A thud sounded from the end of the hall and then echoed in my chest. Inexorably I walked to the last door, knowing through instinct or experience exactly what was happening here. It didn’t matter the men or the woman; it was always the same. Too much, too fast, too hard. I didn’t know, wasn’t expecting. Too late, bitch.
A tear slid down my cheek. It was more than just my safety at stake here. Get away.
I twisted the knob and pushed the door open a crack, exposing just a sliver of the scene. The face of a girl, her face contorted in fury. The grin of a man. Hands holding down arms. The low sound of laughter. A little slice of hell, and what was I supposed to do about it?
I could do nothing.
This wasn’t a young girl on an empty street corner who could be cured with a fast-food burger and a lifetime of therapy. This was one of Henri’s girls, off-limits for me and mother-fucking-hen Marguerite Faust. No one could help her, just like no one could help me.
I saw her body jerk with purpose. Heard the crack as her kick landed on someone’s skin. The laughter grew louder, more combative.
Shit. She was going to get herself killed that way. Beaten, at the least. Didn’t she know that? Didn’t she care?
But Henri didn’t do hand-holding. Had he recruited this girl fresh out of high school? Given her money she desperately needed to get away, to help her friend, only to indebt herself to him forever? Dumped her at this party without any training or knowledge or a goddamned thing?
This wasn’t about me. I told myself that, but it didn’t help.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Four guys, not counting the ones out in the sitting area or my erstwhile boyfriend.
I smiled and set my hips to sway. “Hello, gentlemen. I see you’ve started the party without me.”
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