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Why the heck could I not stay in bed?! My muscles tense in irritation.
How can I possibly enjoy myself here? I don’t know a single person. The music is too loud—my ear drums are going to ring for days. And the flickering lights, designed to ramp up the energy, make me feel antsy.
I’m glad I’m up here and not in the crowd below, squashed together like sardines. There are gyrating bodies everywhere. It’s a mess of barely clad women and men in tight pants and shirts swaying their hips, some pressed tight against the other. Alcohol is flowing like water. Gualtiero must rake in a fortune.
I don’t know how much time I spend observing the crowd from my elevated viewing point, but I grow bored and restless quickly. I need a drink.
I’ve never had the urge to get drunk, but today seems like the day for it. I need to forget this nightmare. Then again, maybe I shouldn’t drink. I need to stay alert in case a door for escaping opens.
Escape… it should be my sole focus.
I look around, paying more attention to my environment in light of my blossoming hope. Oriana and Alonso stand close by, scanning the area relentlessly for any threats. I turn my back to them again. Now that I know they’re there, it’s like I sense their eyes on me.
How can I get away from them?
Then there are numerous security guards stationed at the entrance of each roped-off area… and that’s just for upstairs.
If I was to even make it to the lower level,how could I get out of here?
My heart sinks, but I decide to test the ropes. I laugh at my analogy. Rhia would have a field day with it.
I glance over to where Gualtiero was sitting, but he and the men are no longer there. Searching the upper level, I don’t spot him anywhere.
Good. Gualtiero seems to have an eerie sense of where I am, and with him gone, it’s one less obstacle.
I slowly make my way to the first roped off exit, stopping a few times, pretending to take in the action on the lower floor. In my peripheral vision, I see Alonso and Oriana follow.
Damn.
Maybe if I can get to the dancefloor, I can get lost in the crowd. My mind made up, I walk up to the guards standing by the rope. They don’t move to lift it.
“Can you let me through? I’d like to go dancing.”
He looks behind me briefly, and I turn to see Oriana shake her head at him.
“Sorry, Miss. No can do,” he says gruffly.
I turn around angrily. “Seriously, Oriana?! We’re in a club, and I can’t even go dancing?!” I shout at her over the music.
“I’m sorry, Miss O’Neil,” she replies, not sounding sorry at all. “The boss wants you to remain on this floor.”
“Come on, Oriana. I thought we broke some ground earlier,” I say to annoy her. Alonso’s eyes widen. I wonder what his imagination is conjuring up. He saw me give her the present, and even though she didn’t open it in the car, the crimson expression on her face told its own story.
“Is that how the handprints got on your jacket?” Alonso asks innocently, looking at Oriana.
God, I could kiss the man!
I beam at him, and he winks back. Embarrassed, she storms off before remembering she needs to be glued to my side. I blow her a kiss and then walk to the bar. Being an unpredictable, bisexual bitch is thirsty work.
Escape, escape, escape… how will I do it?
Think Ella, think.
I need something sweet… Rhia and I have often come up with the best ideas over a sugary cocktail.
God, I miss her so much.
Has she noticed yet that something is not right? I’m not sure if I should hope for it or not. If she knew, she’d march right up to Gualtiero and give him hell. God knows how he would react to that, and I don’t want her in danger.
