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Get in the bathroom, get her out. Two minutes before the chaos hits.

It’s not much of a plan. But it’s all I’ve got.

6

Luna

I barely make it to the bathroom before my stomach rebels. Diving for the sink—no time for a stall—I heave up a mix of alcohol and bile. The acrid taste burns my throat, but my head clears for a precious moment.

Something’s wrong. This isn’t normal drunk. I mentally catalog what I’d eaten all day—big breakfast, skipped lunch, two cocktails tonight. Even on an empty stomach, I can usually handle more than this.

The fluorescent lights flicker overhead as I turn on the faucet, splashing cold water on my face. In the grimy mirror, my reflection stares back, mascara running and skin waxy under the harsh lighting.

I’m fumbling with wet paper towels, trying to salvage what’s left of my makeup, when the door crashes open. The sound reverberates through my skull like a gunshot, sending me into another round of dry heaves.

When I finally lift my head, ready to snap at whatever drunk bitch just scared the hell out of me, the words die in my throat.

It’s him.

Rocky Savage. The man who’s been burning holes through me all night.

If I thought he was intimidating from across the room, it’s nothing compared to having him four feet away. He fills the doorway like a dark eclipse, all leather, coiled muscle, and contained violence. His eyes—a vivid shade of green—lock onto mine, and that look races through my body like electricity.

A trafficker . . . He’s eyeing merchandise . . .Delilah’s warning echoes in my head, making me wonder why he’s followed me in here, but I shove down the fear.

“Rocky, is it?” I manage, proud that my voice comes out steadier than my legs. “Took you long enough.”

I gesture weakly at the sink where the remains of my dignity are swirling down the drain. “Now if this is your idea of a meet-cute, big guy, I’m afraid you’ve been watching the wrong rom-coms.” I raise my index finger. “However, you get brownie points for boldness.”

His expression doesn’t change. Not a flicker. Those eyes—God, they’re even more intense up close—bore into me like he’s trying to peel back layers of my skin to see what’s underneath.

He nods to the sink. “Are you done here?” His voice is a deep rumble that I feel all the way down to my toes.

I make myself turn back to the mirror and finish dabbing at my runny mascara, ignoring the voice in my head screaming that he’s got me cornered.

“Just about.”

“Great. We’re leaving. Now.”

I blink, caught off guard, then a laugh bubbles up before I can stop it. “We? Oh, sweetheart, I don’t know what kind of women let you bind and gag them, but I don’t take orders from strange men. Men, in general.” My gaze drops to his chest. “Though I have to admit, that jacket does a lot for you.”

He takes a step closer, his sheer size crowding the already small space. “Listen, you can come with me, or I can drag you out. Your choice.”

My heart starts to hammer. My common sense tells me in no uncertain terms that I’m in over my head. Heck, I was probably in trouble the moment I started flirting with him despite being warned not to.

“Decide, princess,” he growls, backing me into the sink.

“Hey, hey! Back the fuck up, asshole. Who the hell do you think you are?”

A muscle in his jaw twitches, just the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. ‘Your fairy godmother. And it’s time to leave the ball.”

I step back, only to hit the sink. “Yeah, I’ll pass on the magical kidnapping. But if you take one more step forward, I’ll scream loud enough to bring this whole place down—and then crush your balls for good measure.”

Okay, maybe I’m not supposed to give away my game plan, but whatever.

Something dark flickers in his eyes as he closes the gap between us. “See, I thought you just might say that.”

My hand shoots out, connecting with his chest, but it’s like pushing against a brick wall. His heat seeps through the leather, and for a split second, I feel the rapid thud of his heart against my palm. I open my mouth to scream—because I’m not about to let this mountain of a man drag me out like yesterday’s trash.