Smoke permeated the packed space as midnight-blue strobes swept over damp, sweating bodies writhing to the primal beat, rubbing and sliding against each other, simulating sex and sin and desperation. She’d selected this bar not only for its reputation of uninhibited decadence but also for its clientele. Gay, straight, bi, transgender, androgynous—it was open invitation. And open season for a predator. A girl squeezed in so tightly beside her at the crowded bar that her flesh burned and her scent enticed. “Flippin’ fake ID.” The bartender tossed the ID back at the girl. “Get lost.” She gave him the finger and spun around, hiking her elbows on the bar which was sticky with spilled booze. There she stayed, pouting, glaring through her heavily made-up eyes. “Asshole,” she muttered loudly enough for anyone within earshot to hear. “Like this place gives two flying figs about the law.”
