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He would guide me. Tell me what a fuckup I’d been, but then he’d help me figure out a way to fix this shit.
Pulling my phone from my jeans pocket, I fumbled to unlock it, blinking down as the image of Piper on the lock screen blurred before my eyes. Shaking my head, I got my phone unlocked and then called Jagger.
“Where’re you?” I asked, then frowned, realizing my words were slurred. “Where…are…you?” I spoke slower, trying to make sure he understood.
“I’m at the club,” my best friend said, sounding annoyed with me. “Where the fuck are you? You should have been here over an hour ago.”
I shook my head to clear it and glanced around. “I’m the club…” Realizing my words weren’t making sense, I glanced at the half-drunk beer in my other hand then over at Smith. He blurred, turning from one, to two, then to three of my friend and drummer in less than a second. “Shift.”
“Cannon, what the fuck? You sound like you’re having a stroke.”
Turning my head, I looked at Asher, all three of him, and thought I caught a smirk. “Jajs, dey flucked me uff.”
“They what?” he shouted. “Who? Where are you?”
I didn’t think I could speak clearly enough to tell him. With my vision only getting worse by the second, I hung up and then struggled to send Jagger my location, hoping I got it to go through before the world went completely black around me. As I started to feel the void pull me under, I vowed that Smith and Asher were dead as soon as I could see again.
****
I woke up with a start, my arms swinging as I sat straight up.
The world spun around me, but I still swung my fists in a fight-or-flight reflex.
Groaning at the pounding in my head, I glanced around. I was in a bedroom with a lamp on. I didn’t recognize the place, but it didn’t look like a hotel room, so I was sure it was someone’s home. Inhaling slowly, I tried to gather my bearings.
My shirt was off, as well as my jeans. I was under the covers, but my boxer briefs were on. Beside the bed, I saw multiple condom wrappers, but no sign of the rubbers that had been in them. I knew they weren’t mine. Not only had I not needed to use condoms since being with Piper, but from the packaging, I could tell they weren’t the right size. Vaguely, I remembered seeing Smith with a stash of the same brand on the tour bus in the past. Sniffing, I could smell the faint scent of perfume, but the room didn’t smell like sex.
Just to be safe, I pulled down my boxers and grabbed my cock, making sure it didn’t have any jizz or condom residue on it. When I saw it was clean, and I didn’t catch the distinctive smell of latex or lube, I blew out a relieved breath and pulled my underwear back into place.
I felt hungover as fuck, something I hadn’t been in years. Not since…that night. I didn’t allow myself to drink more than one or two beers, and never anything stronger, for fear of getting drunk. I didn’t want what I did that night to happen again, so I didn’t put myself in a position where it could happen.
Only, apparently, I’d been played, and now I didn’t know what I’d missed.
Slowly, I got out of bed and searched for my clothes. I found my shirt on the floor at the end of the bed and my jeans in the connecting bathroom. The place was tidy and obviously a guest room, but I saw nothing that could tell me whose place I was at. While I was in the bathroom, I splashed water on my face in an attempt to clear my head, but it did nothing to offer any relief to the pounding at my temples and the back of my head. My stomach was sour, but thankfully, I didn’t feel like I was going to blow chunks.
What I needed was my phone. It wasn’t in my pocket, and a search of the bedroom didn’t uncover the device that could help me figure out just how much trouble I’d gotten into once the world had disappeared.
Fuck, I didn’t even know how long ago that was. It could have been hours or days. The room I was in had closed drapes, and I stumbled over to them, trying to figure out if it was day or night, maybe even give me a clue about where the hell I’d been taken.
As I drew back a curtain, I saw the sun was coming up, but other than that, I was clueless as to where I was.
The sound of humming reached me just as the door opened. A woman with long blond hair, dressed in a robe, stood there with a huge mug of steaming coffee in one hand and a plate of dry toast in the other. “Good morning,” she greeted with a smirk.
“Who the fuck are you, and how did I get here?” I demanded, thankful to hear my words weren’t slurred or garbled.
Walking farther into the room, she held out the mug. “Here. Drink this to help with the headache. And this dry toast should soak up whatever is left in your stomach.”
“What would be in my stomach?” I demanded, not bothering to take either dish from her. My gaze stayed locked on the woman, distrust for her rolling off me and filling the room with tension.
“Relax, big guy. I’m only here to help you.”
“From where I’m standing, you appear to have helped fuck me over. I’m not drinking or eating anything but what I make for myself.” I released the hold on the drapes and cautiously walked around her, never turning my back to her as I moved toward the door.
“You can leave whenever you want,” she said with amusement. “I’m not holding you here against your will, Cannon Cage.”
“Where’s my phone?” I demanded as I backed out of the room. Once I was in the hall, I quickly found the living room. A brief glance around didn’t turn up a single sign of my phone, who the chick in the robe was, or where the fuck I was.
“Smith and his friend took all your stuff with them when they dropped you off here,” she informed me, taking a drink from the mug she still held. “Including your wallet.”
