Page 32 of Corrupted Heart

I’m waiting in line feeling the pressure building in my own bladder when a girl steps out from around the corner of a dark hallway and glances at me. She grins at me and leans close.

“There’s actually another bathroom down that hall and around the corner,” she whispers conspiratorially. “No line, either.”

Oh hell, yes.

I blurt out a thanks and then dash off around the corner and down another hallway. At the end, past an empty coat check and a door that looks like it leads outside, is another ladies’ room, just like she said.

And there’s not a single other person here.

Perfect.

I step inside to find a much larger bathroom than the tiny one we’ve all been waiting in line for. This one has four stalls, one of which I quickly occupy.

I’m just finishing up when I hear the bathroom door swing open. It pauses, like someone’s holding the door open.

Then I hear heavy footsteps slowly move into the bathroom, and the door closing again. The footsteps move down the line of stalls, until they come to a stop right outside mine.

My eyes drop, and I shiver when I see heavy black motorcycle boots.

Men’s boots.

Something dark twists awake in my gut as I listen to the slow, deep breaths coming from the other side of the stall door. Feel the lurking malice. Smell the danger in the air.

My skin tingles as I stand and pull my underwear back up, the faceless danger lurking barely a foot away on the other side of the stall door.

I could scream. I should scream. But would anyone even hear me down here? I pull my phone out of my bag, my hand shaking as I glance down at it.

No service. Of course.

“You tried to dodge me.”

I almost shriek when he speaks. My hand flies up, clamping over my mouth as I tell myself that if I’m quiet enough, he won’t know I’m here.

Yeah, right.

“You can’t hide from me, BrokenBee.”

My heart skips a beat. My core clenches, and the color drains from my face.

What the actual fuck.

My brain almost can’t process it. Because the second he says that name, I know who is on the other side of the door.

It’s him.

My stranger. The one I blew off tonight. The one I didn’t use the safe word with. The man I’ve planned an anonymous rape fantasy with, who somehow just fucking found me.

Alone. In a club bathroom.

My pulse skyrockets. Something raw, exciting, and terrifying explodes through my system as my mouth falls open.

This is real.

This is happening.

Now.

I yank the wig out of my bag. I throw my hair up into a bun and quickly shove the blonde wig on over it, tucking any stray strands under the edge. It’s not perfect. And it’s probably a stupid idea anyway. But I’m still hanging on to the whole idea of this being at least semi-anonymous.

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