Page 94 of Undertow

I gingerly touch the damaged area and stare at the dark red evidence on my fingers. Evidence ofwhat? What the hell happened last night? Who are these people?

I squint back at the bodies to my left and notice it’s a man and a woman, both in their late forties or early fifties. Rings on their fingers make me think they’re married, but then, I don’t trust any conclusions right now. Not when hours of my life are missing.

I scour my head for hazy memories, anything to make sense of this. I remember arguing with Scarlett in our suite. Meeting our contacts for dinner. Flirting, schmoozing, all the things I’ve done countless times in countless ways with countless marks. But this one was different.

This one ended up with me in bed with two strangers and what looks like a stab wound.

I’m considering waking them to find out who they are and iftheyknow what happened, when I realize I’m naked. We all are.

Nausea erupts in my stomach.

I wrestle out of the bloody sheets and limp to the ensuite bathroom just in time to be sick. The pain in my shoulder is nothing compared to the pain behind my ribs when the reality of my situation sets in. Another surge of sickness ruptures from my stomach, and I cough into the toilet.

I’m still there when the main door to the suite crashes open in the distance.

I turn my haunted stare toward the sound, relieved—and terrified—to see Merrick.

He stops cold, his gaze moving from me to the bed and back. I swear something flashes in his eyes before he secures the emotion behind the stoic mask he always wears.

“Don’t say anything,” he warns in a low voice.

I’d laugh if I was able, but I can’t move. I can’t get my body to do anything. I’m too weak to get up, too weak to argue. Too weak to face the trauma of whatever the hell happened last night.

All I want is to crawl back into that gruesome bed and return to the safety of unconsciousness. If I’m lucky, I’ll never wake up again.

But Merrick has other plans.

He grabs a blanket from a closet and moves toward me. After slinging it over my shoulders, he helps me up and catches my weight when I stumble.

“Fuck, Shaw,” he mumbles. “Let’s get you out of here. Try to keep the blanket closed so no one sees the blood.”

I nod with numb compliance, using every bit of strength I have to take a step. Then another, and another. With Merrick’s help, we make it back to the bedroom, where I almost lose the contents of my stomach again at the clear view of the strangers.

“Oh god. Are they…?” I stare in horror at their blank stares and pallid complexions. “Merrick?” There’s panic in my voice. “Did I kill them? What…? I don’t… Oh god.”

I know I’m losing control of myself, but I’m too depleted, too scared, in too much pain to trap today’s horrors inside.

“Not here,” Merrick says. His arm tightens around me, and I’m not entirely sure it’s for logistical reasons.

We remain silent as he leads me from the room and down the hall. It’s still early, so we don’t pass any witnesses before he’s unlocking the door to another suite and ushering me inside.

By the time he closes the door and helps me to the couch, I’m shaking so hard I can barely stand.

From cold? Blood loss? Terror? Trauma?

I don’t even know, but my body is not my own. My mind is completely gone as well.

Neither of us speaks as Merrick retrieves supplies from another room and returns. He sets to work on my wound, his face unreadable as he cleans the blood and evaluates the damage.

“I’ll bandage it for now, but you’ll need more treatment once we get to Philadelphia.”

“Philadelphia?” My quivering voice is barely above a whisper.

God, I’m so fucking cold.

“You’re being moved again.”

“Merrick, what happened to me? What was?—”

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