Page 25 of Mischievous Lies

I swear I only had a couple of drinks. I’m so confused right now, and when I reach for the water, my hands are so shaky that I drop the glass and spill it all over the floor.

I want to cry. I don’t know why, but I just do. I’m overwhelmed. The pain, the unknown…

“It’s okay,” he says quietly as he leans over to pick it up. He’s looking at me like I’m some wounded animal, and I fucking hate it.What happened to me?“I’ll get you some more.” He walks into his bathroom to fill the glass with more water.

I run my hands through my hair. I look under the blankets, comforted a little, when I find I’m still wearing my dress.

“Why am I here?” I ask when he returns. I reach for the glass again, but my hands won’t stop shaking, so he puts it to my lips. My eyebrows furrow in confusion, but I feel so out of sorts that I let him.

“Drink.” I do as he says and take a sip. It immediately moistens my mouth, bringing relief, but it also brings on an unsettling wave of nausea in my stomach. I take another two mouthfuls and pull away.

“Did you accept drinks from anyone?” he questions, now sitting at the edge of the bed. The mattress dips to the side under his weight.

Dread fills me because there’s usually only one reason people ask that question. And I know the truth of it even when it’s unsaid. I was drugged.

“Yes,” I say quietly.

Blank. It’s all blank. All I remember is walking into the party. Having a few shots. And it becomes hazy after that. Then nothing.

“Drink,” he says again as if distracting me from my spiraling thoughts. This might be the gentlest I’ve ever seen Hawke. But underneath his cool demeanor is a rage I’m too scared to draw attention to. I’m used to his brother being quiet and calm. But Hawke is full of expression. Not right now, though. He’s as terrifying as he is gentle.

Sure, I’ve seen him pick fights, but those times feel different from now. This is a palpable tension, reminding me just how dangerous he truly is.

“You know better than to do that. Did you forget where you come from?” he scolds.

“Please don’t reprimand me right now,” I quickly bite back as I try to keep the tears away. He looks up then as if seeing me for the first time, and I see the remorse in his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I just—I feel so useless right now.” He blows out a breath.

“This isn’t your fault,” I assure him as I put my hand on his shoulder. The motion of me stretching toward him must be too much for my stomach to handle because the water I drank comes up just as quickly as it went down. I vomit all over his arm and the side of the bed.

I sit back, mortified.

The big oaf doesn’t even move, unfazed, as he brushes back my hair. I try to tell him to stop. That it’s gross, but I vomit again. I’m gasping as I fight back and forth with whether my stomach is settled.

“I’m sorry,” I whimper as I wipe my mouth.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he says as he pulls back the covers and swiftly scoops me into his arms. His sea breeze-scented cologne hits my nose, but it’s overpowered by the smell of my vomit on his shirt. He carries me into the bathroom and places me gently beside the toilet, where I’m quick to vomit again, clinging to the bowl.

I hear water running, but before I can lift my head to look, I’m throwing up again with slight relief that at least it’s in a toilet and not all over a six-foot-two mountain of a man.

He brushes back my hair, and just when I think I have nothing left to throw up, I’m heaving again. I wish I hadn’t drunk that water, even though at the time, it was the best water I’d ever tasted.

When my vomiting eases, he slowly unzips my dress. I don’t even bother pushing him away because I know, for once in his life, he isn’t trying to fuck me. I feel like a rag doll as he reaches under my arms and lifts me as if I weigh nothing. Other men struggle to lift me, while Hawke does it so effortlessly. He holds me up with one hand and slides the dress off so I’m only in my underwear.

My head feels like it’s bobbing from side to side, and the room seems unbearably hot.

He proceeds to take off my underwear and then carries me toward a claw-footed tub where the water is running. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and if I had the strength to open my eyes all the way, they would bug out of my head at the sight of me. There’s dried vomit on my cheek, my hair is a disaster, and I’m pale yet flushed. I look like death warmed over, and honestly, I don’t even recognize myself right now.

He lowers me into the bath, and the water, though only coming up to my waist feels like heaven, relaxing me almost instantly. “Don’t drown yourself,” he says, then turns to the sink. He grabs his toothbrush and puts toothpaste on it.

His actions seem automatic. As if he’s done this a million times before.

He holds out the toothbrush, and I take it from him, my arms feeling like Jell-O. I brush my teeth and scrub my tongue, and when I’m done, I hand it back to him and watch as he throws it in the trash.

I’m freaked out about the blank spots in my mind, and if it weren’t for Hawke, I might’ve actually spiraled and lost my shit. I’m a level-headed woman, but this is a woman’s worst nightmare. What-if scenarios race through my brain, and I immediately shut them out.No. That didn’t happen. If I’m with Hawke, that means I’m safe.

Hawke grabs a bottle of body wash and places it on the edge of the tub. “Give me your hands,” he gently orders. I do as he says, fascinated by this side of him. It’s like seeing him as a completely different person.

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