Page 96 of Undone By The Mountain Daddies

“No. He’s Ironman.”

“Poor Sienna! They’re clearly taking advantage of her.”

“Someone needs to act on this.”

“Yeah. Get her out of there.”

As expected, people are trying to identify Cash and Knox, but they don’t seem to be having much luck.

I resume scrolling through my notifications, stalling when I see another message from Holden.

HOLDEN GRAY: Ring me when you get the chance.

My throat tightens. He has got to be kidding. I ignored his first message, just like he used to do to me all the time.

I used to text him throughout the day multiple times, and he’d leave me on delivered for hours. Fucking hours. It made me wanna bang my head against the wall.

I kept my phone on silent for that reason, so it’d be a surprise checking notifications, seeing if he’d replied. He never did. I’d get anxious checking.

And when he’d finally reply, he’d only give me one word. Two if I was lucky. But I didn’t care. I was too high on the dopamine, ecstatic that he had actually replied, to care about what he actually said back to me.

Funny. Now he’s getting a taste of his own medicine. Hurts to go hours without receiving a response, doesn't it?

I open the message thread and see that he’s messaged seven fucking times. Full sentences and everything.

Sure, I’ll give him a call. But I’ll only be able to tolerate the bastard with alcohol in my system.

I exit Knox’s room and enter the living area, raiding the cupboards until I come across some whiskey—the same bottle from when we played Never Have I Ever.

Holden wouldn’t dream of playing that game. Said it was childish and inappropriate—two adjectives that don’t really go hand in hand.

I’m sure he never wanted to play because he was so basic and didn’t want anyone to find out. Not like he had any reason to be embarrassed. Everyone in LA is bland. I was too before I came up here.

I unscrew the cap and almost choke when I smell the stuff. It’s like being hit in the face. Hell yeah.

I grab a glass and fill it up, taking generous gulps.

I missed out on so much fun when I was younger. While people from back home were getting drunk every weekend at parties, I was working my ass off. Sometimes, if I was lucky, Holden would give me one very diluted martini to sip on. But I was only allowed one and couldn’t down it.

“People are watching your every move, Sienna. You’re new to this industry. When you make mistakes and act out of line, people remember.”

What a sad, boring life…

That I now have to go back to.

I guzzle the whiskey, feeling a little optimistic. What if I flip the narrative completely? I go from being Sienna Lane, who can do no wrong—perfect body, perfect hair, perfect face—to a party girl.

How’s that for having some agency and taking control of your life? Ass out. Sleep with whoever you want. Getting drunk every weekend. No shame.

“Sienna?” Eli walks into the room when I’m in the middle of downing whiskey. He looks pointedly at the clock. “Isn’t it a little early for that?”

“Chill out, why don’t you? It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

“Have you even eaten today?”

“Nope.” I peer over the glass, checking out Eli. He’s shirtless again. And, damn, those muscles... I take another big chug of whiskey. “Has anyone ever told you that your abs look like a cheese grater?”

“Not exactly,” Eli smirks and shoves his hands into his camo pants pockets.