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Something stabs me in the chest when her eyes pierce mine. I almost want to look down, like I’m expecting there to be a knife sticking out of me. That’s how real the feeling is. “With who?” It’s a lie, not even a good one. My family would be so disappointed if they knew how bad I’ve gotten.
This girl might be smart, but she can’t think straight with the drugs in her system, plus whatever she drank before Jake slipped something in her glass. Her head falls back against the pillow, and she moans softly. “My head never hurt this bad before.”
“Here. Drink this.” I try to guide the water bottle to her lips, but she turns her face away.
“No. Don’t make me drink that. I don’t know what’s in there.”
For fuck’s sake. “I can’t help you if you won’t let me.”
“I don’t want it.” She clamps her lips shut, then squeezes her eyes closed. Like a toddler. How am I supposed to deal with this?
“Here. Open your eyes.” I reach down to where I left the second bottle on the floor and open it while she watches. “There. I just opened it. I couldn’t have put anything in it. Now drink.” She takes it and gulps some of it down before handing it back and closing her eyes again.
“So tired.”
“Sleep now. I’ll be here when you wake up.” When she opens her eyes and whimpers a little, I add, “Nobody’s going to hurt you. Nobody will be here but me.”
“How…” Her eyelids slide closed, but she keeps whispering, “How do I know you won’t hurt me?”
I don’t have an answer to that. She’s asleep now, anyway. When she wakes, she’ll have a hangover, but that won’t last forever. She’ll want to run from me, too. I realize it and expect it. She doesn’t trust me yet. I can’t let her go—that much I know without having to think about it. It would be dangerous for her.
And unacceptable for me. She’s never getting away from me now that I have her. Now that I’ve touched her and heard her speak and looked into her eyes. She’s in my life now and she’s never leaving it, which is why I tie her ankle to the bed frame; in case she gets any ideas once she’s strong enough and sober enough to try to leave.
Jake will be after me for this. He doesn’t know where I live—nobody does except for the people I trust most, and they’re back in New York—but that doesn’t mean he and the guys he works with won’t comb every inch of the island looking for me. For us. I can’t help but snarl at the thought of it.
One thing’s for sure.
If he tries to put his hands on her again, he’s dead.
Because she belongs to me. And I’ve killed people for less.
3
Bree
My head is killing me.
I can’t move without it feeling like somebody’s shoving an ice pick into my ear so hard it’s sticking out the other side. I almost wish somebody would do that because I wouldn’t have to go through this hell if I were dead.
My eyes won’t open. The bit of light coming through my eyelids tells me it’s morning, or at least daytime. I’m pretty sure if I saw sunlight my head would explode or fall off. Maybe fall off, then explode.
“Darla?” My mouth is so dry. “Kim? I need water and aspirin.” They don’t respond. I don’t even hear a grunt or a groan. Of all nights for them to both sleep in somebody else’s room.
I attempt to roll onto my side, hoping to claw my way to the bathroom, but something stops me. Something around my right ankle. Tangled up in the sheets? I try to kick them away, but it doesn’t work. Something’s holding me back.
“You’re awake.” A door closes somewhere nearby. “Good. Try not to throw up this time.”
Why is there a man in my room? I don’t know his voice. Did I bring somebody back with me last night? I try like hell to remember, but it’s all a blank. Not a blur. Totally blank, empty. Struggling with it only makes my head hurt worse, but I have to try. Who is he?
At least now I know why my mouth tastes like death.
I decide to be brave and open one eye a slit. What I see doesn’t make me feel better. I’m in a strange place and this looks nothing like the rooms at the resort, meaning I’m someplace else entirely. It’s nice, sure—clean, comfortable, and I can hear water lapping at the shore somewhere nearby—but it’s not my hotel room.
So I let somebody take me back to their room? Talk about risky. How drunk did I get last night?
“I threw up?” I lift my head a little, enough to see who the deep, rumbly voice is coming from.
And what I see makes me sit up before I can think twice. The room spins and my stomach lurches, but nothing comes up. Must be empty. The nausea isn’t what bothers me most now. What’s got me sweating is recognizing the man standing across from me, leaning up against a sink.
