“Come on out,” he said, offering his hand to draw her out of the truck. “They’ll bring your shit upstairs… You can unpack, grab some food, and I’ll pick you up about ten… Unless you want me to take you for food first… We’re on expenses, I have a card, so you know, we’re good…”
His brow wiggle made her smile. They went toward the entrance of the building as the valet drove the truck inside.
“Food first might be nice.”
Shyla didn’t have a safety net anymore. For years, she’d lay in bed thinking about what she might be missing out on. That time shrank to nothing as she anticipated learning more about the world and who she was in it.
Fish was a nice guy. She was pleased to have a friend. Other than her grandfather and Stan, she couldn’t say she’d had a real friend since high school. The city was daunting, but Fish seemed like the kind of guy who’d look after a girl. Sure of that, Shyla decided that nothing could go wrong.
Boy, how Shyla came to regret that thought.
Dinner was great fun and drama free. Learning more about Fish and his upbringing was enlightening. Fish wasn’t born a criminal. Life hadn’t dealt him the best hand. He talked about his parents being into drugs and disappearing when he was a teenager. After that, there was no one to guide him. He was an only child, so got sucked into hanging with the wrong people and dealing drugs.
He’d been in and out of juvie for trivial offenses as a minor. Jail followed, but his last stint of three years inside was enough to scare him into kicking his shady friends. That’s what he said anyway. Since his liberation, Beeks was the stable influence keeping him on the right track. Fish had nothing but praise for the lawyer. Her impression of Beeks was all positive too. He seemed to be a good guy who got attached to the lost souls he took under his wing.
In her turn, Shyla told Fish about her brother, Wyatt, how her parents had been killed and how that led to her grandfather becoming their guardian. Fish listened and absorbed what she was saying.
After enjoying the food and conversation at the restaurant, they went to the nightclub. Shyla’s mood was high. Her confidence brimming. For an hour, she stuck to soda, and spent all her time on the dancefloor. The atmosphere left her soaring. At some point, while feeling invincible, she decided to try one of the fancy cocktails.
Three drinks later, she couldn’t stand up.
Her memory was sketchy. Wherever she was, the whole room was spinning. She had a vague recollection of falling over something or someone before being picked up off the floor. After that, she sort of lost track.
Shyla had no idea where she was or what was going on except that everything seemed to be moving. Her feet weren’t on the floor, so it wasn’t her… or maybe… was she being carried?
Bright lights hurt her eyes. On a hiss, she buried her face against the person carrying her, whoever it was. Something made her stomach jump, which she figured was odd because they weren’t moving forward anymore. The bright lights faded when something metallic whooshed.
“What the fuck did you do to her?”
That was a deep voice she didn’t recognize. Whimpering, Shyla thought maybe she should be scared. Except holding down her dinner was taking all her effort; flailing or panicking was beyond her.
“I don’t know, boss. I don’t know.” The terror in that second male voice was obvious. A flare of recognition made her frown. Was that Fish? “I didn’t know where else to take her. I didn’t know what to do. We were at a club. She was dancing, she was fine, and then she was falling all over the place. It was like super fast. She just lost it.”
“Give her to me.”
Her weight transferred from one body to another. The movement quaked her sensitive stomach. She rose higher, so high it felt like she was being lifted into orbit. Alarm shot through her. On instinct, she grabbed for the new person holding her. Except she couldn’t reach the back of his neck, so instead of locking her fingers together to hang on, her nail dragged down what felt like flesh.
“I’m sorry, boss. Shit… I shoulda taken her to the hospital, right?” They were moving again. Her senses were all out of whack. Giving in to exhaustion, Shyla closed her eyes and went limp. “I think she was spiked.”
“Shit,” the deeper male voice said. In a primitive response to someone shaking her, her whole body braced. Confused about what was going on, all Shyla could do was yelp when he lifted her higher. “Where the fuck did you take her? Why the fuck were you together?”
“She wanted to be friends,” Fish said. “We went to The Tropics, just like you said.”
An arm moved higher on her back, rearranging her into a more seated position. The prone one worked better for her, but she wasn’t really in a state to complain. Her opinion changed fast when her cheek came up against warm fabric, wrapped around a hard body. Too tempted to ignore the opportunity, she rubbed her face against it.
The act released an arousing masculine scent. Bathing herself in it, Shyla moaned. “Mmm, you feel nice.”
So nice that she was provoked into arching her body further into the security of the solid form holding her. For a minute, she forgot about her disorientation and nausea and gave herself over to pleasure instead.
“Great,” the deep voice grumbled.
“This is not good, right? You know, we’re two felons in a bedroom with a spiked babe,” the weaker male voice said.
Yeah, that
