He knew she was here.

It wasn't a sixth sense. It wasn't his growing intuition and perception with everything that has been happening in the past few months. His mind was already becoming so overwhelmed—why this? Why did she have to be tangled into this too?

It was a distraction from the bigger picture.

His eyes scanned the crowd for a familiar shock of white blonde hair.

And somehow, in some strange twist the Universe took disgusting pleasure in, she was the one thing in the whole wide world that determined whether or not he lived or died.

Heavy bass pulsed around him, injecting his already thumping heartbeat with a vigor that made his chest feel like it was going to cave in. The alcohol didn't help that either, but it beat the anxiousness that made him quake on the inside. She was here, but so were they. Hidden somewhere in the shadows of the giant house he was in, they were watching his every move and reporting it back to the base.

The phone in his pocket felt like a ticking time bomb—and all for a stupid memory stick.

What are you waiting for? He could hear them say. Find her and get it back.

If only it were that easy. The thought propelled him forward and he pulled his phone out of his pocket, typing as best as the alcoholic haze would allow him, and proceeded through the crowd as though nothing had happened.

Bodies pushed into him. The floor was slick under his shoes. An attractive blonde touched his chest and grinned at him in a way that made him want to forget about his task and take her away to one of the rooms upstairs. But this wasn't the time. And she wasn't the blonde he wanted.

Another rumble of music hit him in the chest.

And then he saw her leaned up against a counter with a red cup in her hands. The pale light of the kitchen washed her out, leaving only the deep red of her lips and the bright blue of her eyes. She looked innocent and a part of him was almost sad that she managed to get mixed up in all of this—almost.

* * *

"I'm wet." I complain once we're certain Hayden and his friends are nowhere in sight.

Abigail ushers me around a beer pong table and we end up right back in the kitchen where we hid our phones before going to the pool. One look at the alcohol on the counter, however, makes my stomach twist and turn. Just the thought of another drink makes me want to puke. I'm doing well keeping it down—I'm not ruining that now.

Well, maybe just one—

Nope! No more!

Abigail looks down at her romper and makes a face. "Me too. And not in a good way either."

"I'm officially scarred for life." I gag.

"Oh come on—"

"Don't go any further!" I beg as I lean against the counter for support.

Abigail answers with a wicked grin.

The deep rumble of the bass sends shivers through my body and I lean my head back, swaying to the music as Abigail chats something about her moving to New York in a couple of weeks. It's not that I'm not interested: it's just that the way the music caresses me is too much of a distraction. My body is lost and I can't see straight but I feel lighter than I've felt in a very long time. Everything is perfect except for the fact that my clothes weigh a damn ton.

"We need to change!" I announce to her just as someone brings out a tub of freshly made jungle juice. I'm not dancing in these clothes. No freaking way. And there's no way in hell I'm even sniffing that jungle juice.

"How?"

Grabbing my friend by her wrist, I scan the wobbly room for any way to a bedroom. I'm sure Nate won't mind us borrowing something! Wherever he is. I don't know whether it's acid from all the alcohol, or my disappointment at the fact that I haven't seen Nate even once tonight, but sourness enters my throat. And just as the colors of the room begin to blend into a messy blue-black blob, I see a staircase, and without a second thought, rush toward it.

"Careful!" Abigail hiccups.

Going up stairs is a lot harder than I thought it would be. We lean into each other for support, clutching anything and everything around us to stop from tipping backwards and breaking our necks. The clothes aren't helping. The darkness of the house only makes it worse. And the fact that there are more than just a few people on the stairs making out makes me regret it even more.

Abigail pushes my butt to scoot me further up the stairs. "We're almost there—Oh my gosh!" I trip forward onto the carpeted stair when Abigail stops abruptly and lets go. "Gabe, is that you?"

"Abby Wilson! Holy shit!" the guy, Gabe, shouts back. Twisting around, I don't get a good look at him beside dark hair and red t-shirt that is way, way too bright. Abigail tumbles down into him and hooks her arm around his shoulder in what I guess might be a hug if it didn't look like he was her only lifeline from tumbling down the stairs.

"Abigail, we need clothes, remember?" I tell her impatiently, tugging on the soaking wet sleeve of her romper. She brushes my hand away and drunkenly waves for me to go ahead.

"I'll catch up with you in a second," she tells me.

Stumbling into the hall, I narrow my eyes at the darkness and stagger down the hall to the best of my abilities, frantically searching the wall for some kind of light switch. Something groans behind me and I pause, heart pounding.

"Abigail?"

No response.

It's the alcohol. I'm imagining things.

Bursting through the nearest doorway, I fall into a bedroom that has to be bigger than the first floor of my house. Moonlight spills through giant windows that make up the far wall, highlighting couches and tables and a four-post bed that never seems to end.

And when I look down, I'm staring at a monster sprawled on the floor with bright yellow eyes and long teeth.

"Oh my God!" I scream, falling straight on my butt and scooting away until my back hits the door.

It's going to eat me!

But the monster never moves, it's expression still twisted in a horrifying roar.

"It's a fucking rug," I breathe. "Shit."

The vibration of my phone in my hand makes me jump and I accidentally knock my head into the doorknob above me.

"Ouch!"

The screen lights up with the one text I had been hoping for all night.

Where are you? The message from Nate Lincoln reads. Are you at the party?

Her. My drunken hands reply. Cursing, I type, Here. Upstairs?

Chewing on my lip, I stare at my phone. Was telling him that I'm upstairs a good idea?

Of course! My hazy mind tells me. He's looking for you! Duh!

Then I should probably get out of these awful clothes, right? Wearing a white top and jumping into a pool wasn't really a smart idea, even if I did get to irritate Hayden Cross.

Climbing to my feet, I make an effort to tip toe around the head of the rug, and disappear through a doorway to what I hope is the bathroom. I need to get out of these clothes and I really, really have to pee.

Gosh, what is with the Lincoln house and not having any proper light switches?

An arm snakes around my waist, catching me off guard, and I'm pulled into a well-defined chest.

"What are you doing up here?" a deep voice whispers in my ear.

"Nate?" I slur, eyes fluttering when his fingers brush the length of my arms. A hum vibrates through his chest into my back. The sensation makes my toes curl ever so slightly.

Well, hello Nate Lincoln.

I shiver against his chest and try to turn to look at him, but he holds me steady in one spot, hands trailing along my arms and shoulders. Each touch pulls more and more oxygen out of my lungs. In the mirror ahead, I can see tufts of golden hair and inhale the spicy scent of his cologne mixed with beer.

"I'm glad you came, Ember." His voice is barely above a whisper and he sways slightly, not giving any indication of letting go of my waist anytime soon. Which, I'm not complaining about. It's nice...really nice.

Nate pulls me closer into his hips. "Why are you soaking wet?" he asks with amusement. We move our hips in sync to the muffled rhythm of a song that soaks through the floorboards and I feel even more lightheaded than before.

"I was having a little fun in the pool," I reply, licking my lips. He runs his hands up and alongside my hips and I have to hold back a shiver.

"And I wasn't there?"

The world around me begins to merge together in a blur of movement, light and color. I grind my hips against Nate and turn, throwing my arms up.

This is what my senior year should be. Boys and parties and living the last of my high school career to the fullest.

He places a small kiss at the base of ear and I shiver. "You're special, Ember," another kiss at the base of my ear. "To deal with all of this. To take on some powerful people." His words send this strong confidence surges through me. It might be all the alcohol or it might be the fact that someone as hot as Nate Lincoln would say such a thing, but I feel like I'm suddenly queen of the world and I can do anything. It's a feeling I've never experienced before in my life. I feel confident and dangerous, like I'm worthy of playing on their field.

He runs his fingers through my hair and makes small circles down my bare shoulders, massaging the base of my neck and running his lips along the side of my throat. The sensation is enough for me to go weaker in the knees.

Nate grabs my wrists and pins them to my hips. Smile curling on my mouth, I playfully tug against his restraint and he tightens his grip.

"But you have something that isn't yours," Nate growls in my ear and before I can say anything I'm shoved into the counter. A gasp escapes my throat when the dim light of the bathroom illuminates the boy's face. No, not a boy. A man.

Who isn't Nate.

My blood runs cold. Whatever clouds were fogging up my brain are instantly gone as his dark eyes soak in my frame: he's got a foot and a half on me in height. And there's no way in hell I could think of overpowering me.

"Get away!" I screech. The blond man grins at me, shoving my body harder into the counter with his, and holds me in a metal grip that's fractions close to snapping my wrists.

"No!" The counter digs into my gut and the man leans over me, veiny red eyes staring right into mine through the reflection in the mirror. He's enjoying every second of this.

"Where's the memory stick?" he demands.

"I--I--"

"Come on, Ember," he whines, moving his lips back to my throat. Throwing my head back, I smash the top of my head into the side of his face as hard as I can, screaming bloody murder.

Someone has to hear me. Someone please, hear me!

The incident in the Del-Mart parking lot flips to mind, but I know in my gut that the bad boy in the red hoodie won't be able to save me this time.

"Give it to me!" he roars, twisting me around so that we're face to face, bodies flushed against each other. Kicking my legs, flexing my arms, biting, scratching, I do everything in my power to get away from him. But he's too strong, laughing like a maniac.

Think fast, Ember!

"If you let go of me!" I struggle ferociously. "I'll give it to you!"

I need to find Gabby. I need to get out of here. I need to call the police!

Focus, Em!

Pain shoots through my spine when the man shoves me into the counter, standing over me when I crumple to the floor, a knife in his hand.

"Try anything and I'll cut your throat," he warns, twirling the blade between his fingers.

Heaving, I shake my head. "No funny business, I swear." This is the second time this month someone's held a knife to me! All over a damn flash drive!

He doesn't put the knife away.

How do you know he won't kill you regardless?

I don't know.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

The memory stick seems to burn a hole in the back pocket and I grip it tight behind my back.

"Who are you?" I ask the man, growing more and more sober by the second. Cloudiness in my vision wanes into sharp lines and edges that tell me this man isn't anywhere close to looking like Nate. Not even his hair.

"This isn't question time!" he barks, slashing the air. "Give me the memory stick!"

I hold up my free hand. "Easy..."

You need to do something now, Ember.

But what?

My eyes flit the room.

Come on. Something. Something. Something.

And then I see it. A porcelain throne with the lid propped open, as if by fate.

"Give it to me!"

"Fine," I wheeze, squeezing the memory stick between my fingers. I don't care if this thing has the key to eternal life, I don't want it. But I've only got one shot at getting out of here alive. "Take it!"

Diving to the side, I hurl the memory stick toward the toilet as hard as I can, twisting onto my hands and knees and launching myself into the creepy thug. He's so stunned by my actions, so caught up in the fact that his prized possession is pinwheeling into Toilet Town, I'm able to slam him into the side of the sink and we roll along the length of the counter until his legs fly out from under him, barely missing my head. The heathen screams in shock and pain and falls into the bathtub, scrambling to get to his feet.

Take that, asshat!

"You bitch!"

Grabbing a scale from next to the shower, I slam the metal object into his shoulder to make him fall again.

Get out of here!

And so I do. Without a second of hesitation, I race out of the bathroom, through the bedroom, and down the stairs.

That's enough excitement for one night! Maybe even the rest of my life!

"Gabby!" I call for my best friend, racing through the crowd. Now, the pulsating music makes my spin and my body ache with nausea. There's more where he came from--I'm sure of it.

Where the hell is she?

She's not in the living room.

She's not in the kitchen.

She's not by the pool table or in the study.

What if they got her? What if she's gone?

I find myself outside again, standing at the edge of a ring of people crowding the pool and what I think is a hot tub. She's not in the pool.

Circling the crowd I try to find an opening to see what's going on. People are laughing and chanting like crazy. I've got to find an opening. Where's Gabby?

When I do find my best friend, I'm horrified at the scene in front of me. My blood shifts from ice cold to boiling hot.

Sitting in the hot tub is my best friend, Gabriella Hansen...

Making out with Hayden Cross.

* * *