Page 107 of Shattered Pieces

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

SKEETER

Ihad a thumping fucking headache, my mouth dry like cotton, and I groaned as I rolled over in bed to find a bottle of water and ibuprofen on the bedside table. I’d had a pretty big night throwing myself a pity party, knowing I was working myself too damn hard but not knowing how to take some time to myself without the crew falling apart in the process. We were in the middle of a war, I couldn’t just take a vacation.

Where the fuck was I?

I slipped out of bed once downing the pills and found my clothes on the floor, so I pulled them on before leaving the room, halting when I recognized Marco’s living room.

“It’s about time you woke up. It’s nine,” Marco drawled as I walked into the kitchen, finding him at the counter drinking coffee and smoking a joint.

“How did I get here?” I scowled. “Did you drug me?”

He laughed, standing to make another coffee. “No, I didn’t. I got home to find you drunk and pathetic. Tucked you into bed and had to fight you off. You get handsy when you’re drunk.”

I frowned, trying to remember. Most of it was fuzzy, but I definitely remembered him being in bed with me and my mouth all over him.

“You seriously got me into bed while I was that drunk?” I snapped, an amused look on his face as he handed me the coffee.

“I put you to bed to sleep. You’re the one I had to fight off. You were all sad and horny. Trust me, I was a fucking saint because I knew you’d wake up and kill me if I bent you the fuck over. Not to mention I’m missing visitation with the princess right now for you. Hunt and Ty left at six to make the drive down to Fairview.”

“Why am I even here?”

“Fucked if I know. Like I said, you were just sitting in my kitchen like a drunk creeper when I got home last night. I take it you’ve changed your mind about a morning fuck?”

“You’re delusional if you think I’m fucking you,” I growled, and he rolled his eyes.

“Hey, I’m not the one that was shoving my hands under your clothes and leaving bite marks all over you. Was there something bothering you last night? You mentioned Slash a few times and not hating me, but I’m pretty sure that’s not enough to make you try and drunk-fuck me.”

I racked my brain, trying to figure out what the fuck had happened. I didn’t seem to have my keys on me, so I didn’t drive. Unless I left them in the ignition somewhere.

“Drink the coffee. I’ll take you home and see if we can find your car,” Marco stated when I didn’t say anything, and my stupid heart beat a little faster when he ran his fingers through my hair.

I snagged his wrist and he paused, waiting for me to speak.

“Why didn’t you kick me out last night?”

“Because I give a shit about you,” he answered, pulling his wrist from my hold and taking my hand instead, giving it a squeeze. “Things must have been bad in your head if you came here, so I wasn’t going to send you packing when you asked to stay.”

There were too many questions in my head, and I let his hand go like it burned me. He didn’t react, moving back to his seat and lighting another joint.

We didn’t talk while I finished my coffee, and he silently handed my gun and knife over when we were ready to leave. I considered shooting him, but it wasn’t a crime to babysit my dumbass for getting too drunk.

Once at my house, some of the panic kicked in. The McLaren wasn’t there, so where the fuck was it?

“I’ll call D,” Marco offered, and as much as I didn’t want Diesel to know what had happened, my phone was also missing, so I couldn’t call him myself once Marco left.

I gritted my teeth and nodded, Marco giving me a smirk as he pressed the phone to his ear. He knew this whole thing was pissing me off, and his cocky bullshit was back now we’d left his house.

“Good morning. Any idea where your boss’ car is? He crashed at mine and he’s lost it. He was really drunk,” Marco said brightly, making me scowl as I snatched the phone from him.

“Is my car at the Shed?” I asked, hearing him snort.

“Yes, it is. You spent the night at Marco’s? Skeet⁠—”

I hung up and handed the phone back, glaring at him. “It’s at the Shed. Take me there.”

“You sure you want to pull up in my car? People might talk,” he grinned, backing out of my driveway and heading towards the Shed.