Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Her head rolls to the side, and she mumbles something incoherent, but then she holds up three, then four, then two fingers before her head rolls to the other side, and she passes out cold, lightly snoring.
“Fucking hell,” I curse. My fear is confirmed. She’s not drunk. She’s been drugged.
CHAPTER 16
Ivy
My head and body ache like I’ve had way too many drinks. My mouth is dry, and my eyes feel like they’re glued together. I eventually manage to crack my lids enough to see I’m in a dark room. Dread fills my stomach as I realize this isn’t my room or my bed. Where the fuck am I? I start breathing heavily as panic grips my throat like a vise. The last thing I remember is that guy Lester was trying to talk to me while I drank some water because my head was spinning.
“Water is next to you.” I jump at the sound of the voice, my heart rate picking up speed until my brain registers that the voice is familiar.
“Hawke?” I ask carefully. He shifts in the seat he’s sitting in beside the bed. I can just make out his bulky silhouette in the dark.
“I’m here, baby,” he says gently. Ordinarily, I’d reprimand him for using a nickname like that on me, but right now, I’m just relieved he’s here. “This might hurt a little.”
A side table light turns on, and my eyes immediately close, affronted at the brightness. He quickly dims it and then hands me a bottle of painkillers. I try my hardest to push myself up, but I just feel like shit. Everything aches. He holds out a glass of water. That’s when I realize I’m in his bed. I try to put pieces together, but it’s just blank. Why am I here? I don’t remember seeing him at the party.
The party…
I swear I only had a couple of drinks. I’m so confused right now, and when I reach for the water, my hands are so shaky that I drop the glass and spill it all over the floor.
I want to cry. I don’t know why, but I just do. I’m overwhelmed. The pain, the unknown…
“It’s okay,” he says quietly as he leans over to pick it up. He’s looking at me like I’m some wounded animal, and I fucking hate it. What happened to me? “I’ll get you some more.” He walks into his bathroom to fill the glass with more water.
I run my hands through my hair. I look under the blankets, comforted a little, when I find I’m still wearing my dress.
“Why am I here?” I ask when he returns. I reach for the glass again, but my hands won’t stop shaking, so he puts it to my lips. My eyebrows furrow in confusion, but I feel so out of sorts that I let him.
“Drink.” I do as he says and take a sip. It immediately moistens my mouth, bringing relief, but it also brings on an unsettling wave of nausea in my stomach. I take another two mouthfuls and pull away.
“Did you accept drinks from anyone?” he questions, now sitting at the edge of the bed. The mattress dips to the side under his weight.
Dread fills me because there’s usually only one reason people ask that question. And I know the truth of it even when it’s unsaid. I was drugged.
“Yes,” I say quietly.
Blank. It’s all blank. All I remember is walking into the party. Having a few shots. And it becomes hazy after that. Then nothing.
“Drink,” he says again as if distracting me from my spiraling thoughts. This might be the gentlest I’ve ever seen Hawke. But underneath his cool demeanor is a rage I’m too scared to draw attention to. I’m used to his brother being quiet and calm. But Hawke is full of expression. Not right now, though. He’s as terrifying as he is gentle.
Sure, I’ve seen him pick fights, but those times feel different from now. This is a palpable tension, reminding me just how dangerous he truly is.
“You know better than to do that. Did you forget where you come from?” he scolds.
“Please don’t reprimand me right now,” I quickly bite back as I try to keep the tears away. He looks up then as if seeing me for the first time, and I see the remorse in his eyes.
“I’m sorry. I just—I feel so useless right now.” He blows out a breath.
“This isn’t your fault,” I assure him as I put my hand on his shoulder. The motion of me stretching toward him must be too much for my stomach to handle because the water I drank comes up just as quickly as it went down. I vomit all over his arm and the side of the bed.
I sit back, mortified.
The big oaf doesn’t even move, unfazed, as he brushes back my hair. I try to tell him to stop. That it’s gross, but I vomit again. I’m gasping as I fight back and forth with whether my stomach is settled.