Chapter 6

Aida walked slightly behind Grayson as they descended a narrow, concrete staircase into a windowless basement in the Meatpacking District. There was no sign outside.

The heavy steel door opened, and a wall of deafening heavy metal music slammed into Aida's chest. The air inside the private underground club was thick, hazy, and reeked of stale beer and the sharp, skunky odor of marijuana.

Grayson grabbed Aida by the elbow, his fingers digging into her skin, and shoved her down a dark hallway. He pushed her into a dimly lit VIP room at the very back and reached behind him, turning the deadbolt with a loud, metallic click.

Aida sat down on the extreme edge of the black leather sofa. She clutched her small purse to her chest like a shield, her knees pressed tightly together, every muscle in her body coiled tight with defensive tension.

Grayson walked over to a small, mirrored bar cart in the corner. He turned his back to her, picking up a crystal decanter of whiskey and two heavy tumblers.

In the dark shadow cast by his body, Grayson slipped his hand into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a small, chalky white pill and dropped it into the glass on the left.

The pill hit the amber liquid and dissolved instantly, fizzing for a split second before vanishing completely, leaving the whiskey looking perfectly normal.

Grayson turned around. He walked back to the sofa and held the tainted glass out to Aida.

Aida stared at the glass. She shook her head. "I am here to discuss the licensing issue. I don't drink when I work."

Grayson's bruised face darkened. He slammed the glass down onto the glass coffee table so hard the liquid sloshed over the rim. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped the screen. "Fine. I'll call the commissioner right now. NovaTech is dead."

Aida's jaw clenched so hard her teeth ached. The five million dollars would be useless if the city shut them down. She reached out with a trembling hand and picked up the glass of whiskey.

She tilted her head back and swallowed the liquor in one long gulp. The alcohol burned a fiery trail down her throat, settling like a hot coal in her stomach.

Grayson smiled. He sat down heavily next to her, leaning back against the leather, and started rambling about market shares and regulatory boards-meaningless corporate garbage.

Five minutes later, a strange, unnatural heat began to bloom in the pit of Aida's stomach. It wasn't the burn of alcohol; it was a heavy, suffocating warmth that rapidly spread outward to her fingertips.

Aida blinked. The edges of the coffee table began to blur. She looked at Grayson, and his face seemed to stretch and warp, doubling into two overlapping images.

Her arms and legs suddenly felt like they were filled with wet sand. A terrifying, paralyzing realization hit her brain like a physical punch.

I've been drugged.

Pure, unadulterated terror seized her throat. The smell of the whiskey and the heavy feeling in her limbs violently ripped open a locked door in her mind. Fragments of a nightmare from six years ago-a dark room, a heavy body holding her down, the metallic smell of blood-exploded behind her eyes.

Aida shot up from the sofa. Her legs wobbled violently, and she swayed, her hip crashing into the edge of the table.

Grayson reached out to grab her waist. "Whoa, take it easy-"

Aida let out a guttural sound of panic and shoved him away with both hands.

"I... I need to use the restroom," she slurred, her tongue feeling thick and numb. She stumbled away from him, her legs dragging, and threw herself at the heavy wooden door of the en-suite bathroom.

She crashed into the bathroom, slammed the door shut, and slapped her hand against the lock, twisting it until it clicked. She slid down the door, her back hitting the cold tiles, gasping for air.

The drug was hitting her hard now. Her eyelids felt like they were made of lead. The dark edges of unconsciousness were pulling at her brain, threatening to drag her under.

Aida forced her eyes open. She looked up at the glass vanity mirror above the sink. Her reflection was pale, terrified, and fading. Her eyes hardened into a look of pure, savage desperation.

She forced herself to stand up. She grabbed the heavy, solid brass soap dispenser sitting on the marble counter. With both hands, she swung it as hard as she could and smashed it directly into the center of the mirror.

The glass shattered with a loud crash, large, jagged shards raining down into the porcelain sink.

Aida reached into the sink. Her hands were shaking so violently she could barely control her fingers. She picked up a long, wicked-looking shard of glass.

She squeezed her eyes shut, bit down hard on her bottom lip, and dragged the sharp edge of the glass deep across the soft, pale skin of her inner thigh.

Warm blood instantly welled up from the cut, soaking into the fabric of her skirt, running down her leg in a thick, dark line.

The agonizing, searing pain ripped through her nervous system like a bolt of lightning. It sliced straight through the chemical fog in her brain, shocking her back into a state of hyper-aware, agonizing clarity.

Outside the bathroom, Grayson began to pound his fists against the wooden door, shouting vile, filthy threats that vibrated through the wood against her back.