Last Hit (Hitman) (17 page)

DAISY

"Come on, Pollyanna," Becca groans.
"Why are you walking so freaking slow?"

"I'm coming," I yell at her from several paces behind on the sidewalk. I'm trying to text and walk at the same time, and I'm not good at it, but I'm not willing to give up on my message. Since Nick gave me the phone yesterday, I've been obsessed with it…and with Nick. Even though I was initially skeptical about the gift, I admit to myself that I adore the phone. Texting is so much easier.

And since he's given it to me? We have texted non-stop.

He texted to me all night last night as I worked. His text
Good night, milaya moya
was the last thing I saw when I went to bed. When I awoke, I texted him a
Good morning
, and we'd been texting off and on all day.

He won't send me pictures, which makes me sad. Says I don't need to see his ugly face constantly. He's crazy—I think he is beautiful, his profile noble, his eyes slightly sad. If he sent me a picture, I would stare at it all day long. It would look much better as the background of my phone than the sweet, girly daisies he has set up for me.

I missed out on this by being homeschooled, this playful tease of flirtation. I'm also glad that I'm learning to flirt with Nick instead of someone else, because he seems just as bad at it as I am. Like we're learning together. Maybe he was homeschooled too. The idea of Nick as a high school student makes me smile. He seems like he was born world-weary. I can't envision him as a carefree child. Of course, I can't imagine myself as one either. Perhaps that is why we've bonded so quickly. Our old souls recognize each other.

Nick keeps asking me to send him more photos, though. I refuse to do so until he sends me one of himself, so we are at an impasse. It has become a teasing game to us, one that continues even now.

Why do you not send me a picture of you, Daisy? I did not realize you had such cruelty in you.

I giggle to myself as I read it again. I am composing the perfect response, but I type slowly.
You should see my skirt.
I am feeling very bold.
It's very pretty. Becca says I look like a nun, but I like it. I—

Becca's hand, with its long pink fingernails, close over my screen, sending the message before I can finish it. "Dude. Seriously. Walk faster. I'd like to get to the club before it closes?" She casts me an annoyed stare.

"Sorry." I lower my phone and give her a guilty look, but I don't feel all that guilty at the moment. Not really. I'd rather be at home texting Nick and chatting instead of out with Becca and Regan, but Regan insisted. Becca wants to go to a club to pick up a new man, and it's clear that what Becca wants, Becca gets. Regan reasons that because both she and I have men we are seeing, we can keep each other company and drink at a table while Becca tries to meet a guy.

My phone buzzes in my hand, but Becca is shooting me dirty looks and Regan is patiently waiting down the street, so I force myself to ignore it and jog a little to catch up to them. I'm wearing the Mary Janes that Regan gave me—my only dress shoes—and a knee-length swingy skirt with a sparkly tank top. The clothes are new, and I love them. They're full of color and flash, and I am tempted to send Nick a picture anyhow…but I don't. I won't give in on this.

I catch up to Regan and Becca and rub my bare arms briskly. I wanted to wear a sweater, but Becca declared it 'frumpy' and shamed me into leaving it at home. I wish I had it now; the walk from the bus stop to the club is longer than I would like. I haven't been to this part of downtown, and despite the late hour, the streets are crowded with people and noisy. I can hear a thrumming bass beat somewhere nearby, and it vibrates in my ears.

Then we are at the door of the club. It's a downstairs club, below street level. We wait our turn to get in as Becca chatters excitedly to Regan, and my phone vibrates with another message. I will check it in a minute, I decide, as soon as Becca turns away. The anticipation of what Nick has sent me burns warm in my belly.

The doorman checks our ID. He stares at mine for a long moment, as if not quite believing I am twenty-one, and then ushers us inside. We are swallowed up by the club, and the pounding beat blasts in my head. The interior of the club is dark and feels a little misty; there are lights flashing everywhere and bodies pressed to each other on the dance floor.

It's like I've entered another world.

Regan says something, and I can barely hear her, even though her mouth is moving. I shake my head, and she yells it louder. "Let's find a table and get some drinks."

I nod and she grabs my hand to lead me through the crowd. With my other, I shove my phone in my purse.

A few minutes later, we are situated at the back of the club at a cramped table sandwiched between several other cramped tables. Becca is eyeing the dance floor, her arms raised above her head and moving to the beat. She clearly can't wait to dance. Her breasts bounce with her movements. Men are watching her as she gyrates, and I suspect that this is exactly what Becca wants. She thrives on attention.

I am starting to shrink into myself. The club is noisy, and I don't want to be here. There are people everywhere, and I'm getting a headache from the noise. This is about as far from my sheltered old life as I could get, and I'm not sure I like it. Like my father, I like my day neat, ordered, and controlled. This chaos in front of me is as far from control as I can imagine.

As soon as I sit down, Becca tosses her purse on the table and disappears into the crowd, swaying to the music. Regan just looks at me and rolls her eyes as if to say,
what
do
you
expect
,
that's
Becca
. I simply smile and look around, trying to have a good time for Regan's sake.

She pats my hand to get my attention as I stare, wide-eyed, at our surroundings. "I'll go to the bar and get us drinks," she shouts in my ear over the blasting music. "You stay here and hold the table."

I nod, and a moment later, she vanishes into the crowd as well. Now I am all alone. I glance around at the nearby tables, but they are empty, littered with belongings that have been tossed into chairs. A balding man is seated alone at a nearby table, and when I look over, he waves.

I freeze in place, terrified that he'll come and hit on me. Isn't that what happens in clubs? I avert my eyes and pull out my phone so I can look busy. I was probably just rude to the man, but I don't know what else to do. So I try to make myself as small as possible, concentrating on my phone.

I have three texts from Nick.

Nick (9:19PM):
You what?

Nick (9:20PM):
Are you all right, Daisy?

Nick (9:25PM):
Text me back. Now, or I am coming down there.

The last one was sent five minutes ago. Oh dear. My cut-off message had him worried, and now he's making empty promises. He doesn't know where we are, but the protective sentiment is sweet. I type a message back quickly.
I'm here. Sorry.

Nick:
Good. Very good.
He responds immediately.

D8Z:
Sorry. Becca grabbed my phone.

Nick:
I should cut off Becca's hands.

D8Z:
It's fine. I was just walking slow. Distracted by sending you messages. We are at the club now so I should be fine. I'll probably be slow to respond for the next few hours. Becca and Regan are determined for us to have a good time tonight.

Nick:
I would rather you were with me tonight.

I smile at my phone's screen, the chaos of the club momentarily forgotten. I would rather I was with him, too.

D8Z:
It's just a different sort of thing than I am used to. I will just try to have fun. Don't worry about me.

Nick:
If you need me, say the word. I will be there to rescue you.

D8Z:
I'll be fine.

I cap my message with a smiley face so it seems friendly. Regan returns a moment later with three drinks, chatting with a guy. I lock my phone screen and put it back into my purse, returning my attention to my friend. After a few more minutes of talking that I can't make out, he waves and leaves, and Regan shoots me a relieved look. She gestures for me to lean in.

"He was trying to pick us up for his buddies," she yells in my ear, the club equivalent of a whisper. "Wanted to know if we were meeting someone."

My eyes widen and I shoot a look back at the retreating guy. I want to shrink under the table. I don't want to be picked up. I want Nick. "But you're seeing someone, and so am I," I yell back at her. The words feel good to say. Nick is my boyfriend, isn't he? Maybe? I'm not sure what to call it.

"I know," she says back. "That's why I sent him packing." She pushes a drink toward me and gestures for me to try it. It's reddish and there's a stick in the cup with some fruit speared on it. I taste it, and it's fruity and sweet, but the alcohol flavor overwhelms everything. I put the back of my hand to my mouth and cough at the taste. Next to me, Regan chugs her drink like it's nothing. Maybe I'm being a sissy. I take another game swig, and it burns my throat. It doesn't taste better on the second try.

We nurse our drinks for a bit, but it's hard to talk in the club with the pounding music searing into your eardrums. Becca hasn't returned to the table, and I see her surface occasionally in the pit of dancing bodies. She's clearly having a great time. I'm content to sit in the shadows and watch her dance, but Regan looks restless. She's finished her drink, and she is watching the dancers, tapping her foot. She gets a refill on her drink and downs it almost as quickly. I'm still working on my drink, which is not even halfway empty.

When a young guy comes up, speaks to her, and then gestures at the dance floor, she glances at me. It's clear she wants to be out there and having a good time. I wave her off. I will just sit here by myself, then. I pull my phone out again, but Nick hasn't texted me back. I put it away, not wanting to bother him.

A few minutes later, the music shifts to something slower, and a DJ rambles something into a microphone. His mouth is so close to the mike I can't make out what he says, but the dance floor clears momentarily and someone takes the center of the floor, moving in an intricate dance as everyone else circles around to watch. I'm eager to see the dancer, but Becca and Regan return to the table a minute later, both sweaty and having a great time. Becca is flushed and laughing, and Regan's cheeks are pink with delight, her blonde hair sticking to the sides of her face.

Becca slides into the chair next to me and leans in. "You going to go out there and have fun, Pollyanna?" she yells at me. "We brought you here to loosen up."

"I'm fine," I tell her. "Really."

"You can't hide in a corner all night."

That is exactly what I want to do. But I just smile at her words.

The music changes and the crowd screams enthusiasm. "All you ladies get on the dance floor," the DJ yells into the microphone. "It's time for 'Ladies' Night!'"

The crowd cheers and both Becca and Regan surge to their feet. When I don't get up, Becca grabs my hand and tugs on it. "Come on," she says. "You have to go out and dance to 'Ladies' Night'!"

I don't want to dance—at least, not the way the couples on the floor have been dancing. They grind their hips together and put their hands all over each other, and I want no part of that. But right now, the floor is filling with women, and they have their hands in the air as they dance along to the rollicking beat of a song that seems familiar to everyone but me.

After a moment's hesitation, I give in and abandon my purse and the safety of the table. I don't want to be seen as the friend that won't have fun. Becca and Regan are my first friends. I want them to like me.

So I go out on the dance floor with them and I dance. I'm awkward and reluctant at first, but soon I am laughing and dancing along with the others to the pounding music. It's all women and we jump around and dance like fools, but it's all fun. For a few minutes, I am having a great time, and I feel alive all over again.

The music changes far too soon, and the crowd on the dance floor shifts. Another hard, thumping song starts, and the people change, press closer. I'm not ready to give up on the dancing just yet, so I continue to move to the beat, lost in my own world. I'm feeling sweaty and warm, and my skirt is twirling, and I wonder what Nick would think if he saw me now, with my hair flying around my shoulders as I am having a great time. The song playing is something dirty, the lyrics something about grinding, and I notice there are couples starting to dance nearby, hips pushed together. I remain on the dance floor, looking for Becca and Regan, but I don't see them anywhere.

Someone grabs my hips and begins to rub up against me from behind. I'm startled to feel him against me. He didn't ask permission; he just came right up and grabbed me.

I try to jerk away, but the dance floor is an oppressive crush of bodies, and it's hard to move without running into someone else. The man pushing up against me mistakes my actions and drags me harder against him, assuming I want his touch.

I want to slam away from him. I want to fling him from me, jab a knee between his legs for daring to touch me. It's my body. I should be the one in control, and I want to punish him for making me think otherwise.

But there are so many people nearby that I can't do anything. Whenever I raise my arms, I'm jostled, like a minnow caught in a riptide.

I panic.

I have no control over any of these people.

I can't breathe. Hands are rubbing up and down on my arms, and I freeze in place. The man continues to roll against my hips, and I can feel his erection prodding against the thin material of my skirt. This man that is trying to dance with me has an
erection,
and he's pushing it against me.

It's too much. I blindly shove away, trying to get out of the crowd. The music is splitting my head now, and my friends are nowhere to be seen. I squirm away from the man only to run into someone else, and new hands grab at me. There are people everywhere.