Page 63 of Past Due

“Stefana?” I called out, wondering if she was in one of the stalls. Maybe she was having a period emergency or some stomach trouble. When she didn’t answer, the other women in the restroom gave me a weird look. “My friend is missing,” I mumbled, and walked to the door.

Out in the corridor, I hesitated. Where was she? Nervous that something had happened to her, I opened my clutch and took out my phone. I checked the group chat and noticed there were a few messages sent in the last few minutes. The first was from Stefana, just a random string of numbers and letters and emojis. The others were from the three other women who had come out with us tonight, mostly just question marks and jokes about Stefana drunk texting.

Fear clenched deep in my gut. Stefana had imbibed way more than me, but she hadn’t seemed drunk enough to fumble through an unintelligible text. Something was wrong. I glanced left and right down the corridor. Where could she have gone?

My gaze landed on the exit at the end of the corridor. I hurried toward it, all thoughts of my own safety thrown aside. Before I reached the exit, I spotted something glittery on the floor. I crouched down to pick it up, and my heart sank. It was one of Stefana’s shimmery diamond drop earrings—and there was blood on it.

As I stood up, I heard a noise coming from one of the hallways up ahead. It was the sound of someone being hit, a sound I knew only too well from the terrible fights between my mother and Spider. How many times had I heard the sickening noise of skin hitting skin with such violence?

There was a cry of pain, and I followed it down the left hall that arced off the main corridor. Up ahead, I noticed a lump in the middle of the floor. The clothing was familiar, and I realized it was one of our guards. A pool of something dark had started to spread around his head. I moved faster, my heels tapping on the concrete floor and crouched down to feel his neck. I found his pulse beneath my fingertips. It seemed steady, but the unconscious guard made strange gasping sounds.

I grunted with effort and managed to roll him from his belly onto his left side. His struggled breathing eased up, and I finally got a good look at the massive dent in his forehead. From the blood smeared on the concrete block wall behind him, it was easy enough to piece together how he had been injured. He needed a doctor immediately, but the sounds of violence grew louder and louder.

Suddenly, there was a crash. It sounded like wood and metal and glass hitting concrete. Crates? A woman screamed. Stefana!

Leaving the injured guard, I rushed to the closed door around the corner. I tried to open it, but it was locked. I beat on the door with my palm. “Stefana! Stefana! Are you in there?”

“Marley!” She screamed back. “Help!”

“What’s going on? What happened to that man in the hall?”

I glanced over my shoulder and nearly sobbed with relief at the sight of Andres rushing toward me. “Stefana! She’s in there! Someone is hurting her!”

“What?” Andres heard Stefana cry out and tried the door. It was locked from the inside, but that didn’t stop him. “Step back.”

He shoved me out of the way and kicked the door, right next to the handle. He gave it another two swift kicks, and the door exploded inward, the handle falling to the floor with a rattle. He hissed in pain and dropped onto his ass, clutching his injured leg.

Unable to spare a moment for him, I pushed him out of the way and rushed into the room. A man Stefana pinned to the floor, his pants down around his thighs as she fought underneath him. It was the asshole from the dance floor!

With a scream of rage, I picked up the first thing I saw—a bottle of liquor—and slammed it over the man’s head. Glass and alcohol exploded everywhere. Blood spurted from the wound I had gouged in the man’s head. He spun toward me, still on his knees, and slashed out with a knife I hadn’t realized he had been holding.

With the neck of the broken bottle clutched in my hand, I reacted on instinct and stabbed him with it. The sharp glass punctured the soft meat between his shoulder and neck, and he fell to the side, slapping at his bloody injury and shouting. The knife fell from his hand, and I kicked it as far away as I could.

Not caring whether he lived or died, I rushed to Stefana who had managed to sit up. Her face was a mess of blood and smeared makeup. A clump of her silvery blonde hair had been ripped free from her scalp. Her torn dress hung open, baring her breasts, and I quickly pulled it together, desperate to give her some coverage. I noticed her underwear were in still in place, but both of her shoes were missing.

I wrapped my arms around her, completely oblivious to the thud of footfalls behind me. The only thing that mattered in that moment was Stefana. I held tight and rocked her gently, all the while wishing Besian were here to help.

One of Luka’s guards knelt down in front of us and handed me his jacket. As I draped it around Stefana, he looked from me to her and back again. Knowing there was only one thing to do, I demanded, “Call Besian. Now!”

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