Taking out my phone, I check my email for the third time. As expected, nothing’s happened since three minutes ago, so I put the phone away again and consider walking over to the bar to get myself a drink. I’ve been abstaining all night to keep my reflexes sharp in case of danger, but one beer shouldn’t impact anything.

Still, I decide against it. Even though several of my guards are sprinkled throughout the club, I don’t feel comfortable having Nora out of sight for more than a couple of minutes. I would’ve even waited in that line with her, but the curving hallway is so narrow that there’s only room for the women and the occasional man pushing his way through.

So I wait, amusing myself by watching the dancers on the floor. With all the grinding bodies, the atmosphere is heavily sexual, but the flickering lights and pulsing beat do nothing for me. Without Nora in my arms to excite me, I might as well be standing on a street corner watching grass grow.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, distracting me from my thoughts. Pulling it out, I look at Nora’s message and frown.

Did Rosa walk by you? Do you see her anywhere?

Stepping away from the wall again, I glance into the hallway. I don’t see either Rosa or Nora there, but the girl who was behind Nora in line is still waiting her turn.

Satisfied that Nora must be inside the bathroom, I turn to survey the club, searching for a yellow dress in the crowd. It’s hard to see, with all the people and the dim lighting, but Rosa’s dress is bright enough that I should be able to spot her.

I don’t see anything, though. Not by the bar and not on the dance floor.

Starting to feel uneasy, I push through the crowd to get to the other side of the bar and look again.

Nothing. No yellow dress anywhere.

My unease morphs into full-blown alarm. Grabbing the phone again, I check the location of Nora’s trackers.

She’s still in the bathroom or right next to it.

Feeling marginally calmer, I message Lucas to put the men on alert and text Nora my response before pushing my way back toward the restrooms. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I need to have Nora with me. Right now. My instincts are screaming that something’s wrong, and I won’t relax until I have her securely by my side.

When I get to the hallway, I see that the line of women is even longer now, and there’s even a line to the men’s room. The narrow hallway is completely blocked, so I begin to shove people aside, ignoring their shouts of outrage.

Nora is not in this line, though the trackers indicate she’s nearby. She’s also not in the women’s bathroom, I realize as I pass by it. According to my tracking app, she’s about thirty feet ahead, a bit to the left of the curving hallway. The crowd clears out past this point, and I pick up the pace, my worry intensifying.

A second later, I see it.

A man’s body on the floor, next to a closed door.

My blood turns to ice, the fear sharp and acrid on my tongue. If somebody took Nora, if she’s been harmed in any way—

No. I can’t allow myself to go there, not when she needs me.

An icy calm engulfs me, blocking out the fear. Crouching down, I grab the knife from my ankle holster and slide it into my belt buckle for easy access. Then, rising to my feet, I take out my gun and step over the body, ignoring the blood trickling from the man’s forehead.

According to the app, Nora is only a few feet to the left of me—which means she’s behind that door.

Taking a deep breath, I push open the door and step into the room.

Immediately, a muffled cry to my right catches my attention. Spinning, I see two figures struggling by the wall . . . and all traces of calm flee.

Nora—my Nora—is fighting with a man twice her size. He’s on top of her, one of his hands muffling her screams and the other hand tearing at her clothes. Her eyes are wild and furious, her fingers curved into claws as she rakes at his face and neck, leaving bloody streaks across his skin.

A red fog descends on me, a rage more violent than anything I’ve known.

One leap, and I’m on top of them, dragging the man off Nora. I don’t shoot—too risky with her near—but the knife is in my hand as I pin him to the floor, my left forearm crushing his throat. He’s choking, his eyes bulging as I raise the knife and plunge it into his side, again and again. Hot blood spurts out, spraying all over me, and I smell his terror, his knowledge of impending death. His hands beat at me, but I don’t feel the blows. Instead, I watch his eyes as I stab him again and again, reveling in his dying struggles.

“Julian!” Nora’s cry snaps me out of my bloodlust, and I spring to my feet, leaving her attacker’s twitching body on the floor.

She’s shaking, mascara and tears streaming down her face as she tries to stand up, holding the wall for support.

Fuck. Sickening fear fills my chest. I rush to her and gather her against me, frantically patting her down in search of injuries. Nothing feels broken, but her lower lip is split and puffy, and her dress has a small rip at the top. And the child— No, I can’t think about that now.

“Baby, are you hurt?” My voice is barely recognizable as my own. “Did he hurt you?”

She shakes her head, her eyes still wild. “No!” She twists in my arms, pushing at me with surprising strength. “Let me go! We have to go after her!”

“What? Who?” Startled, I move back, holding her by one arm so she wouldn’t fall.

“Rosa! He’s got her, Julian! He grabbed her and dragged her out that way.” Nora jabs her free hand in the direction of the door in the back. “We must go after her!” She sounds hysterical.