I chuckle to myself at the hypocrisy of it all. How those deep inside this world, the ones who live for it, feign disgust, annoyance or irritation. Put off the whole ‘we’re the only one in the room’ vibe, when really, every move they make is for the benefit of those they hope are watching. It’s a comical sight and playing out right in front of me right this second.

The age-old truth behind their masks, the one the fathers in our world likely hate the most but can’t deny.

Every spoiled little rich girl craves herself a psycho, at least a time or ten.

“Girl, for real, you must have a death wish.”

I shrug, turning to Jules. “I’m bored, what else is there to do but study new sights instead of the same ones we’ve seen for the last month?”

“Boredom is what ends you, got it,” she jokes, taking the seat beside me. “You, my friend, are going to get murdered in your sleep.”

Little does she know they haven’t so much as glanced my way all night. My game of Susie Stalker is safe and sound.

“And you are going to get pregnant if you keep hopping on your man in the water,” I deflect, doing as she prefers and switch the conversation so it’s about her.

She laughs into the cooled air above us. “Honey, I’m all for it. That boy gets me pregnant, I’ll be set for life. Besides, I love him, so win-win.”

I shake my head, forcing a small smile, knowing she’s dead serious. If you’re not deemed ivy league status early, you’re a token your family will later cash in on. This is how it goes for a lot of us trust fund girls. Minus the love.

Love is not something anyone should chase in our world.

Convenience breeds confidence and keeps the daily dosage down. Love creates jealousy and doubt and mental instability.

Love kills.

The two of us look up when Cali walks over, officially swaying on her feet. “I’m starved. Who wants to help me order—”

The lights go out.

“Oh shit,” Cali hisses.

People yell in drunken numbness, some squeal and scream.

I roll my eyes, my fingers falling against the expensive leather at my sides, only to be pulled from it seconds later.

I frown, yanking my arms back.

“Jules, back—”

Something is slapped over my mouth as my hands are bound together.

What the hell?

A cloth is thrown over my head next, the soft fabric forming to my nose as my breaths quicken.

I kick, but I’m barefoot. I attempt to shout, but to no avail, and then I’m lifted into the air, not by one set of hands, but several.