Aston smirks, leading me over to a plush velvet couch. “Only the best for our VIP guests.” He snaps his fingers again, and a scantily clad waitress appears with a tray of drinks. Aston plucks a glass filled with a shimmering fuchsia liquid and puts it in my hand. “Here, this will help you… relax.”
I eye the drink suspiciously, swirling it in my glass. “What the fuck is it?”
“Just a little cocktail made special for you. It’ll make you feel good, princess. I promise.”
I shrug and knock back the drink, wincing as it burns down my throat. It tastes like pineapple and something else, something sharp and chemical.
The room starts to tilt and spin, colors bleeding together in a kaleidoscopic haze. Aston’s grinning face swims in my vision as he leans in close.
Fuck, something’s wrong.
“There now, isn’t that better?” His voice sounds far away, echoing as if from underwater.
I try to stand, but my legs won’t cooperate.
Fuck! Shit!
Panic claws at my throat as the realization hits me.
The drink! He must have… drugged me…
eight
Clara
In the past few years, I’ve lost count of the number of times someone has tried to take a hit on me.
Car bombs, assassins jumping at me in restrooms, poisoned food—being a Caldwell means someone is always gunning for my life.
I’ve accepted it.
To ensure my safety, I always put measures in place. My bodyguards sweep every location.
But tonight is different.
The one time I let my guard down, let myself believe I could have one fucking night of fun, and here I am.
Drugged and trapped in a room with a psychopath.
“Fuck… you…” I slur, the words feeling thick and clumsy on my tongue. Whatever he drugged me with is hitting hard, making everything blur at the edges.
I try to get to my feet, knowing my survival depends on fighting the man in front of me despite how weak I feel.
Aston just laughs, the sound grating against my ears. “Such language! And here I thought you were a proper lady, Miss Caldwell.”
I try to lunge at him, but my body won’t cooperate. I stumble, nearly falling on my face, before catching myself on the edge of a plush velvet sofa.
Aston tsks, shaking his head. “Careful now, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself. At least, not before I’ve had my fun.”
Icy fear trickles down my spine at the implication, but I refuse to let it show. I won’t give this bastard the satisfaction.
“Who… sent you…” I manage to rasp out, stalling for time. If I can just keep him talking, maybe I can clear my head. Figure a way out of this.
“Now, now, a good hitman never reveals his employer. Surely you know that.” Aston smirks, confidence oozing from every pore. He thinks he’s already won.
Like hell.
I take a shaky step forward, then another. It’s like wading through quicksand, every movement a herculean effort. But I won’t go down easy. Not to this smug prick.
