Chapter 5
KAYLA
Saturday night
I can’t breathe.
But then again, maybe that’s because my own hand is clamped over my quivering mouth.
I see the fire before most of the other patrons can tell what is happening. And as the DJ begins to spin a hard-hitting Halsey record, my dancing slows to a stop, replaced by the silent scream that refuses to leave my lips.
Just two minutes before the bright flash of light met my stare, I’d been dancing in the middle of the cherry-colored hardwood floor, my arms in the air as I undulated to a rhythm and blues-laced EDM beat that mixed sultry sounds with a booming bass staccato.
It was my first night’s foray into Manhattan nightlife and for a woman who wanted nothing to do with anything that involved placing two feet out of her front door, I wasn’t doin
