Page 15 of As the World Falls

I drop my head back onto the arm of my couch and shut my eyes. “Hangover from the pits of hell.”

“Yikes.” I hear him faintly rummage through my kitchen and the sound of running water before he returns with a glass of it and some aspirin. “You were out late last night,” he points out questioningly as he hands me the glass and medicine.

“Uhm…Yeah.” I don’t relent much more than that because I was still trying to come to terms with last night. Plus, I knew Lance’s opinion of my brother. He didn’t trust him and wouldn’t be happy with my looking into his life.

“You got drunk while you were out?” he asks, sitting across from me.

“No. I uh… drank when I got home.”

His eyes travel over me, noting the pair of sweatpants I wore and the pale-yellow sports bra that had a small wine stain on the top left breast. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“Nope. I just had a little girl’s night to myself,” I lie. I hated lying to him. He was my best friend, and I told him practically everything, but when it came to my brother… that was one part of my life I always kept to myself.

But what could I tell him? That I was spying on my brother and trying to uncover some secret, dangerous organization within Labyrinth Crystal to prove that he isn’t as safe and out of the woods as he claims he is? That I think he and his boss might be in the mafia? Even that sounded a little far-fetched to me, but still… something was off about them. Especially James. He was flat-out ruthless, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he were some secret British mob boss or something. I needed to get educated in the mafia industry. Maybe I should switch my preferred romance trope.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Lance asks, pulling me from the emotional rollercoaster inside my head. “You just don’t seem like yourself.”

“I’m fine. Truly.” I try to plaster my bravest smile, hoping it will satisfy him, but he still looks at me warily. I decide it’s time to get up and pretend I am a strong, capable woman who doesn’t get in the faces of alleged criminals if only to convince him.

I stand up, my head pounding harder now that I’m upright, but I try to ignore it as I walk into my kitchen and begin brewing a fresh pot of coffee. When I looked over to my kitchen counter, I spotted my laptop open, which was weird because I don’t remember being on my computer anytime recently.

I click the space bar, and the screen light flashes in my face, giving me the same stimulation of having my retinas fried to dust. I wince, blinking my eyes a couple of times until they’ve adjusted, and then I look at my open email folder, and the coffeepot slips from my hand, shattering and spilling water onto the floor.

I emailed him. Him, as in James Kingston. He, as in, probably is a mobster and is going to kill me now.

“Lia, are you okay?” Lance rushes into my kitchen, and I slam my laptop shut, turning to face him with a smile that feels like it would split my face in half.

“I’m sorry. It just slipped from my fingers. I’m so clumsy when I’m hungover.”

He eyes the mess on the floor, the broken glass everywhere, and then looks at me again. “You’re freaking me out today.”

I chuckle. “You’re such a worry wart, Lancelot,” I say, calling him my childhood nickname, which I gave him because his name reminded me of one of my favorite fictional characters who happened to be a knight in shining armor. “I’m fine. I just got carried away last night watching reruns of The Night a Woman Was Scorned.”

He chuckles now, and the tension in the room becomes lighter, thank God. “You and that show. Are the books not enough for you? You’ve watched that old show a hundred times now.”

“What can I say? Historical romances run my life. A badass woman on a path of revenge after the betrayal of the man she thought loved her also runs my life.” That was the plot of the 90s drama show, which I pretty much kept on repeat in my house. It was my ultimate comfort show.

“Well, next time, call me. I’ll come over, keep you company, and limit your wine consumption.”

“A limit?” I balk. “How dare you.”

“All right, boozie,” he laughs, swinging an arm over my shoulder as he gazes back onto the floor. “Let’s clean this mess up.”

An hour, two scrambled eggs, and toast that wasn’t toasty enough later, Lance is finally gone after forcing me to eat, and I finally race back to my kitchen and yank my laptop open. I cringe internally as I click on the email I sent that was addressed to James Kingston, and the subject consisted of two words.

Rich Dick.

Yep. I was so creative.

My stomach turns as I look below to read the message I sent him.

?Dear, Rich Dick

Yup. You, James Kingston, are a rich dick which I’m sure you know. The fact you own a club makes you even more pretentious. Who names a club Underground? It’s incredibly daunting. Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I will uncover your secrets no matter what it takes. I’m going to get my brother out from under your spell and whatever mafia dealings it is that you and your clan of crime junkies are having him do. You don’t scare me. I’m coming for you and that feathery blonde hair of yours.

With love,

Cecilia Bowen.

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