A stray hair gets caught against my lip. “I-I think so.” And then it registers that I just threw up. My thoughts are jumbled and delayed.

“How can you be calm right now? My friends—” I gasp. “My friends are inside. I’m supposed to be with them.”

We turn around as a group of people comes flying out of the exit, panting and talking in unison over each other.

A girl screams, “Where is Ryker? He was next to me, and now, he’s gone.” Pause. “He isn’t answering. Can you guys try him? I need to go back for him!”

“There is club security,” Slade starts again, forcing my attention back to him with his deep voice. “Trust me.”

Trust him? Yes, he saved me. But something about him changed in there. He was cold and completely robotic. Nothing like the man I’d thought I knew. Maybe it’s me? I’m too out of sorts to think clearly. Everything is a horrible blur. My memory can’t be reliable. No, it isn’t.

“I’m staying a few hotels down on the strip. Let’s go.” He moves to take my hand.

“Now?” I ask, eyes wide.

He takes my palm in his, lifting me from the ground. The sounds of ambulances and fire trucks increase in volume. Flashing red lights come closer as cold sweat pours down the side of my face. My makeup must be dripping. I turn back, seeing mayhem amid the giant, brightly lit buildings.

“You aren’t going back there.” His voice is firm. “And it isn’t a good idea to stay in this area either.”

He squeezes my hand, and we walk away. The balmy night sticks against my skin. I should ask him more questions, like where we are going, but I can’t seem to gather the words. Screams of terror echo around me. Is it my fevered imagination or my memories? Or maybe it’s all happening in real time? But Slade’s hand is in mine, and somehow, my legs move.

The Slade I saw in the club has vanished, and in his place is the man I know who is solid, strong, and in control. I shake my head, feeling absurd. I was under extreme stress. He was only trying to help me. His eyes didn’t darken; my mind was playing tricks. I grip his hand harder, not wanting him to let go. Slade is amazing. It’s me who’s unhinged.

Silent but quickly, we make it to his hotel. Which one it is, I still have no clue. The main floor rings with the sounds of gambling—cha-cha-chinggg—while carpeted floors in wild colors make my heart pound. Does no one know what’s happening a mile down? Faces here are all normal. Glazed and staring at the slots in front of them, barely blinking. I see a group of people hollering at a craps table. A woman in a white dress calls out for a miracle before rolling dice. The crowd around her cheers, fists pumping into the air.

“Security is everywhere,” Slade comments. “I know the guys who run this hotel.”