Ruin (Rhodes #1) by Rina Kent

                             They took care of me the entire night. No need to ruin what remains of it.

                             The nightclub is so crowded I can’t see where I’m headed. Pushing my way through the writhing bodies, my eyes dart in all directions, looking for an exit. After bumping into blurry people and objects, I reach the back entrance. I didn’t plan to end up here, but either way, there’s air in the empty alleyway.

                             Ash grey walls surround me. The only light in sight is a street lamp several meters away. At least, it’s not entirely dark. The rotten smell of garbage violates my nose and I have to gulp to not throw up. I lean against the nightclub’s wall, wishing for a seat of some sort.

                             A breeze of fresh air whips my hair back and soothes my nausea. Maybe I won’t throw up after all. I stand there, listening to the fading music and kicking cigarette butts and pebbles away. My heels are killing me.

                             A shiver cloaks my body. I grit my teeth. Why am I so cold?

                             I look down on my bare arms. My coat is still in our booth.

                             Great, Mae. What an adult you are.

                             When I turn towards the club’s back entrance, the hairs on the back of my neck stand like needles. Is this even due to cold anymore? I close my eyes, trying as much as possible to scoot the haze away.

                             This isn’t real. My mind is playing dirty tricks on me. A false premonition. A needless paranoia.

                             An intoxicating smell, different from garbage, invades my nostrils. As if compelled by some invisible force, I open my eyes. My feet almost fail me. I stagger and catch myself on a wall. My dizzy vision focuses on the tall man standing between me and the club’s entrance.

                             All warmth leaves my blood stream. An unknown force draws down my spine, freezing my shoulder blades together.

                             It’s him.

                             The stranger is all in black. The hood he wears shadows his face, obscuring his features.

                             A faceless Grim Reaper.

                             And he’s here for me.

                             Oh. God.

                             “Good evening, Mae.”

                             I swallow at the deep, familiar voice and clasp my hands together to prevent them from shaking.

                             “H-how do you know my name?”

                             He tilts his head to the side but doesn’t answer.

                             Ugh. I hate the stutter on top of my slur. I’m coming off as an easy victim. Who the hell would ask such a question under these circumstances? My top priority is to run. Every cell in my being screams at me to turn and leave.

                             Peeking sideways, I seek the easiest way out. The situation doesn’t play in my favour. For one, my intoxicated brain is so slow at deciphering information. For two, the choice of the back entrance was a lousy one.

                             The stranger approaches silent and slow. Firm with intent. Like a painter would chase their muse.