“Want me to take you?”
I winced internally. I hated to feel like a kindergartener, but I just smiled at Jo—it wasn’t her fault.
“No, that’s okay. You enjoy the show. I want a full report if that guy comes back on stage.”
Jo waggled her eyebrows.
“Maybe I should get closer for a hands on approach.”
I nodded at the stage which was just a few feet away.
“Any closer and you’d be sitting in his lap.”
“I wish,” sighed Jo. “See you in a few.”
I didn’t want to miss the show, but I didn’t know where the bathrooms were and experience told me that waiting until it was urgent would be a mistake.
The usher pointed to a door by the fire exit and I pushed myself forward. From the sound of the bass pumping through the walls, I guessed that I was close to the backstage area.
The corridor was badly lit and very long. My arm muscles began to ache and I wondered if the usher had sent me the wrong way.
But then, with a sigh of relief, I spotted the sign for the bathroom right at the end of the corridor. At least it would be emptier now than during the intermission.
Cursing at the sweat trickling down my back and armpits, I nudged the door open.
“You think you can hide from me, you piece of shit!” screamed a man’s voice. “I’m going to fuck your ass so hard you’ll shit your own eyeballs!”
Laney
A CHOKED GASP escaped, and immediately four of the five men in the room turned around to glare, the ice in their eyes shocking me.
I was frozen, unable to move, and in that brief, horrifying moment, I stared at the scene in front of me.
One man was suspended between two others, his arms trapped brutally, his head hanging down. He was naked and his ripped clothes were scattered across the floor, a tattered shirt still hanging from one shoulder. Red marks marred his smooth skin where the fourth man had rained down fists across his ribs.
Worse still, the man’s back and ass cheeks were lacerated where he’d been flogged with a leather belt, still clutched in the hands of the thug doling out the brutal and humiliating punishment.
The thug lowered his arm and glanced at the fifth man, as if seeking orders.
I had to swallow back bile when the small man in the suit tucked his erect penis back in his pants, a coldly furious expression on his face.
I’d interrupted something bad, something so horrific no one was supposed to see.
The naked man’s head came up and he stared over his shoulder with bloodshot eyes.
Horrified recognition flared.
“Ash!”
The words ripped out of me. That beautiful man, the dancer . . . the sexy, confident guy was gone. In his place was a beaten, shredded ghost. His eyes were glazed and he seemed unable to focus.
“Get out!” he croaked. Then more loudly, “Get out of here!”
My mouth dropped open . . . and I moved.
The small man shouted an order as I rammed the bathroom door open with my wheelchair and propelled myself back along the corridor as fast as I could, my heart hammering, breath coming in gasps.
I heard footsteps running behind me and I started to pray.
Please, God! Help me!
Closer, closer, and the man shouted something.
I prayed harder, my eyes wide with fear, the muscles in my arms burning as I pushed the chair faster, harder, my legs useless beneath me.
I think God listened, because my prayers were answered when I saw two people walking along the corridor towards me, their steps leisurely and unworried in the gloom.
“Well, there you are! It’s like a maze down here,” said Vanessa. “I thought I’d better come and find . . . Oh my God! What happened? Are you okay?”
“Do you need a doctor, ma’am?” asked the concerned usher who was with Vanessa.
“Help!” I screamed, my heart tripping as my lungs fought to suck in oxygen. “Those men!”
Vanessa and the usher looked up and the man who’d been sent after me hesitated.
“He’s got a gun!” Vanessa screeched. “Shit, call the police!” and with shaking hands she pulled out her phone.
The man turned and ran back in the direction of the bathroom.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Vanessa hissed. “I can’t get a signal. Let’s get the fuck out of here!”
The usher clearly agreed, already running back to the auditorium, leaving us to fend for ourselves.
Vanessa tossed her phone into my lap and grabbed the handles of the wheelchair.
“No!” I shouted desperately. “He’s hurt! We have to help him!”
“Who’s hurt?” Vanessa shouted, pushing the chair faster and faster.
“Stop!” I screamed again, but Vanessa was too scared to listen. “Stop!”
I lurched forward, throwing myself out of the wheelchair, feeling every burning joint in my body catch fire as I landed heavily on the cheap carpet.
Pain caused tears to stream down my face.
“Laney! Oh my God, Laney!”
Vanessa tried to heave me up but my dead weight was too much for her.
“Go get help,” I stuttered. “Ness! Go get help!”