She lashes out in fury, the silver rings on her fingers cutting my cheek. Her friend snarls in annoyance.
“Fuck, Katya, don’t damage him! It’ll look suspicious!”
“The bastard’s ruined my dress and shoes!”
“Like I give a fuck. With what Conrad’s paying, you can afford to replace them,” the brunette huffs crossly and shoves me against a dumpster. I stumble, but already my mind is clearing.
I have to get away from these women before this Conrad arrives. I’m too out of it to stand a chance against some beefy guy, one who’s likely armed.
If I had my phone, I’d call for help, but fuck knows where it is. I trawl back through my memories while the women bicker. A vague recollection of dropping my phone on the table and leaving it there pings into my brain.
I need Chiara.
The women aren’t watching me. They’re too busy staring at a phone and muttering about Conrad taking his sweet time.
My brain has cleared, and I feel marginally more alert, so I step sideways, intending to head for the metal door. If I can make my way back into the club, it will be easier to lose these bitches.
But my foot kicks an empty bottle, and it alerts the women. They jump toward me and grab my arms.
“No, baby, you’re sticking with us.”
“Let go!” I hiss. I would never normally hit a woman, but I’m over this shit. The redhead yelps as I shove her back. I might be wasted, but I’m still a lot bigger than her.
Her friend curses and pulls a gun on me.
“Back off, Romeo.” Her hand is steady. She’s clearly no amateur. “I can’t afford to lose you, so suck it up, buttercup.”
What would my brother do in this situation? He wouldn’t be in this situation, is my best guess, but if he were?
My brain kicks into gear. If I’m so valuable, then this woman isn’t going to risk shooting me. And besides, we’re too close to the road. A gunshot would attract attention.
I lunge at her, and she squeals in surprise, not expecting me to fight back. I grab her wrist and twist, not enjoying the sharp snap followed by a high-pitched scream. The redhead yells and punches me in the side. Her small fist doesn’t do a lot of damage, but the roundhouse kick she aims at my balls brings me to my knees.
My reactions suck. Kane would laugh his ass off if he could see me now.
I lie curled in a fetal position, questioning my life choices up to this point as pain slices my balls. My chances of fathering kids just dropped by one hundred percent.
The crash of the metal door slamming against a wall barely registers. If these two women have friends, I’m so fucked.
A male voice utters something in a language I don’t recognize. The redhead yelps back in the same language. I’ve no clue what they’re saying, but I recognize my brother’s name in the exchange.
When I dare to look up, the brunette kicks me in the head, and it’s lights out.
When I come to, I’m lying on a bed. Is this my apartment? If so, how did I get here?
My head throbs, and my tongue feels like it’s stuck to the roof of my mouth. I’d kill for a drink of water right now, but that would require moving, and I think I might vomit if I try.
A stocky figure walks in from another room. I try to focus on their face, but it’s too dark to make out who they are. Strong hands pull me upright, and then a glass of liquid presses against my lips. I swallow automatically, grimacing at the taste of vodka.
“Water,” I try to say, but nothing comes out.
The shadowy figure tips back my head and holds my nose, and I’m forced to drink every last drop. My head spins as I fall back onto the covers.
Unable to keep my eyes open any longer, I roll onto my side. I hear a thud when the glass drops onto the carpet, and then the person leaves.
Silence stretches out as the drugs and alcohol in my system take effect. The last thing I see is Chiara’s face.
Tears run down her cheeks as she calls my name repeatedly, but when I try to answer, she doesn’t hear me.
