The second bartender slid my drink across the counter. His eyes lingered a moment too long as I grabbed the glass. I gulped it down, welcoming the burn that momentarily distracted me from my pain.

A strange warmth flooded through me, different from the usual alcohol buzz. My skin tingled and the room began to spin in a way that scared me. I clutched the counter, suddenly terrified I might fall.

"You okay there?" A stranger leaned close, his voice somehow both concerned and hungry.

I tried to focus on his face but my thoughts scattered like marbles on a tile floor. Something wasn't right. I'd been tipsy before, but this felt wrong. Despite the confusion, a conflicting need stirred inside me, wanting comfort, connection, sex, anything to feel less alone.

"I don't... I feel weird," I whispered, my eyelids growing impossibly heavy.

The stranger's hand found my arm. Through the haze, I saw him clearly enough. He's the kind of man I'd normally avoid. Unshaven, with a smile that chilled rather than warmed.

"Let me help you outside," he said, his fingers digging into my skin. "Get some fresh air."

"No, I should..." My protest died as my mouth refused to work properly.

He pulled me toward the door. "Trust me, sweetheart."

My feet dragged across the floor as panic bubbled beneath the chemical calm. People glanced our way, then looked back to their drinks. The bartender who'd served me watched with knowing eyes.

"Please," I managed, my voice barely audible even to myself. "Something's wrong."

No one moved to help. The stranger's grip tightened as cold air hit my face.

"Where are you taking me?" I slurred, fear cutting through the fog.

"Somewhere quiet," he said, his voice dropping.

"Just you and-"

I stumbled forward, colliding with someone else.

Solid. Warm. Safe.

"Sorry," the stranger holding me said, not sounding sorry at all. "My friend had too much to drink."

"She doesn't look like your friend," came a new voice, steady and clear. "And she doesn't look drunk. She looks drugged."

"Help." I mouthed the word desperately, my lips forming the shape but my voice gone. My eyes locked with the stranger-my savior?-silently begging. Something about him radiated safety, a lighthouse in this storm of confusion.

"Listen, buddy," the creep tightened his grip. "This is my sister. I'm taking her home." Hearing him say that, I almost laughed, "I thought he said I was his friend earlier?"

No! I shook my head violently, my body trembling with effort. "Help me," I mouthed again, tears springing to my eyes.

"If she's your sister," my potential savior's voice hardened like steel, "what's her name?"

The creep's face contorted. "Her name?"

"Yes. You have three seconds to tell me her name."

Silence hung between them. The creep's fingers dug painfully into my arm.

"One."

Sweat beaded on the creep's forehead.

"Two."

"This is ridiculous," he spat, suddenly releasing me. Without his support, my knees buckled.

Strong arms caught me as the creep backed away, disappearing into the night. I sagged against my rescuer, relief washing over me in dizzying waves.

"Boss!" A voice called from behind us. A man in a sleek suit approached, then froze, taking in the scene. "I just informed our partner about the deal, but-"

"Not now, Marcus," my rescuer cut him off, his attention fully on me. His face swam before my eyes-chiseled jawline, brown eyes filled with concern. "She's been drugged. Can you speak? Tell me your name?"

I tried. God, how I tried. My mouth opened but only a small whimper escaped.

"Let's get you somewhere safe," he said softly.

"Marcus, go book a room for her in the lodge here." He instructed the man behind him, as he swept me up into his arms, cradling me against his chest. Heat radiated through his shirt, or was that me? The drug pulsed through my veins, a dangerous cocktail of fear and something else. Something primal.

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