Page 96 of Mine

The man takes my hand as I awkwardly gather my dress so that I can perch on the teeny-tiny stool. He reminds me of one of the Marvel heroes from the movies. Handsome, but in a bashed-up kind of way. Not nearly as prim and proper as the rest of the crowd.

He’s sexy, I decide.

“What are you drinking?” he asks.

“Just water for now.”

“Water? Nonsense.” He snaps his fingers to the barman. “Two glasses of champagne.”

“And a water,” I croak. “Please.”

Mr. Marvel leans against the bar and smiles down at me. “I noticed you when you walked in.”

“I didn’t notice you.”

His brow cocks, and he chuckles. “Name’s Edgar.”

“Sabine.” I look over his shoulder, searching for Astor once again. A feeling of unease creeps through the haze of the alcohol.

“Where are you from, Sabine?”

“Vegas.”

Where is Astor?

“Vegas, huh? You must be a performer with that body.”

Ick. And no, I manage a billionaire’s illegal assets, you twat. Correction—managed. As in, past tense. Now I have sex with a man who kidnapped me and pretend it’s totally normal.

Where is he?

The champagne and water are delivered, although I don’t reach for either. Marvel picks up his drink and rests the other on the back of my stool.

Again, I scan the crowd, suddenly beset with an awareness, an instinct, that sends a chill racing over my arms.

Sabine, do not leave me.

I turn back to the bar and am gathering my dress to stand when Edgar is suddenly yanked backward. His bar stool goes flying. He gasps, his eyes round like golf balls as he is lifted off his feet and thrown to the floor like a bag of trash.

All eyes turn to us.

I practically fall off the stool as Astor fills my vision, his face mottled with hives, his eyes wild with rage. “Time to go.”

“Astor, watch out!”

Edgar, now off the floor, swings a vicious punch, missing Astor’s head by a mere inch.

A woman screams.

Someone yells, “Fight!”

Another cries out, “Call the cops!”

All hell breaks loose.

I stumble backward as Astor’s fist connects with Edgar’s face in a sickening sound of crunching bone. Blood splatters everywhere.

The man doesn’t go down at first. With a river of blood running down his face, he rushes Astor, sending him slamming against the bar. Glasses and bottles go flying, shattering against the walls, the floor.

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