She was not a huge fan of EDM, but it was working for her tonight. She was losing herself in the frenetic rhythm, melding into the mass of gyrating bodies. She danced for twenty minutes or two hours, she didn’t know. There were hands on her waist, but she was okay with it. Many of the clubgoers were high on ecstasy or molly, the drug-induced serotonin surge making them touchy-feely. It was harmless. She brought the bottle to her lips, swallowed the last drops of the sickly sweet beverage.

A woman in a silver shift dress with dark skin and white teeth was dancing with her, smiling at her. Nat smiled back, feeling flattered, warm, welcome. The woman made her think of Violet, tall and pretty, the desirous look in her eyes. The lights were strobing to the beat, blinding Nat, blurring the faces around her. Only the silver woman and her bright smile were distinguishable. The hands on her waist (were there just two, or were there more?) were roaming now, touching her in places she didn’t want to be touched. She drank more, tried to relax, to go with it, but she couldn’t. The air was thick with perfume and sweat and suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. Panic was pressing down on her chest, the wall of bodies closing in on her, drowning her. And then, a flash of green eyes.

She pushed through the revelers, fleeing the dance floor. She needed to leave, urgently. Where was the door? Her heart was skittering and racing, her lungs screaming for air. She couldn’t see, was struggling to walk. She was drunk, too drunk. But something else was wrong, making her tremble and vibrate. Had she been drugged? But why? By whom? Was she the random victim of some club pervert? Or had the man with the green eyes followed her here, targeted her? The faint red glow of the exit sign entered her field of vision, and she lunged toward it, finally, gratefully, bursting out into the night.

The street was quieter now, belying the bedlam behind the double doors. Nat stumbled down Ninth Avenue, away from the club. Her heart continued to flutter, her lungs gulping in the moist night air. The area felt unfamiliar, strange and foggy, like she was viewing it through a greasy lens. Her legs were weakening, and she wouldn’t be able to walk much farther. She needed help. She needed Gabe.

She wanted him to come, to wrap his strong arms around her, to tell her she was safe. She wanted to climb into his big town car, wanted Oleg to chauffeur them uptown to Gabe’s apartment. There, Gabe would make her tea and tuck her into his comfortable bed. She would call him, and he would rescue her. He had always been there when she needed him. Her small purse dangled from her shoulder, her phone inside it. Her fingers fumbled with the zipper. And then she remembered.

Gabe didn’t love her anymore. He had abruptly ended their relationship—without kindness or explanation. He’d faked a reunion, lied to her, manipulated her, even threatened her life. The hatred came rushing back like a tsunami. Despite her muddled brain, her heart muscle remembered.