Killing Mila (wildfire: rewritten)

2. Instinct

I hit the dancefloor at full throttle, surging heedlessly into the dense throng. Letting the crowd swallow me up, jolting and pulling at me like sea waves in a storm. Sucking me in and hiding me from any pursuer who might have followed me back through the emergency door.

Heart pounding, I attempt to retrace my way back to where I left Lexie. Trying desperately to quell the urge to look back over my shoulder, like the bald man is suddenly going to come surging up behind me, armed with a fresh vial of whatever the hell type of acid he spilled down the throat of his last victim to make her skin dissolve from the inside out. Stop thinking about it. Stop. Stop. He's not following you. Just find Lexie and get out of here...

I repeat the words in my head like a mantra as I shove my way through more writhing, sweaty bodies. Even in my borrowed heels, I have to crane my neck to see over people's shoulders, teetering unsteadily as I hunt for a familiar flash of long, blonde hair. Straining my ears for a hint of her low, guttural laugh. But the horde is so thick and faceless in the flashing lights, it's hard to make sense of anything. There's only the loud, thumping bass, the crush of bodies and my thundering heart.

No Lexie. No exit. Fuck. Where are you?

This time, the attack of dizziness is so powerful I almost black out. I stop dead, pressing my palms into my eyes, while my heart rate escalates out of control. Is this what a heart attack feels like? The tightness that squeezes my chest is so painful, choking me with panic. The moment stretches for so long, I fear I'll die like this: not at the hands of the bald man, but alone and terrified in a sea of faceless people. I can't think. I can't breathe.

Until a hand abruptly catches hold of my shoulder.

It feels like I've been zapped with a cattle prod. Icy tendrils of fear slide down my spine, my heart slamming hard against my ribcage. My brain screams at me to run, but it's like I'm paralysed – frozen with fear.

The smell of something sharp – earthy, almost – invades my senses a split second before a wall of pure muscle hits my back. Towering over me, like a hulking shadow. Holding me upright, anchored in place. Trapped.

He can't kill me here, I think. Not in front of all these people. Except it's almost the perfect way to do it, lost in the confusion of bodies, where he can slip away unnoticed while the liquid wreaks havoc on my body.

I'm on the verge of hyperventilating when I feel a second hand brush my hip, stealing around my waist. Thick, warm fingers splay across my belly, holding me against my captor, gently pushing me into motion until I realise we're... dancing.

Swaying from side to side, hips moving slowly in time to the loud, pulsing beat.

Confusion starts to trickle through the fear. I tremble, struggling to understand what the hell is happening. Too stunned to protest or move away when my dance partner slowly releases my shoulder to brush the damp, sweaty strands of my dark hair back from my neck. No one has ever touched me like this, not with so much familiarity.

I'm pulled taut like the strings on a violin, incapable of thinking. Breathing. Poised in anticipation of his next move.

He lowers his head, blowing softly on my heated skin, and a heartbeat passes before I feel the tip of his tongue touch the side of my neck. A violent shiver runs the length of my spine. I swallow, hard, locked in a storm of fear and something else – something sharper. Heady. Powerful.

The stranger behind me could be just another dancer. Another one of the faceless shadows on the dancefloor. But deep down, I know.

"Caught you," he murmurs in my ear, confirming all of my suspicions with two, terrifying words. My stomach drops. It's not the bald man, I realise, it's the other one – the shadow I couldn't quite make out in the darkness. And on the heels of that realisation is another, far scarier one: I'm part of the clean-up.