I open my eyes, and the light shines through the curtains. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours since I fell asleep, but I feel like I’m on death’s door. My head pounds, and I need coffee as much as I need air. Looking around, I expect to see Emris, but the side he was on is still warm, yet he’s nowhere in sight. I should be happy I’m alone, but my heart pangs at the idea of him not being next to me.
I’m fucking losing it.
I sit up, running a hand down my face before my eyes land on a note lying on the nightstand.
Come downstairs.
The door is unlocked.
-Emris
I setthe note back down and sigh before pushing up from the bed. My clothes are lost somewhere on the floor, and the last thing I want to do is go hunting for them. Instead, I grab the shirt Emris wore last night and pull it over my head. Thankfully, there are some shorts draped on the chair, and I grab those, pulling them on as well.
He better have fucking coffee.
The sound of muffled talking hits my ears, and I slow my pace down the stairs, trying to overhear.
“Have you heard anything?” Carson asks.
“No. But we need to know where she is, and there’s only one person who can hopefully tell us something,” Emris replies, and I can’t help but feel like the person they are referring to is me.
“If we don’t find Susie in the next week, Archer is going to come do it himself, and you know that won’t end well.”
Susie? As in my Susie? I place my hand on the wall and creep forward, careful not to let them see me.
“Yeah, well, this is all your goddamn fault. Again, Carson.” Something scrapes across the floor, probably a stool or chair.
“You really wanna start pointing fingers, Emris? Because you’ve been pretty distracted with the fucking girl upstairs.”
I peek around the corner and see the two guys chest to chest. Rolling my eyes, I decide to do the right thing and break up whatever pissing contest this is.
Men are fucking dumb.
Rounding the corner, I clear my throat, and two sets of eyes swing my way.
“Why are you talking about Susie?” I cross my arms, waiting for something, but neither of them says anything. Emris only sighs and steps away from Carson.
“Coffee?” he asks, walking closer. His eyes never leave mine, but he’s also not answering my question. I’m desperate for caffeine, so I won’t say no.
“Awe, how nice of you to ask your prisoner if she wants something.” I glare at him, but he only smirks. “You know what I’d really love? To go home,” I snark, “but I guess I’ll settle for coffee.”
“Sorry. Not an option. Last time I checked, you no longer have a home, or did you forget?”
I can’t lie. That hurt.
“Yeah, and whose fucking fault is that, asshole? If you and dipshit over there didn’t take me in the first place, I would’ve gone home like normal, and I’d still be living my perfect little life.”
Emris turns toward me with a steaming cup of coffee in hand, and a single brow raised.
“Was it perfect, though? From what I saw, that place was a fucking sack of shit. That roommate of yours is lucky he’s still breathing. From the looks of it, I did you a favor.”
He holds a steaming cup of coffee out to me, and I grab it with enough force that the dark liquid almost spills.
“A favor? You’re joking, right? Being held against my will isn’t a favor, Emris.”
Since this is my first time out of the room upstairs, I take the chance to look around.
This kitchen is fucking huge—something you’d only see in movies or magazines. Granite countertops and black modern light fixtures hang from the middle of the room.
