting my hips, shaking out my hair, feeling it brush against the swath of skin exposed by my strapless black dress.
Here, in the middle of noise and chaos, tomorrow doesn’t exist. Problems disappear. The future is unwritten.
No black ribbons. No sympathetic smiles.
No one looks at me as if I might break at any second.
The alcohol fans the flames in my gut.
I drag my hands down my body, curving over my tender breasts, then up to my neck as I close my eyes and throw my head back.
Dance.
Feel the music. Feel alive.
One song bleeds into two, then three—and suddenly, a hand snakes around my waist, hard muscles pressing into my backside.
My eyes snap open. I spin around, finding an unfamiliar blond man in a black-and-white mask smirking. He leans in.
“What are you? A cow?” I ask.
He laughs. “It’s an ox. Strong. Manly. Not a cow.”
I eye the mask dubiously. There’s a cowbell attached at the bottom.
“I’m Tanner,” he says. “A pretty girl like you should have a dance partner. A good one.”
Blond hair, blue eyes like Blake’s.
Grief hits me like a wrecking ball. If Blake were here, he’d groan because I dragged him to a club. But he’d dress up with me. Maybe we would’ve come as Heathcliff and Cathy or some other iconic couple.
I strain a smile. “Let’s dance.”
It doesn’t have to mean anything. Just two adults passing the time.
We move together, his hand flat on my back, his fingers guiding me as our hips rock to the rhythm.
Hands are fine as long as they stay where I put them.
Tanner pushes me into a spin, and I gasp—then he pulls me back in.
“Told you I’m good.” He grins.
I smile back.
My life has been scrubs with questionable stains and messy buns…sometimes, I forget I’m even a woman.
The music changes into a sexy R I follow.
I’m floating—drunk on the music and the energy, my mind fading at the edges.
That’s when everything goes wrong.
It’s quiet. Too quiet.
My eyes flick open.
Without my noticing, Tanner has maneuvered us into a side corridor half hidden by a bead curtain.
A sign hangs on a door: VIP and Private Lounge.
High tables flank the entrance, and empty glasses reflect under the dim lighting.
The music is muffled here—ominous echoes vibrating the walls. The air is colder. Darker.
It’s all wrong.
“Wh-What are you doing?” I yank his hands off my waist, but he holds firm.
He pins me to the wall.
“Darling, I hear you have something special.”
“What? Let go of me, Tanner.”
My stomach roils. I try wrenching free again, but he doesn’t budge.
Those kind blue eyes from earlier—the ones reminding me of Blake—turn glacial. Dread slithers up my spine.
“Don’t be a tease. You must realize something’s up,” he rasps and leans in, his whiskey breath reeking. “Why else would they put a bounty on you? Be a good girl. Tell me what you have.”
What bounty? What is he talking about?
“Last warning.” My vision sharpens. His eyes are clear, his grip firm. He isn’t drunk. Adrenaline lights a fuse in my blood. “There are two hundred and six bones in the human body, and I know how to break them all.”
“Feisty little thing.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I like it.”
With a growl, I drive my heel into his foot, followed by a knee to the groin.
Tanner drops me with a pained hiss.
I run.
But I’m too slow in my four-inch stilettos. Within seconds, his arm snakes around my throat from behind, crushing my windpipe.
Alarm bells blare in my head. He lifts me clear off the ground and moves. My heels skid against the floor.
“Bitch, you’re going to pay for that.” The corridor narrows and tilts. He’s carrying me toward a neon exit sign. “But I’ll enjoy breaking you first.”
I need to escape. He will kill me.
My fingernails dig into his arms. I thrash. Punch blindly—elbows, heels, anything soft and breakable. I snag a tumbler from a high table and bring it down on his head.
He dodges. Glass shatters on the floor.
Tanner tightens his hold against my throat, and blackness seeps into my vision.
I can’t breathe.
Fear claws up my torso. My ears ring. I kick and jab, but my limbs are heavy…distant.
He tightens his arm around my neck.
“Help,” I wheeze, barely hearing myself.
Time slows into eerie fragments.
The past flashes in my mind. Scarlett and Lana laughing at the café. Blake and I debating if Skittles are better than M&Ms. My disappointment when Mom missed my eighteenth birthday. Grief when Grandma died.
Dark, intense eyes in a theater. A word traced on my skin like a vow.
No. I can’t die.
With my last surge of strength, I throw my head back—hard.
Tanner howls and loosens his grip.
I crash to the floor, disoriented.
Run.
Blindly, I crawl, the marble freezing on my knees. Glass shards dig into my palms.
Footsteps pound behind me, closing in.
I’m not fast enough. Any second now—
I close my eyes, bracing for the worst.
But nothing comes.
Muffled thuds reach my ears. A sharp grunt cuts off mid-breath.
Then the air stills. A haunted silence falls.
A leather-clad hand—possessive and steady—snags around my wrist, hoisting me to my feet.
“You’re safe,” a low voice whispers.
My eyes snap open.
An unfamiliar man in a silver mask. A dark hood pulled low, hiding his hair and eyes.
He closes in.
I should run. Scream. Find Rachel and my coworkers.
But my body is trapped between terror and survival, my senses sharpened, my blood roaring too loudly for me to hear common sense.
And when he says I’m safe…
Something dark and reckless inside me believes him.