Page 8 of Monster Mistake

“I just wanted to have fun tonight,” she continued. “Boost my ego a little. Let my hair down and…I don’t know….let loose? Where the hell should I go to dothat?”

Later (much, much later), Khill would be willing to admit that the idea he had to help her let loose and have fun was ill-advised at best. But for now…

He gave her a half smile. “I know just the place.”

CHAPTER 5

Justine wasn’t a big drinker. Never had been.

She’d had an unfortunate Boone’s Farm incident at her friend Sheila’s high school graduation party when she’d been trying so hard to impress Chad Fuller (who was hot back then, but was now doing time for tax evasion) by playing cup stack with him and the rest of the football team. She’d ended up puking in Sheila’s dryer (long story). Consequently, the smell of strawberry wine still made her gag.

She woke up the next morning feeling like the school marching band had paraded across her forehead. Or, more accurately, she felt like a piece of gum on the trombone player’s shoe as the band paraded through a sewer.

Afterthismorning, she realized she’d judged Boone’s Farm too harshly.

She was in hell. She was officially Satan’s whore. Or his come rag or something equally gross.

First of all, no one should ever have to, under any circumstances, wake up with no idea where they were, how they’d gotten there,or why their mouth tasted like sunbaked shit bricks. And Justine was currently experiencing all three.

With a groan that sounded like a reanimated mummy crawling out of a tomb after a thousand years, Justine flipped onto her back and pried one eye open to take stock of her surroundings, just likeCriminal Mindshad taught her. (Because at this point, the idea that she might’ve been kidnapped and drugged by a serial killer was viable.)

Well, she wasn’t in a basement. That wassomething,at least.

She was clearly in a high-end hotel room. It was well-lit (much to her headache’s consternation), and elegantly but simply appointed. And the sheets under her butt felt like they were the thousand-thread-count kind she’d never buy for herself, even though she’d love to have them.

It took Herculean effort for Justine to roll to the edge of the bed and lower her feet to the ground. It took an even bigger effort to sit up straight. Her muscles felt like overcooked Ramen, her stomach was about toviolentlyprotest movement of any kind, and her head was pounding like a bass drum at a rock concert.

“Need to go to the bathroom again?”

If her reflexes hadn’t been bathed in alcohol, she probably would’ve been startled to realize she wasn’t in the room alone. As it stood, she barely mustered the strength to flick her gaze toward the door.

There, in all his freshly showered, bright-eyed, muscle-y glory was Khill, looking hot as ever in yesterday’s black T-shirt and jeans, with a coffee in his giant hand. She was torn between relief and embarrassment.

First of all, given how she felt, she must look like Death had taken a few whacks at her, and here he was, looking like a walking wet dream.Thatwas embarrassing. But she was a little relieved that when this hangover finally killed her, at least she wouldn’t be alone. And also, she knew that coffee was for her because Khill hated coffee.

“I do,” she croaked. “I’m not sure I can get there, though. I think I’m dying.”

He snorted and set the coffee cup on the nightstand. “I’m sure it feels that way.”

Again, under normal circumstances, she might’ve been startled when he scooped her up off the bed like she was weightless and carried her to the bathroom. But since she was dying, all she could do was rest her head on his chest and pray the good Lord would just smite her already.

It really was a miracle that when he set her back on her feet next to the toilet and politely gave her some privacy, she didn’t crumble to the ground like a discarded paper napkin. Even more of a miracle that she managed to pee without toppling off the toilet and falling into the shower. Angels should’ve been singing when she found the strength to wipe, flush, and stagger over to the sink to wash her hands. She was pretty proud of herself, if she was being honest.

Until she looked into the mirror above the sink.

The shriek she let out, followed by the sound of Khill kicking the door in and glancing around wildly for whatever threat made her scream, probably echoed through the entire hotel.

“What’s wrong?” Khill asked, still searching the tiny bathroom for intruders. “What the hell happened?”

Justine was too busy staring at her reflection, mouth agape, red-rimmed eyes slow blinking at the horror.

She usually slept in a bonnet, because if she didn’t, her curls ended up looking like she’d been electrocuted. Today was no different.

Every article of clothing she owned would fit in the bags under her eyes and her skin was two shades lighter than milk. Seriously, she looked like she was method-acting her way through an episode ofThe Walking Dead.

It took a while, but she was finally able to ask, “What. The. Fuck. Happened. Last. Night?”

He frowned at her in the mirror. “You don’t remember?”

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