Page 47 of Power & Punishment

The second idea that pops into my head is reckless and by far the most idiotic thing I’ve come up with in the last few weeks.

Well, maybe not the most.

When the footsteps creep closer, I know my time is up. I quickly ruffle up my hair and wrinkle my clothes to make myself look more disheveled than I already am. And then I put on the performance of a lifetime.

“Found it!” I exclaim, standing straight up and holding my phone like a prized possession. I wobble to the light, adding a lazy smile on my lips. “I should’ve known better than to take that last shot. Now I’m lost and my phone just died. My fucking boyfriend was supposed to meet me somewhere nearby and the dumbass never showed.”

The man’s eyes wash over me and gleam with the prospect of easy prey. Bile rises in my throat.

He’s a typical Long Island sleazebag with a sad comb-over and physique that tells me the only lifting he’s done today is some type of alcoholic drink to those pale pink lips of his.

“No worries, sweetheart.” He grins with ill intentions leaking from his pores. I need to get out of this alley without drawing more unwanted attention. “My phone is inside if you want to use it to call a ride?”

I would consider it an honest gesture if I wasn’t certain that the moment I walk through that door, there’s no way in hell he’s letting me leave.

“That’s alright,” I answer calmly, using a handrail to prop myself up to sell the act. “I just need to get back to the main street. I should be fine from there.”

I try to sidestep him, but then a hairy, ape-like arm shoots out and blocks me. I ignore my instinct to knee him in the groin.

“Come on,” he says. “It will take five minutes. Besides, I can’t let a pretty little thing like you wander out into the streets of New York by yourself. I’m a gentleman.”

I have to bite down on my lip before accidentally telling him to fuck off. His eyes dip to my mouth and he mistakes the gesture for something else. Something I’d never give him in a million years.

In fact, the only thing I want to give him is a black eye.

When his hand slithers around my upper arm, I know it’s over. I’ll have to go inside with him and find an opportunity to slip away.

“Fine.” I smile. “Is there a restroom inside?”

“Sure thing, doll face,” he quips, sliding his arm to my back. Thankfully, it doesn’t dip low enough to feel the top of the gun tucked in my jeans. But sweat still pebbles on my forehead as he guides me toward the backdoor.

The first thing I notice when we walk in is the smell. One, because it smells really damn good. It’s a mix of sweet perfume and floral body lotion. And two, because anything beats the smell of that dumpster I was digging around.

The hallway he leads me through is dimly lit, lined with doors leading to lord knows where. I get a peek in one of the rooms we pass. One flash of bare ass is enough to quicken my pace.

When I spot a restroom sign, cold relief pools inside my stomach. But then we pass it, and my hair stands up straight at the nape of my neck.

It’s hard to keep my voice even, so I count to three before I speak up. “Wasn’t that the restroom?” I ask innocently.

“That’s the dancers’ bathroom,” he announces, his tone less sweet and more authoritative now that he has me trapped. “The one up front is nicer.”

Fucking sure.

And suddenly, my fear and anxiety are swallowed up by irritation. But I don’t let it show. I need him relaxed and cocky.

Which is why I take the shot one of the waitresses offers me when we walk into the main room. Another reckless decision, but his pleased smile is enough to let me know I have the upper hand.

“The restroom is right over there,” he says, pointing at a door that leads to another hallway. “I’ll be waiting right here when you’re done.”

I bat my eyelashes and nod slowly before walking away. I keep my gaze locked on the light grey door and ignore the writhing bodies stuffed into every corner of this place.

I make eye contact with one of the girls working the floor, and she offers me a polite smile, but her eyes are heavy with a warning glare telling me to get the hell out of here while I still can.

Trust me. That’s exactly what I plan to do.

When I walk into the three-stall bathroom, I’m shocked to see it actually is clean.

I’m less shocked to see it’s completely empty, which works in my favor as I bolt for the lone window that’s barely two feet wide. It’s going to be a tight squeeze, but it’s already cracked open, which is a good sign.