Page 174 of Dagger

Mostly, I managed to keep my shit together and got through the day—thank God. When we got back, we stood at the bar, shooting the shit and drinking beer with John’s fingers glued to my hip.

The alcohol had weirdly taken the edge off my headache, and after a while, I finally started to enjoy myself. The girls left themen up at the bar, and we were by the corridor leading to the kitchen, dancing and goofing around.

Kennedy was showing me some stripper moves, and I was whooping it up, holding a beer bottle up high with one hand while I swayed my hips, singing at the top of my voice along with the music.

My emotions were on a high, probably brought on by the relief of finally losing the headache that had been plaguing me on and off for days. My heart felt buoyant in my chest, and excitement filled my belly.

Cara turned away toward the bar, and I grabbed her arm. “Don’t leave,” I yelled. “Stay and dance.”

She jerked her thumb toward Iris, who was wrestling Wilder down from a table. “I need to go see to—”

“Iris doesn’t mind,” I shouted excitedly. “She loves Wilder. I love Wilder, too, even when he pulls my top down. Wilder’s the shit.”

“I think you mean Wilder’sashit. But I’ll take it,” Cara replied good-naturedly, her gaze sliding to Sophie before coming back to me, smiling at the animated expression on my face. “Are you drunk?”

I looked at my bottle. “This is my third.”

Sophie’s face gentled. “No, Mom. You had at least three at the bar. You must be on your fourth or fifth by now.” She smiled. “It’s okay; you’re allowed to let your hair down. We’ll be here to look after you if you get a little messy. God knows you deserve some fun.”

A lick of fire burned through my chest. “This is my third,” I bit out.

“Elise—” Kennedy began.

I whirled on her, clutching the beer bottle tightly. “I’m not lying. This is my third.”

Kennedy held her hands up defensively. “Okay, okay. That’s your third. All good, Duchess.”

“What’s goin’ on?” John’s deep voice demanded.

I spun around and opened my mouth to say something. A strange, numb feeling flooded my body. My fingers tremored, and I dropped my beer bottle, staring, horrified, as it smashed into tiny pieces on the floor.

A sharp pain flashed through my head, and I winced, my hand jerking up to rub my temple.

Gentle hands turned me, and Sophie asked, “Mom? Are you okay?”

My head jerked up. “I’m fine,” I said brightly. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I’ve had too much to drink. I think I’m gonna go and lie down.”

John frowned. “Are you sick?”

“No—”

“She’s been suffering with headaches all week,” Sophie told him. “I asked her to see a doctor, but she keeps putting it off.”

Kennedy lifted her hand to her mouth and coughed, “Rat.”

Sophie rolled her eyes.

“Why didn’t you let on you were sick, Duchess?” John demanded. “Jesus, I took you on a four-hour club run.”

“I wanted to go,” I assured him. “There was no way I was about to miss my first club run.”

He raised a hand to rub his salt-and-pepper beard thoughtfully. “I’ll take you to my room, and you can lay down for a while. Will it be cool with you if I come back and do Billy’s patch in? I’ll get my ass straight back to you when it’s done.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I protested. “I’ll probably fall asleep anyway. I’m exhausted.”

John cocked his head. “You didn’t get up until I brought coffee to your place this morning; that wasn’t until ten.”

“What are you, the sleep police?” I snapped.

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