Page 1 of Deadly Secrets

Chapter 1. EIVISSA VIBES

(Sienna)

I’m never drinking again.

That was all my brain could think as I emptied my stomach contents inside the toilet, and by contents, I meant the little booze that my system refused to process from last night. I couldn’t even keep track of how many times I’d told myself the same thing over the past three weeks since Sarah and I landed in Ibiza, but my promises had gone out the window every night I stepped foot inside Pacha.

We’d been planning this vacation since we began our final year at Rubin American Boarding School in Switzerland, and I was certainly testing my limits when it came to partying hard. Every day on the island felt like Groundhog Day. We’d kick-start the day by having breakfast in our villa, then chill at a different cala—those hidden beaches with crystal-clear waters that screamed Spanish paradise. When the sun dipped below the horizon, it was time to hit the club, and I’d be ready to hunt for my next prey. This usually meant searching for a cute Spanish guy to sweep me off my feet and help me forget the nightmare waiting for me back home.

Today was our last day on vacation. Sarah would return to England, and I would have to return to New York and face my parents.

When I stepped outside the bathroom, the sunlight blinded me momentarily as I tried to take in my surroundings. My head pounded, and I reeked of vodka.

Collapsing onto the bed, I grabbed my phone from the bedside table and saw it was ten o’clock. I’d barely managed to get three hours of sleep, and the loud snores from my right made my headache even worse.

I tried remembering what had happened the night before, but the last thing I could recall was drinking tequila shots with Pedro—or was his name Pablo?—and having one of the most disappointing fucks of my life. He wouldn’t have found my clit even if I drew him a map, so I guessed I had put as much energy into remembering his name as he did in making me orgasm.

I gave Pedro—well, let’s call him Pedro—a nudge in an attempt to wake him up.

“You need to leave.” He groaned but continued sleeping, so I kicked him until he opened his eyes.

“What?” He sounded disoriented.

I was being a bitch, but I didn’t care. I’d asked him to leave, but at some point, after our unremarkable night, I dozed off, and he’d stuck around.

“I said that you need to leave.”

“Are you always this friendly with your lovers?”

A lover? Please, last night could almost qualify as PG-13.

I pinched the bridge of my nose with my fingers to bring some relief. “I have a flight in five hours, and Sarah and I need to check out in two, so please grab your things and go.” My mood was souring by the minute. I would be home in less than twenty-four hours, something I wasn’t looking forward to.

Mumbling something in Spanish that I couldn’t quite make out, Pedro quickly dressed, collected his belongings, and headed for the bedroom door. Just before reaching for the doorknob, he paused and turned around.

“Can I have your number?” he asked.

“What for?” I deadpanned. “I live in the US. I don’t see the point.”

“Joder cómo se ha levantado la americana...Well, nice meeting you, Sienna. It was fun.”

I didn’t respond. While he might have had a great night, mine had been anything but below average.

As soon as he left, I wasted no time and made a beeline for the shower. I had less than two hours to pack my things and have breakfast, and given my current condition, it felt like insufficient time.

* * *

I dragged my feet downstairs until I reached the back garden, where Sarah enjoyed breakfast. We’d secured a stunning Mediterranean villa with breathtaking sea views overlooking the pebbly beach at Platja des Codolar. Even after three weeks, the sight continued to leave me breathless.

“Good morning, beautiful,” she exclaimed cheerfully. Sarah was in a good mood, which made me suspect that her night had likely been more enjoyable than mine. I wanted so badly to smack that smile off her face…

“Hey,” I grunted in response to her happy-go-lucky attitude. Sarah laughed while she poured me a cup of coffee. I sat beside her and arranged some toasted bread on my plate. After drizzling some extra virgin olive oil over it, I added a couple of slices of jamón serrano.

God, I love Spanish breakfasts.

“I spotted Pablo heading out about half an hour ago.” So he was Pablo, not Pedro. Oops. My bad. “He seemed a little upset. What did you say to the poor guy?”

“The poor guy? Worst fuck of my life, good riddance.”

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