I pushed my way through the press of bodies, aiming for the far corner and a nondescript door.
I was almost there when I got caught between two drunk guys.
“Hey, pretty bird,” slurred one of them, his hands going immediately to my hips. He gripped me hard, pulling me toward him.
A streak of anger blasted through me.
“Don’t touch me.”
I kneed him in the balls, and he bent over with a grunt of pain.
“No fair!” shouted his friend, so drunk that his eyes were nearly crossed.
“Fair? This isn’t a freaking game, moron. And no one touches me without my permission.”
Especially when I was jumpy and trying to outrun the cops.
I hurried away, slipping into a hallway that led to the toilets. I strode into the women’s, ignoring the two girls drunkenly fixing their lipstick in the mirror.
I tossed my pack on the counter and dug through it for my hoodie. Shrugging out of my leather jacket, I pulled the hoodie on, then flipped the hood up. Last, I tugged the jacket on over the hoodie and zipped up my bag.
“You’re too pretty to cover your face,” one of the girls slurred. Her blonde hair was a wild mess from dancing, but somehow, she’d got her red lipstick on perfectly. That was a handy skill.
“Thanks,” I said.
“You on the run?” the dark-haired one asked, her blue eyes keenly assessing me.
I nodded, mind racing. “Bad boyfriend.”
Her face fell. “I know how that is.” She fumbled in her purse, and I thought she was reaching for more makeup. Instead, she pulled out a small wad of cash and thrust it toward me. “Here.”
I stared at it like she was trying to hand me a snake. “What’s that for?”
“To help you get away.”
The blonde dug into her own bag and shoved a Mars bar at me, then said apologetically, “It’s all I’ve got.”
My throat tightened. Drunk girls in bathrooms were the best people on earth.
“Thanks.” It was hard to get the words out through my stiff throat. Though my story about the bad boyfriend was fake, I needed the money.
I took it from the brunette, making sure to brush her hand with my own as I did so, hoping that I could see something to help her. An image flashed in my mind—one of a dark-haired guy slipping something into their drinks. Right now.
Bastard.
I gripped her hand. “Don’t drink the cocktails you left behind. The tall guy in the leather jacket put something in them.”
She gasped. “You know him?”
“I know his type.” My gaze moved to the blonde. “You, too. He put something in yours as well.”
“You saw it?”
I nodded. Let them assume I’d seen it before I walked in. “Just avoid him.”
“We will.” The brunette nodded fiercely.
The blonde pressed her Mars bar into my hand, and I took it gratefully. I loved chocolate. Even more, I loved the kind gesture. “Thank you. Truly.”