She and Chloe were about to turn twenty-one, and with the help of fake IDs they had gotten, the party started long before midnight, downing drink after drink, laughing, talking, drinking some more. In a sharp-edged swirl of memories she recalled the neon lights and noise of Bourbon Street, the drinks, everything from Hurricanes in their special glasses to margaritas in oversized plastic cups and Jell-O shooters and . . . Her stomach roiled at the thought of what she’d downed; all to prove she was becoming a legal card-carrying, alcohol-swilling adult. Her head felt as if it were in a vise, the handle of which was being twisted by some he-man.

At least she was no longer reeling. She did remember that, how the world had spun in wild, crazy colors before . . . before . . . what?

Had someone laced one of the two-for-one shots? Given her something to make her lose focus? Had one of their “friends” pranked her and hauled her here to strip her and leave her on the cold stone floor or whatever it was she was lying atop? And what about Chloe? Where the hell was her twin sister?

For the life of her, she couldn’t pull the last few hours into sharp focus.

But here she was.

In the darkness.

Stripped bare.

Her arms pinned behind her.

Lying in some dark room where the dank, earthy smell was overpowering, as if she were buried alive. Her bed was a cold, hard patch of concrete. She twisted a bit and something rough dug into her throat, cutting into her skin.

What the hell?

With effort, she tried to pull her arm up to loosen the tension, but even the tiniest movement made the binding around her neck cut deeper. A noose? For the love of God, what the hell had happened?

In an instant all the fuzziness fell away.

She was in trouble. Big trouble.

If this was a prank, it was a sick one. A dangerous one. If not . . . she shuddered at the thought. Struggling, she attempted to move, but discovered that her hands were bound behind her, tethered by the same scratchy cords surrounding her neck.

Shit! Cold to the bone and shivering, she tried to move, then stopped as a searing pain scorched a ring around her neck. When she nudged a shoulder up toward the throbbing wound, it caused a brutal, cutting tug on her ankles. She realized her hands were bound to her ankles.

Hog-tied and naked. That’s what she was.

“Happy birthday to yooouu.”

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the whispered words, a lifeless, growling monotone. But sung, not spoken. “Happy birthday to yooouu.”