Chapter 1 #3
Sorry. I’m fine. Bit of a situation here, but it’s okay. I’ll text you soon to fill you in. Might need some backup, but not yet.
His reply comes in immediately.
Backup? Are you in trouble?
I quickly shoot off another message.
Not in trouble. But when I call, I need you to come. Can you?
Three dots blink momentarily.
Of course. Are you sure you’re okay?
Desperate to get back to Camden, I hurriedly reply.
Yes. MOMP is going down.
Then I set my phone face down and turn to Camden. Widening my eyes, I say, “Sorry about that. You were saying?”
Camden looks annoyed for a second, but he quickly hides it. “No problem. I’m sure it was important. Anyway.” He angles his chin at my wine glass. “Why don’t you have a drink?” Raising his own mostly-empty glass, he tilts it at mine. “A toast to a lovely dinner with an even lovelier woman.”
Oh, ugh.
But now I have a reason for playing along.
So I do.
I smile. I flirt—well, as best I can, considering that’s never been my forte. I flip my hair. I even let Camden hold my hand, even though it makes my skin crawl.
And I very carefully spit my wine into my water glass whenever Camden isn’t looking, feeling extremely thankful I ordered white instead of red.
By the time everyone is finishing dessert, I shift into drunk-Yara mode. My voice starts to slur slightly. I sway in my chair. And in one particularly distasteful moment, I actually lean against Camden’s arm as I whisper in his ear, “This wine is going straight to my head.”
When my wine glass is only a quarter-full, Camden makes his move. Just as the servers are coming around with steaming pots of coffee, he wraps his clammy hand around mine and murmurs, “How would you like to get out of here? Go someplace more private?”
“Get out of here?” I ask with a hint of a slur. “To go where?”
He tugs on my hand. “A surprise. Come with me, and I’ll show you.”
I let him pull me up, intentionally wobbling a little when I get to my feet. Before we leave the table, I snag my wine glass and say, “It’s so delicious. It’ll be okay if I bring it with me, don’t you think?”
“Of course,” he replies indulgently. “You can have as much wine as you want.”
It’s a good thing my hair is covering my ears. Because I’m sure they’re the color of lobster.
Camden hurries me through the banquet hall, past the Blade and Arrow table, and out one of the side doors.
We exit into an empty room with a stage at one end and a bar at the other.
The overhead lights gleam on the polished floor, and our footsteps echo as we walk across it.
He hauls me closer to him and says, “This is where the live music will be later. If you’re awake for that. ”
“Awake?” My forehead scrunches in confusion. “Why wouldn’t I be awake?”
“Oh, Yara.” He chuckles, but it’s not a friendly sound. “You’re drunk. I’m taking you someplace quiet for a little nap.”
“A nap?” Although I desperately want to punch him in the face, then the balls, I lean heavily against him. “I thought you were going to show me something?”
Then I’ll show you something, I silently add. I’ll show you that I’m not some helpless woman you can take advantage of.
“I am,” Camden replies. “It’s a nice surprise. You’ll see.”
Just as we’re about to leave the music hall, his phone rings. “Shit,” he mutters. “It’s my dad. I have to get this.” Then he leads me over to the stage and sits me on the edge of it. “Stay,” he orders. “I’ll only be a minute.”
I bob my head at him obediently. “Okay.”
Once I’m alone—well, not really alone, Camden is fifteen feet away with his back to me, the phone to his ear—I quickly send Ace another text.
Everything’s under control. Mission underway and on the move. I’ll text once I have final location.
Only a few seconds go by before his response comes in.
Roger. Be careful. I’ve got your six.
Despite the sobering situation, I allow myself a quick smile. Even though I’m acting on my own right now—impulsively, I may add—I know I’ve got Ace and the rest of the B and A guys at my back. It’s one of the things I miss most about my old team, and it feels good to have some semblance of it back—
Out in the hallway, there’s a tremendous crash.
Metal clatters into the ground, echoing loudly.
Glass shatters.
Someone shouts, “Watch out!”
Another voice curses.
As the cacophony of sounds reverberates through my head, my heart leaps to my throat. My lungs seize.
Waves of hot and cold wash over my body, prickling my skin with goosebumps and sweat.
The logical part of my brain insists, It’s nothing. Just an accident. Nothing to worry about.
But that voice is immediately swallowed by the panic racing through me.
Danger, my body shouts silently. Get out! Get out! Before it’s too late! Don’t just sit there. Run!
But I can’t.
My muscles won’t obey.
Though it’s going on three years now, the memories come flooding back in, just as fresh as if they happened yesterday.
The gunfire.
The ambush.
The shouting. Screaming.
The blood.
Barked commands telling me I’d die if I didn’t obey.
Then the fear. The guilt. The devastation.
The craziest feeling comes over me, like I’m detached from my body, watching from a distance. I see myself sitting on the edge of the stage, deceptively calm while my mind is spinning madly off-center.
I see Camden pocketing his phone with an irritated look on his face. He spots me and his expression shifts into a smile. As he approaches me, he says, “Sorry about that, Yara. Just had to take care of some business. Are you ready?”
I can hear him. But drowning out his voice are the memories I’ve never forgotten.
They’re suffocating.
My breathing speeds, coming in frantic, uneven gasps.
Images flicker across my vision. Ones I know aren’t real; they can’t be, but still—
No, my inner voice of logic says firmly. It’s nothing. Get your shit together before you screw everything up.
I know, I argue back. I know. Now, can we just convince my body of that?
“Come on, Yara,” Camden says. He tugs me to my feet, and this time when I stumble, it’s for real. He tucks me against his side, then lets his hand drift down to cup my ass. “You need a nap.”
My legs move like an uncoordinated puppet’s; jerky and not feeling like my own. My heartbeat rushes in my head, so loudly it nearly drowns out what Camden is saying.
It’s a panic attack. I’ve had enough of them to recognize the signs. But it’s been over a year since my last one, and fortunately, it happened at home, so no one saw. No one had to witness badass Yara crumbling into a weak and pitiful mess.
But now.
This can’t be happening. Not here. Not now.
The hand on my ass gives a rough squeeze. Hard enough to hurt, but I don’t even feel it.
“Oh, Yara,” Camden purrs. Then he squeezes my ass again. “You really can’t handle your wine, can you?”
I try to answer him. But all that comes out is a dry click.
“It’s okay,” he adds. His lips come to my cheek, warm and wet. “I’ll take care of you. Don’t you worry your little head for a second.”
Get it together, I tell myself. Now. Do your box breathing. Find your five things. Focus on something. The texture of your dress. The sound of your heels on the floor. Anything.
But it’s not working. Nothing is. All I can feel are the waves of panic crashing over me, stealing my breath and making my head spin.
Nausea rises.
My head feels light and floaty and not quite my own.
As my fingers go numb, my clutch slips to the ground. Camden scoops it up and tucks it under his arm. Then he murmurs, “This is going to be fun.”
Snap out of it, I order myself. Before you fuck this whole thing up. Before this asshole does things you don’t want him doing.
I want to. Oh, how I want to.
But I can’t.
I’m falling apart. And there’s nothing I can do about it.