Back on the dance floor, I give in to the hip-hop music, letting my body burn from the heavy beat and dirty lyrics.

“Bend over and spread ’em, girl …”

I drunkenly laugh because regular Lauren would be disgusted by what’s coming out of these rappers’ mouths. I mean, to call these lyrics raunchy is an understatement. But, right now, I can’t even be bothered to care.

I lift my eyes back to his. They shine.

“Want to get out of here?” His masculine, deep voice is a growl.

“Yes,” I yell, needing him to hear me. If I sound overly excited, it’s because I am.

His hand takes mine as we move back to the bar.

Raising his hand, he nods to the nearest bartender, who immediately comes over. “Close my tab.” The request is brisk.

He signs the bill, and my mouth waters from need.

We start moving again through the throng, but a sound goes off like firecrackers around me. Is it just the music? Something feels off. In my gut, I know it’s not drunkenness. My mind sobers as my internal alarm beeps. It’s a slow and steady rhythm that won’t let up. The air is restless. The faces of some partygoers look strange, too. Are they on drugs? Or is it me? I rub the side of my head. Before I can squeeze Slade’s hand, wanting to ask if he feels the change, he stops in his tracks and pulls me into his chest in a move meant to secure. He scans the room. He senses something is off, too.

The music blasts while people around me turn left to right, seemingly confused as well.

“What’s going on here?”

The strobe lights have the entire room painted red.

My eyes pause on a woman dressed like a Catholic schoolgirl, dancing on a high pedestal. It feels like slow motion when she drops, falling to the ground like a rag doll. People jump back until I have the perfect view of her splayed on the floor. With long hair twisted behind her and spray-tanned legs awkwardly bent, her white button-down shirt bleeds, turning black. Is the light playing tricks? The blood begins pooling around her like spilled ink. It could be motor oil but for the smell—a putrid copper. A deep shiver moves down my spine, undulating over each disc in my back.

People scream, pointing at the girl, as Slade pushes me behind him, shielding me from what’s ahead. His body, while stationed, pivots left to right. The heavy bass pounds straight up into my chest. I want to run and hide. I want to tell myself that, of course, this is just part of the game. It’s Vegas. Everything is a mirage. It must be a play of light. Everything is fine.

I count to ten and will myself to lift my head. I want to confirm that nothing is wrong. Slade wrings his hands together before tensing up. He’s completely still now, barely breathing. Shouldn’t we be moving or running or … something? My breathing picks up. It’s panic. People are running, but we aren’t.