I glance at the time on my phone screen, recalling the watch in my purse. During Alex’s lap dance, I noticed his reaction was protective. This object is important to him. While Ericson is observing two of the escorts grinding against each other to the beat of the house music, I slip out the pocket watch and click it open.

It’s a basic watch face with pewter hands. The secondhand ticks away. There’s nothing special about the watch that I can tell, but what do I know about watches or even antiques? I’ll search the Internet later.

Ericson’s head starts to sway, his eyes glassing over. I tuck the watch into my purse and slide his way, run the tips of my fingers along the nape of his neck. He revels in the stimulation, the drug that courses his veins makes every touch heightened, pleasurable.

He reaches over and palms my thigh.

Knowing what I do about this guy, his touch should repulse me, and it does on some surface level. But this is work. Luckily, I don’t have to battle emotions to stay focused on the job. That’s what makes me good at what I do.

“I want you.” I say it loud enough so he can hear me over the music and his drug-induced state. His hand starts to creep upward, and I halt his progression. “Not here. Let’s go.”

After a moment of coaxing him to follow me, we leave the seating area of the VIP lounge. My hand firmly gripped to his, I steer him toward the stairs…where he pulls me to a stop.

He tugs me into an alcove between the VIP section and the balcony. It’s private—too private. This isn’t good.

“I love this hair.” His fingers crawl into my hair and he grips a thick hank, giving it a firm tug.

“Ericson…” I coo his name as he presses me against the wall. “Take me somewhere we can be alone.”

He drops his head to my neck, kissing a sloppy trail along the hammock of my neckline and shoulder. “We are alone,” he insists.

Not wanting to make a scene, I plant my hands on his chest. “More alone,” I stress.

His body goes rigid. His grasp around the back of my neck clamps tight. My thoughts turn to the switchblade I carry in my purse for added protection, and the syringe…that I may have wasted on the wrong man.

His eyes find mine, and there’s a molten anger swirling in those light hues. His fingers burrow into my skin as he wrenches my head back. “Do what I say, bitch.” His free hand tears at the hem of my dress and drags it upward.

The GHB was supposed to subdue him. Either it wasn’t potent enough, or Ericson is having an adverse reaction—like it’s unleashing an even more sinister creature within him.