One of the members of his MC stands by the street and when he sees us, Hush tosses something in the air, the other guy catching it with ease. I listen to his heartbeat and begin to close my eyes but popping them back open in a panic.
“Lydia.” My mouth is so dry, like sandpaper and I’m not even sure if he hears me.
“She’s safe.”
Thank God.
Hush climbs into the back seat of the SUV, Lydia sleeping with her head against the window.
I stay lying in his lap, his arms enclosing around me. Someone’s driving but I can’t make out who. My vision is off—blurry still.
“Can you walk?”
We must have made it back to my apartment or wherever because the car isn’t moving, which I hadn’t noticed until now as Hush whispers down to me.
“Maybe.” I’m not sure myself.
He says something to the driver who now, getting a better look, is Bullet, their Vice President.
I’m being shuffled off Hush’s lap, his strong arms steadying me once again as he tucks me to his side helping me inside my building. There’s an invisible weight on my shoulders, creating the false idea I’m heavier than my buck thirty.
“Thanks for…” I stumble on my own feet, clearly unable to walk like a normal person.
Hush doesn’t say a word as he keeps an arm around me, helping me up the stairs. I don’t ask how he knows where my apartment is, nor do I even care now. I only crave to shut my eyes.
Searching for my keys in my crossbody purse is a struggle and the infuriating anger hits me like a brick when I let out a frustrated grunt.
“Let me see.” He reaches around with his other hand, grabbing them at first try, brushing my skin along the way.
My head is a mess, and the building won’t stop moving. “Fuckers spiked my drink, didn’t they?” I manage to say in realization, a dryness in my words from the drug.
“Yeah,” he says in gritted teeth as he closes and locks the door behind us. “You need to throw it up.”
Humiliation runs through me, knowing he’s about to witness me puking my guts out.
He helps me to the bathroom, the cold tile beneath my knees as I kneel in front of the toilet.
“Do you need help?” His question would have moved me if I wasn’t so angry at myself.
“I know there’s not much left, but I’d like to hold on to some of my remaining dignity.”
He nods, giving me the privacy I seek, and then I force myself to throw up, emptying my stomach into the bowl.
My life is a joke.
I slowly make my way to my bedroom, clinging to the walls for support. Hush waiting for me as he leans against it, watching me with a hint of venom behind his scowl. He can’t possibly be angry at me. Although, I should have taken his warning and left with Lydia. It is my fault.
“I’m going to change,” I tell him, swaying to my drawers to pull out sleep pants and a shirt which was lot harder than I thought.
He leaves the room as I try for my zipper in the back. A simple task being ten times harder with a date rape drug in my system.
“Fuck.” My teeth grind in frustration. I should’ve never gone out tonight.
I stand in the doorway, my pathetic body frozen in helplessness as Hush is already moving toward me. “I need your help.” The quiet, shameful tone in my voice is all he needs as a sign to play hero again. “I can’t get the stupid zipper.” Whoever designed this dress needs to be fired.
At my back, the heat from Hush’s body encloses mine, but it’s hesitation and apprehension I sense most. He’s afraid to touch me though he has before, but not like this. This is intimate.
Just as I’m about to turn around, telling him I’ll just sleep in this fucking thing so he can avoid any uncomfortableness, a feather like touch grazes my skin before disappearing over the material.
