Page 15 of Fearless

“This tastes like shit.” I tip the glass over, pouring his expensive booze all over the expensive carpet. “Trust me, I’m doing you a favor.”

Cillian drops his head and lets out a dangerously low, deep laugh. Then he tips up his chin, staring at me with hooded eyes, his head tilted to the side.

“Aye, I’ll concede you may be right,” he says through another laugh. “But that’s because of the drugs I put in it.”

My heart tries to climb right up my fucking throat, and then plunges down into my stomach like it’s committing suicide.

Fuck!

Cillian laughs. “If you could see your face,” he murmurs, grabbing onto my chin and wrenching my head back. “You always this gullible?”

This guy’s assholery doesn’t know when to quit. I tear my face away from his grip and scowl up at him. “Now I get it. You have a really small dick, don’t you? That’s why you have to bring girls up here and get them drunk before they’ll sleep with you.” I push back my shoulders and yank at my dress, making my breasts brim from the bodice. “Find someone else to shove that small dick into.”

I turn, pick up my purse, and head for the exit with all the dignity I can muster.

Behind me, Cillian remains utterly silent. The elevator doors gleam at me from across a room that’s suddenly the length of a fucking rugby field.

Why isn’t he saying anything? Did I really get in the last word? I smile to myself, but the expression slips off my face when my feet tangle together a second later. Christ, I shouldn’t have had so much to drink.

Except...I didn’t.

I pause for a second and squint at the elevator. Why is it so blurry? I blink a few times, but that doesn’t help.

Shit, I have to get home.

Drugs.

No. It was a joke. A stupid one, but...what if…?

I surge forward, half-stumbling half-staggering in the direction of the now very blurry elevator doors.

“Slow down, princess,” Cillian calls out after me. “You don’t want to hit your pretty little head, do you?”

Hit my head? Why would I--?

The ground slams into me, knocking the air from my lungs. It should have hurt, but for some reason I only realize I’m horizontal when I reach out and grab carpet instead of air.

Something clamps around my ankles. My dress hikes up my legs as Cillian drags me over the carpet. I see my purse pass to one side, and reach for it.

I manage to snag the wrist strap, but only with monumental effort.

My body’s growing heavy and clumsy.

Thoughts bob and weave through my fogging brain like veggies in a thick stew.

Cillian stops dragging me. I yank at my purse strap and grip it with nerveless fingers.

Hands grab my waist.

He hoists me through the air like I weigh nothing, which is impossible because I must weigh ten tons.

When he drops me, I bounce.

Bed.

I’m on the fucking bed.

No, no, no, no, no, no!

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