Page 33 of Fight or Flight

CHAPTER XII

GOING TO WORK ON TUESDAY was a challenge. I’ve spent the last two days barely doing anything besides cursing myself for snorting all my money up my nose a week before my paycheck. The tips from customers were scarce on Saturday because I’ve been too busy having fun with myself and staying in the Lalaland rather than focusing on the men and drawing money from their grabby hands.

I’m so angry at myself. At the situation. At my fucking life, and useless brain, and the people who left me or let me down.

I heard Christy moving around the place at some point on Sunday and leaving before returning with a guy later. I couldn’t bring myself to face her or whatever it was that she was doing to get drugs. Yesterday, she went out without even checking up on me, which made me even more depressed, and she hasn’t been back ever since.

The shift starts as usual, but my movements are sluggish, and I know most men find my standoffish behavior off-putting because as soon as they get their drinks, they are off to make friends with the dancers. No one lingers, and I’m honestly glad for that.

Halfway through the shift, the older Ramirez appears from the backdoor, waving in a bouncer, looking agitated, and I feel my eyebrows pulling down.

Has he been at the club this whole time? I don’t remember there ever being a time when the brothers didn’t do the big entrance whenever they visited one of their establishments. Did they slip through the back door?

If Nico is there too, maybe I could ask him for some cash or something. Make up a story about an angry landlord trying to kick me out or whatever. I could really, really use his infatuation with me for my benefit right now.

My skin starts itching just thinking about the great sensation of filling my bloodstream with the glorious white powder. I wipe my sweaty palms on my black skinny jeans, and before I talk myself out of it, grab a glass and fill it with the best Scotch we have.

Trying to look confident, I strut toward the double doors and glance up at the no-neck guard, who looks down at me as if I’m an annoying pest.

“Hi, uh, they called for me to bring a drink to the back.”

The man crosses his arms and booms in a deep voice. “Boss told me to not let anybody in.”

“Well, he must’ve changed his mind then,” I sass, and flip my hair over my shoulder, trying to look taller, which is laughable with my unimpressive height.

He lifts an eyebrow but moves to the side with a muttered, “Whatever.”

I try not to stumble and spill the drink in my rush to get past him, and only allow myself to breathe when the doors close behind me, cutting off the sounds of the club.

There’s a small corridor in this part of the building with three doors on the right. The first door leads to Sergio’s office, and right now, I hear two murmuring voices coming from the slightly ajar door.

I take a quick peek inside and see him talking to a guy I’ve never seen before, their faces unhappy. No sight of Nico, though. I retreat and try the other door. It’s semi-dark, with only a few monitors from the surveillance cameras illuminating the area. Taking a quick sweep around the place tells me what I already kind of guessed before – there’s no sign of Nico.

I’m almost out of the room when a sound of sniffling gets my attention, and I freeze. What was that?

I crane my neck back to check the corridor and, assured that no one detected me yet, step inside to close the door slowly. I turn on the light and blink a few times to adjust my eyes to the sudden brightness.

The first thing that gets my attention is the gun on a table by the wall that’s furthest from me. Then, a jolt of excitement runs through me when I spot about a dozen little plastic bags filled with white powder right next to the weapon.

Would they know if I took just a bit from each one?

There’s no time to think it through; the need to charge myself with the chemicals stronger than any reasonable thought. God, I’m turning into Christy.

I step to the table and grab the little zip lock bag with a shaking hand, and then almost cough up my heart in shock when something stirs by my leg.

I jump away and drop to see under the table, feeling my eyes almost pop out of my skull.

The wide, frightened eyes of a little girl stare back at me. Her mouth is gagged, and her hands are tied behind her back to the leg of the table with a hose tie. Tears stream down her blotchy face, and it takes everything in me not to pass out of the shock I feel at having this image right in front of me.

What the fuck is going on here?

My thoughts go back to Ramirez, and his malicious eyes, and I immediately snap to action.