"You little bitch."

I stare at Sebastian with a mixture of satisfaction and fear. Vomit is only the start of what he deserves. But God knows what he'll do to me now.

"Sorry." Not sorry...

Wait, what am I doing? Why am I apologizing to a monster? I wipe my mouth.

Sebastian shouts something to the driver in German and I scoot as far from him as possible. His door opens, and the driver's at the ready with a towel. He climbs out of the car and the driver begins to wipe his pants down. We're in a pharmacy parking lot, it's eleven at night, and Sebastian is covered in boozy puke.

It's almost funny, it's so absurd. But it's not, because I don't know how he'll respond next. All I can hope is that the pill is out of my system, and that he doesn't try to give me another.

"Get out." he says in a loud, chilling voice. "Juliette, get out of the vehicle. And come here."

I do, from my side. My heels make a dull tap on the asphalt as I walk around the back of the limo to where Sebastian's getting a wipe-down from his driver.

"That's enough," he snarls, grabbing the towel from the driver. That poor guy scurries back into the car.

Sebastian turns slowly and takes a step toward me. "Last night wasn't your fault. You drank too much and I gave you too strong of a pill. Tonight, it's your fault. You did this on purpose, didn't you? I'm very angry, Juliette."

I glare at him. "I didn't want this. I didn't sign up to be drugged and raped."

"I don't care what you want. You don't get a say. You don't have a voice, or an opinion, as far as I'm concerned. I'm paying for your compliance. Here's what I want. While I'm gone this week, I want you to think about whether your brother and Griffin are important to you. If you truly love them. If they are important to you, you'll obey with my requests. If not, treatment will cease for Ash, or worse. And I'll report Griffin to the authorities, or worse. I also know where your mother lives, so keep that in mind, too. Is that clear?"

I wish I were bigger, stronger, more powerful. Then I could kill him with my bare hands. That anger inside me? I can practically feel it coursing through my veins.

"And don't think about running away with Griffin once Zoe returns. If Zoe returns. Then you'll be at risk for arrest, too."

"I hate you," I hiss. "How did you get to be like this?"

"You'll learn to love me." He purses his lips. "And my dear, I'm not any different than most men. I'm just more honest with my demands and wishes."

"I don't believe you," I spit.

"You're being a tiresome brat. I'm leaving. Without you. I can't stand to be around someone who's vomited, and giving you another pill now could be dangerous. I'm giving you a week to evaluate your actions and make your choice. And leaving you here on this street, in your sexy little outfit, might teach you a lesson. You might discover that being with me isn't as dangerous as you think, and that there are worse men in the world. Goodbye, Juliette."

He grabs the towel from the driver and hurls it on the ground like a petulant child. Despite my fear, I giggle because he'd just called me a brat. I watch as he gets back in the limo, and as the car pulls away.

Along with my sleek, black, five-thousand dollar Hermes clutch.

"Shit," I say out loud. I don't care about the purse — Sebastian had bought it, I'd like to burn it — but I need my phone and the keys to my condo. Christ. Nervously, I look around and chew on my thumbnail. I'm in Little Havana, an unfamiliar neighborhood. No money, no cell. I'm wearing a black evening gown and stilettos.

Probably I look like I'm going to prom, which could be a good thing.

Or I look like a hooker, which wouldn't.

I'm also feeling warm behind the backs of my knees. The pill.

How long would that take to kick in? Would it kick in? Wouldn't it have come up along with the alcohol when I vomited? Probably so, but who knows. I bite my thumbnail off, leaving the red polish jagged and chipped. My condo is on the beach, miles away. I begin to walk east. At least I know that's the direction I should head.

I'll try to call Griffin. That's it. I walk fast across a street as cars honk and men in trucks whistle. I want to give them the finger but I don't dare.

On the corner, there's a restaurant. Las Fritas. I'd been here with Griffin once, because he likes their Cuban hamburgers topped with french fries. I swing the door open and I'm assaulted by the smell of fried food. It makes me gag. How much liquor did my body absorb? Hopefully not much.

The warm, fuzzy feeling is pulsing around my hairline now. I ignore the people crammed into booths enjoying late night party food, and march up to the counter. A woman about my age with slicked-back hair, gold hoop earrings and a blue T-shirt with the restaurant's name on the front, is looking bored out of her mind.

"Hi. I'm stranded. I'm so sorry, but can I use your phone to call my boyfriend. Please?"

When she doesn't answer, I wonder if she can speak English. She looks me up and down and tears well in my eyes.

"Okay," she says slowly, pointing to an empty booth.

I glance down, and realize there's vomit on the front of my dress. Oh, God. I swallow a lump in my throat. I'm sweating now.

"Here," she says, passing me her cell. "It's local, right?"

"Yes. Yes. Oh shit," I wail. "I don't know Griffin's number."

She looks at me, baffled. I can't tell her that my once-drug dealing boyfriend doesn't keep the same cell number for more than a week. "Could you please look up his condo? Maybe I can call the concierge?" I hand the cell back.

The woman looks around nervously, probably thinking she should call the cops. "What's the name?"

"Avanti. It's on the beach. Collins Ave."

She taps on her phone and hands it to me. "It's dialing the number."

Trying not to make contact with the woman's phone — sweat is running down my temple now — I hold my breath until someone answers.

"Hi. Can you please get a message to Griffin Davis? He's on the twentieth floor. Unit 2000. Yes. Please tell him to get Juliette at Las Fritas on Calle Ocho. Tell him not to call her. Please?"

"Uh, could you repeat that, slower?" the male voice says. I do, and my heart feels like it's slowing down. Please let Griffin be home. Please don't let him be at a bar with Dylan or at some club.

"It's urgent," I tell him. "Tell him to hurry."

After I hang up, I smile in gratitude at the woman. "Is it okay if I just stay here?"

She nods several times. "It's fine. It's fine. Why don't I get you some water? You don't look too good. You have a bad night?"

"I've had a bad year," I murmur.

By the time the woman brings the water, the air feels heavy on my skin. The saliva in my mouth has taken on a thick quality. It seems like it takes five minutes to reach for my glass. I suspect this is a different drug than what Sebastian gave me last night, and I realize with horror that it's only been about a half hour since I took it. Am I feeling fear or the effects of the pill? Why didn't I puke it up?

Will I be conscious by the time Griffin arrives? Will he even come?

* * *

"What?" I shout. "Don't call her? When did you talk to her?"

I absorb the words from the concierge with growing terror, and grab my keys and cell. My condo's about twenty minutes from Little Havana, unless there's some bullshit traffic. Hopefully the roads will be clear because it's nearly eleven-thirty.

By now everyone in Miami should be just arriving at the clubs or staying in.

Juliette. At Las Fritas. Why? It's the kind of place people go before or after clubbing, for a greasy burger.

And why did she call the concierge? Didn't she save my number like I told her to? Why can't I call her? As my Porsche roars down the street, I look at my phone. No missed calls. Do I dare call her, even though she'd said not to?

I'd better not. Since she was out with Sebastian, maybe he somehow has her phone. Maybe she ended up there after a night with him, and wants to see me. But that doesn't make sense. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What kind of situation have I gotten her into...

My heart kicks with anxiety as I pull into the parking lot of Las Fritas. I burst in, scanning the room. Where is she? I see a lot of guys who look like they're ready to have night of fun and groups of women giggling. Did someone take her? Did she leave?

Then, my gaze lands on the back booth. I see her glossy hair. She's resting her head on her arms, which are propped on the table. As if she's asleep. I run over.

"Juliette." I shake her shoulder, and she sits up slowly, swaying. Her beautiful emerald eyes don't seem to be focusing well. I slide into the booth next to her. She's in an expensive evening gown, and her dark eye makeup is smudged. Her hair's a mess, coming out of it's bun, and it looks — and smells — like she's vomited on herself.

"You came," she whispers. Her mouth turns up into the saddest smile I've ever seen.

"What happened? Angel? What's wrong? Why are you here? Let's go."

I put my arm around her. "I'm so tired. I took something."

Oh my God. Did she try to kill herself? "What did you take? How much? Tell me. We need to get to the hospital. Do you think you can walk?"

She shrugs slowly and the corner of her mouth droops. "Sebastian. He drugged me." She weaves a little and her eyes flutter.

I have to blink a few times to get rid of the red hue of rage clouding my vision. "He what?"

"Gave me a pill so I would sleep. I tried not to swallow it. Put it under my tongue."

"What kind of pill? Did you ask him for it?" I'm almost shouting now, frantic. Nothing makes sense. Some pills are meant to be ingested sublingually, so the chemicals absorb in the body quicker. Sometimes those are the potent painkillers. Why did he want to put her to sleep? Deep down, I know the answer. And it's making me cagey with pure anger, like I could rip this place apart with my bare hands.

"How many did you take?"

I can tell she's struggling to keep her eyes open.

"Dunno. It was just one. He kicked me out of the limo after I barfed on him. Thought the pill was out of my stomach. I'm sorry you had to come get me. I didn't have your number so I called the concierge. Can we go home and go to bed? I just want you to hold me." She sniffles, and a tear slides down her cheek. "He did this last night too. He violated me. In my sleep. That's what he likes. I tried, Griffin. I tried for Ash and Zoe and you."

Her eyes shut all the way and she leans into my body with a little sigh.

And what's left of my heart breaks wide open and bleeds everywhere.

____