The darkness of the bathroom was absolute.
Aria couldn't breathe. The gloved hand clamped over her mouth tasted of cheap leather and something chemical. The thick arm wrapped around her waist lifted her completely off the marble floor, crushing the air from her lungs.
She was dragged backward, her bare feet kicking uselessly at the air as the heavy wooden door of the restroom was kicked open, leading not back into the pristine aisles of Elysium, but into a narrow, concrete service corridor.
The air instantly dropped twenty degrees.
"Dépêche-toi! (Hurry up!)" a harsh voice hissed in the dark.
"Elle se débat, putain! (She's struggling, fuck!)" her captor grunted, his grip tightening like a vice around her ribs.
They hit a metal push-bar door. It banged open, and Aria was suddenly swallowed by the freezing, damp air of a New York back alley. The smell of eucalyptus and expensive produce was replaced by the stench of stale garbage and stagnant water.
