Page 48 of Trigger Happy Ending

“WHY?” Soren yells, throwing the stupid question back in my face. “Jesus, sorry for trying to help.”

He’s lying. I know a liar when I see one. His eyes flick away from mine. A telltale sign of a liar. Not that I care, I guess. At least I’m out of that fucking nightmare.

I toss the knife across the bed, it falls off, hitting the floor. I make a mental note to pick that up in the morning. Falling back onto the mattress, Soren remains seated on the edge of my bed. Normally, I’d demand he leave me alone, but I’m too wrung out to care. I stare at the ceiling.

“What were you dreaming about anyway?”

“Nothing,” I lie flatly. “It was nothing.”

He braces his hands on either side of his body and is about to push up off the bed to leave, but something makes me roll towards him and stop him. My hand wraps around his forearm. His gaze drops to where my fingers are on him.

“Wait,” I whisper. “Stay until I fall asleep.”

I’m not even sure why I said it. But something about his presence in this moment calms me. It’s all very confusing, and I guess Soren feels the same, because suspicion flashes in his eyes. “Is this another one of your mind games?”

Fair question, I have totally fucked with him since the day we met. But I’m not fucking with him now. I’m too tired. Too sad. My eyes drift closed.

Somewhere on the edge of sleep, I hear him ask, “Who hurt you?”

“Everyone …” I murmur, before the dark pulls me into a dreamless, yet peaceful, sleep.

Chapter 23

Raine

Ifeel like shit. The first thing I register is the pounding in my skull. It’s a jackhammer straight into my brain. I tell myself it’s just a hangover, I haven’t been shot in the head; although, fuck, it sure feels like it. I touch my ears just to be sure. No brain matter oozing. Good first sign.

The second thing I notice is the weight of a blanket. I’m in bed, tucked in. I crack one eye open. Last night’s mascara makes it a gritty, painful process. Ugh, gross.

I sit up slowly and almost retch. My mouth tastes like something crawled in and died. It’s not like me to drink so much. Not like me at all, actually. But I needed to take the edge off after my shift at the Golden Claw. The way Soren looked at me when I danced for him, like I was the most precious, most beautiful woman on the planet, hit me like a bolt of lightning to the ribcage.

The problem is the attraction is mutual. And that scares me to no end.

I throw the blanket off and groan at the physical effort getting out of bed requires. I shuffle into the ensuite to find a glass of water and painkillers waiting for me on the vanity.

Soren.

I stare at them like they might be poisoned. They might be. I knock them back anyway (at this point, anything is better than this hangover—even poison) and get a glimpse of the creature in the mirror.

I look like hell.

Like I’ve been dragged through the bush backwards.

And—oh shit.

I’m still wearing his shirt.

The one I grabbed from his bed when I got home because I was feeling wild. And like maybe, just maybe, he might come home and match my wildness. But that’s not what happened.

I brace my hands on the vanity and hang my head between my shoulders, almost fainting as my antics from last night come crashing back.

Oh my god.

I. Threw. Knives. At. Him.

And somehow, that’s not the worst part as I remember the abhorrent things I said to him. I weaponized his pain to hurt him. I brought up the death of his terror squad. Admittedly, I don’t know the details about what happened, but I could tell his heart ruptured with my accusation that he was responsible for their deaths.

My stomach lurches at that thought.