Descent (Black Heart Romance presents Heaven & Hell)

“Hello, Hallie.”
The deep, unfamiliar voice of the man on the other end gives me pause.
I respond uncertainly, “Who is this?”
“I’m sending a car for you,” he says, not answering my question. “Where are you?”
My heart sinks. I’m not even sure why, but there’s such authority in the man’s tone, it doesn’t
even cross my mind that I could simply tell him to fuck off, that I’m not leaving my friend’s
bachelorette party for reasons still entirely unknown to me.
Instead, I stumble out of the bathroom, trying to pull myself together as I make my way outside to
see where I am.
This is our third bar of the night; I have no idea where we are.
“Is everything okay?” I ask since this man called me from Jackson’s phone. “Is Jackson all
right?”
“For the moment,” the man says evasively.
My heart jumps to my throat at the implication that he might not be for much longer. “Did
Jackson… get into trouble? Are you his friend, or…?”
Or what? Do I really think some bad guy who put him in peril would want to chat with me on the
phone?
“We’ll discuss that when you get here,” he tells me, his firm, decisive tone brooking no
arguments.
“I’m not sure what I can do to help,” I say, growing more anxious as I near the door. In the texts
Jackson sent before this man called, it seemed like he needed to borrow money, but I don’t understand
why. Jackson has significantly more money than I have. The only thing I can even rationalize is that
for some reason he can’t access his own funds right now, but if he’s out with friends, why can’t one of
them help him?
The bouncer looks my way as I burst out of the club. It occurs to me belatedly that maybe I
should’ve told someone before I left. I’m not sure I’ll be able to get right back in. There’s a line to get
into the club, and I don’t want to have to wait to go back inside.
I look up and tell the man on the other end of the call the name of the club I’m at.
I did it because he told me to and I’m bad at falling short of people’s expectations of me, but as I
stand alone on the sidewalk outside the noisy club, it occurs to me… I could be putting myself into
danger if I get into this stranger’s car.
I don’t want Jackson to be in trouble, but I don’t want to endanger myself for him, either. If
Jackson did something stupid and now he’s in trouble for it, that was his choice. I’m not even his
girlfriend anymore; it’s certainly not my job to bail him out.