And holy shit… as her attention is drawn away, the man deftly hovers his hand over her wine glass and pours some type of powder into it.
The man just roofied Eliana’s goddamned drink.
If she were any other woman, I’d walk over there now and knock the guy out. I’d make sure the bar management knew what he’d done to have him kicked out.
But truthfully, I can’t find it within me to care what happens to her.
That’s how deep our divisiveness goes.
I ignore her and the guy talking to her, waiting for her to finish her drink and for the drug to kick in. The guys have zeroed in on a gorgeous redhead at the table next to us who has three girlfriends sitting with her. Maybe more than one of the gang will hookup tonight.
I join in on the banter and order another bourbon and soda from a passing waitress. Periodically, I let my gaze flick over to the bar and watch as Eliana’s wine level gets lower and lower. The man stands close to her, hand at her lower back, and starts to rub. Eventually, he bends and presses his lips to her neck.
I can see she’s fidgety, squirming in her seat. Uncrossing and recrossing her legs. The drug is acting fast, and it’s hitting her hard. It’s when I see her put her hands on his belt buckle and give a playful tug that I know the guy has his quarry firmly in hand.
As suspected, Eliana accepts the man’s hand to slide off the stool. She makes a fumbling grab for her jacket before slinging her briefcase strap over her shoulder.
She’s definitely wobbly as he takes her elbow and starts moving her through the crowd toward the door.
Forcing myself to turn away, I ignore her peril and give my attention back to my friends.
Except they’re not my friends, just colleagues, and they’re now upping bets on who can bag the redhead.
I glance back, but I can no longer see Eliana.
“Fuck,” I mutter, self-loathing coursing through me. I grab a twenty out of my wallet, then drop it on the table for a tip. To the guys, I say, “Gotta go.”
They wave and call farewells, but they couldn’t care less that I’m leaving.
I push my way through the crowd and out the door, looking left and then right.
There they are, half a block down. The man has his arm around her waist, supporting some of her weight. I wonder where he intends to take her, but it’s moot because I’m not going to let it happen.
The self-loathing I felt in the bar doesn’t have a damn thing to do with how long it took me to jump into action to save Eliana.
No… I hate that I’m actually going to do it because she doesn’t deserve my help.
But she doesn’t deserve to get raped either, that voice inside my head says.
It’s the voice that holds my moral compass, and I know I’m not going to let anything bad happen to her tonight.
Within moments, I’ve caught up to them and put myself in their path. Eliana is still cognizant enough to recognize me because she curls her lip in disdain. “Just fucking great.”
I don’t waste time exchanging nasty remarks. I nod at the man, who is surprised to see me there. “He spiked your drink in that bar. It’s why you feel the way you do.”
I’ve known Eliana for a long time, and she’s an incredibly sharp and strong-willed woman. Despite the drug warming her blood, her eyes clear and then narrow as they turn to face the man holding her elbow. She accepts what I said as truth because she knows me well enough to realize it would normally be a cold day in hell before I’d ever help her out.
As such, she gives full credence to my allegation.
Yanking her arm from the man, she hisses, “You bastard. You were going to rape me?”
“No,” he asserts in self-defense, glaring at me. “This guy is lying.”
Eliana looks at me, too disgusted to give me any credit, and then back to the man. “This guy is an asshole of epic proportions, but he’s not a liar. And if I had a knife on me right now, I’d slice your balls right off.”
The man pales over the iciness of her words. Hell, if he has half a brain, he can tell she means it.
I know she means it.
The guy mumbles something and takes off.
We watch until he disappears around a corner, then I turn back to Eliana. “You should be a little more vigilant in watching your drink when you’re at a bar,” I chastise.
“You can bite me, Ronan,” she snaps back as she hitches her briefcase higher over her shoulder.
She starts to turn away, but then she bends over with a tiny moan, hand going to her lower belly. “Oh, God.”