Chapter 7

Felicity pushed open the heavy doors of the Neon Bar in Manhattan.

The heavy bass of the club music vibrated through the floorboards, and blinding strobe lights cut through the smoky air. She wore a simple, dark silk slip dress, wanting to blend into the shadows.

This farewell party was a mandatory HR protocol for her official exit from the corporate roster. She planned to show her face for ten minutes and leave.

Several of her former subordinates dragged her into the center of a crowded leather booth. She forced polite smiles, exhausted by the fake corporate pleasantries. She didn't notice Gary Chandler-a mid-level manager facing termination-staring at her from the corner of the bar. His eyes were dark and desperate. Camila had promised him a massive payout and his job back if he executed her plan tonight.

Gary picked up two brightly colored cocktails and pushed his way through the crowd.

"Felicity!" Gary shouted over the music, sliding into the booth next to her. He held out a glowing blue Margarita. "Congratulations on escaping the Mckinney meat grinder."

Felicity maintained her cold, professional distance. She took the glass but didn't bring it to her lips.

Gary's eyes twitched with anxiety. He leaned in, raising his voice to mock her. "What, too good to drink with the peasants now? Or are you scared to let loose?"

Felicity frowned. She just wanted him to leave her alone. She raised the glass and took a small sip. The liquid burned her throat.

Gary watched her swallow. A sickening, victorious grin spread across his face. He immediately stood up and vanished into the flashing lights.

Less than ten minutes later, the room tilted.

Felicity blinked hard. The neon signs above the bar blurred into streaks of light. The heavy bass of the music suddenly sounded like it was underwater. A wave of intense, unnatural heat exploded in her stomach and rushed through her veins.

She put the glass down. Her hand missed the table, and the glass shattered on the floor.

She tried to stand up, but her legs felt like lead. She collapsed heavily back into the leather sofa. Panic seized her throat. GHB. She had been drugged.

She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. The sharp taste of copper flooded her mouth, giving her a brief, agonizing second of clarity. She pushed herself up and stumbled blindly through the crowd, heading toward the neon sign pointing to the restrooms.

She crashed through the bathroom door, locked herself inside a stall, and slumped against the cold tile wall. She was gasping for air, her heart beating erratically.

Footsteps slammed into the bathroom.

"Felicity?" Gary's disgusting, sing-song voice echoed off the tiles. He began pounding on her stall door. "Come out, baby. Let's go celebrate."

Felicity's hands shook violently as she dug into her clutch. She pulled out her phone. The icons on the screen were splitting into double vision. She couldn't read the numbers.

She pressed her thumb against the side power button, clicking it rapidly five times. The SOS emergency protocol activated. It silently dialed 911 and broadcasted her live GPS location.

"911, what is your emergency?" the dispatcher's voice crackled faintly from the speaker.

"Neon Bar... Gary Chandler... drugged," Felicity whispered, her voice slurring heavily as the drug pulled her under.

Outside, Gary heard the faint voice. He cursed violently. He kicked the cheap lock on the stall door. The metal groaned and snapped.

Gary burst in. He grabbed her phone and smashed it against the porcelain sink, shattering it to pieces.

Felicity kicked out weakly, the heel of her shoe catching his shin. Gary grunted in pain. He raised his hand and slapped her hard across the face. The impact sent her crashing to the floor, her ears ringing loudly.

Gary threw his heavy coat over her semi-conscious body. He dragged her out the back alley exit of the club and shoved her into a waiting black sedan.

The car stopped in a filthy alley behind a cheap motel in Chelsea. Gary hauled her over his shoulder and carried her into a ground-floor room that smelled of mold and stale smoke.

He threw her onto the stained mattress. He immediately started unbuckling his belt, his eyes filled with vile lust.

Felicity's mind was trapped in a dark void. She tried to scream, but her vocal cords were paralyzed. She could only let out a weak, pathetic whimper.

Gary lunged onto the bed. He grabbed the neckline of her silk dress and ripped it. The fabric tore loudly, exposing her bare shoulder to the freezing air.

Just as his hands moved lower, the sound of heavy boots echoed in the motel hallway. Static crackled from police radios.

The 911 dispatcher had tracked the GPS.

Gary froze. He heard the sirens wailing outside the window. Panic consumed him. He tried to pull his pants up and run for the window, but heavy fists pounded on the door.

"NYPD! Open up!"

Trapped, Gary grabbed a broken beer bottle from the nightstand. He hauled Felicity up against his chest, wrapping his arm tightly around her neck, and pressed the jagged glass directly against her carotid artery.

The motel door exploded inward, smashed open by a police battering ram.

Blinding tactical flashlights cut through the dark room. Three officers aimed their Glocks at Gary's head.

Felicity struggled to open her heavy eyelids against the blinding light. Through the glare, she saw a massive, terrifying silhouette step into the doorway behind the cops. Ellsworth.