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“You think?”
“She told me Monique had made a fresh pitcher. There’s a full one and this glass had margarita too. My guess is Joey drank hers, Monique didn’t, and she dropped the glass onto the floor when she passed out. Then Ash came in and Monique shot him.”
“Likely,” Dante agrees, his eyes scanning the room. “Joey’s purse is gone?”
“Looks like. They probably dumped it somewhere.”
“Her St. Christopher?” he asks.
“It’s broken, remember? When they took me. It’s on her nightstand.”
“Fuck!” he snaps. “I promise you we will find her.”
“I know, compagno, because I will tear this goddamn country and everyone in it to pieces until we do.”
ChapterForty-Four
JOEY
Ow! There’s a reason I don’t drink a lot. Hangovers are hell. A hell of a lot of fun while you’re getting one, not so much when you actually live through it.
My head throbs as I open my eyes. Damn margaritas.
Except I’m not in my room. Not in my bed. These covers aren’t soft like mine. They’re rough and scratchy against my bare calves.
Holy shit! Where the hell am I? Where is Max? Where’s Ash?
Bile burns my throat. My headache has nothing to do with the margaritas. I banged my head. But Ash was there. He told me we had to go home.
What the hell happened?Think, Joey!
I was changing out of my bathing suit. Monique gave me a cocktail.
Monique! That bitch fucking drugged me. And then she shot Ash. Bile surges up from my gullet.
I survey my current situation. My dress is dirty, but I’m still in it, my underwear too. My knees are scraped from when I fell. My wrists and ankles are bound together with zip ties. I twist against them, but the plastic only tightens, pinching my skin.
“Hey! Where the hell am I?” I yell, but my voice is little more than a croak, my throat raw and dry. “Hey!” I try again, and this time it’s loud enough to send someone walking through the door.
“Morning, princess,” Monique says, wearing a saccharine smile.Bitch!
“What the hell, Mo?” I shriek. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“A joke?” She throws her head back and laughs like the psycho she so obviously is. “What exactly do you think is funny, Jo? Although seeing you all trussed up like a turkey is kinda funny.”
My stomach rolls. She’s unhinged. “What the hell, Mo? You’re supposed to be my best friend!”
“Yourbest friend?” She whines the last two words in a mocking tone. “You have any idea how fucking infuriating it is to be your friend, Joey? Watching you get every single fucking thing you want just because you’reJoey Moretti.” She rolls her eyes and sticks her index finger down her throat.
I blink at her. Where the hell is this coming from? “But…you and me… we were…”
“You never liked me. You were only ever my friend to make yourself feel good and we both know it.”
“That’s not true. You’re rewriting our entire lives.”
She stalks toward the bed and leans over me. “You are a spoiled little bitch, Joey. Snapping your fingers and getting whatever you want.”
“You have everything, Mo. Any guy you want. Money.” Those are the only things that have ever been important to her. “What more do I have that you don’t?”
