Page 7 of Unmask
Maddox grinned, his teeth stained red. “Good talk, Alex.”
Alexus’s stare hardened as he pointed at me, putting his finger in my face, not the place to be unless you wanted it broken, regardless of how big you were or if you were a friend. “And if you start any more shit, I’m calling your father.”
My body locked up. The rage burning so violently inside me shaped into something cold. I leaned forward slowly, resting my forearms on my knees. The room had gone quiet, the twins watching carefully.
Then, I laughed. Low, rough, humorless, reclining deeper into the couch. “Do it,” I retorted. “See what happens.”
Alexius hesitated. I was still the boss’s son.
Smart man.
My head fell back against the couch, my ribs throbbing, blood staining my shirt. My restraint was tested to the end of its rope, and I just sat there, my knuckles stinging and whiskey burning in my veins.
None of it felt like enough.
None of it touched the real fight sweltering inside me.
I’d never in my life crashed out over a girl. I was angry at her. At my father. At my life. But mostly myself.
I never should have left her at the warehouse, or perhaps I never should have touched her to begin with, but it was too late. She’d already gotten to me, and I couldn’t shake her out of my system, but fuck me if I wouldn’t try.
I wokeup with my skull feeling like it had been split in two and my mouth tasting like I’d swallowed a damn ashtray. My fingers touched my temples, which did the exact opposite of offering relief.
“Christ.” I winced. This had to be the mother of all hangovers. My head lolled to the side, pressing against the cool leather of?—
Wait.
Why am I not in my bed? And why am I sleeping at such an awkward angle?
I cracked one eye open, the dim morning light stabbing through my brain, to see the back seat of one of my father’s sedans. The one Roman, his driver, used to shuttle him around like a fucking king.
What the hell?
Where’s my car?
Better question, where the hell am I?
I had no memory of crawling into the back seat, let alone someone bringing… I glanced at the window. Home. I was sitting outside my house. Had my father sent the car? Had someone called him? What I didn’t need this morning was him harping on my ass. The last thing I remembered was walking out of the club with a bottle of liquor in my hand, stumbling under flickering streetlights.
Yet, here I was.
I groaned, forcing my aching body to move. My muscles protested as I pushed the car door open and stepped onto the pavement, swaying slightly. The cold air slapped me in the face, but it did nothing to clear the pounding in my head.
I staggered up the steps to the house, my limbs heavy and movements sluggish as every inch of me screamed in protest, urging me to get off my feet and find the quickest bed.Fuck, the driveway was looking pretty comfortable right now. My knuckles throbbed, and I didn’t have to question why. Those assholes deserved what they got, and the bruises and stiff ribs were worth it. In fact, I had a feeling there were many nights like last night to come.
But first, I needed painkillers. Now.
Inside, the house was quiet. Too quiet.
Where the hell is everyone?
I assumed Maddox and Mason had come home with me, but perhaps the assumption was wrong. They could have very well shoved me in the back seat and asked Roman to drive me home. This place was rarely empty. If Maddox and Mason weren’t bickering in some room, their voices traveling through the house, then security was usually underfoot.
I stumbled into the kitchen, yanking open a cabinet and grabbing the bottle of ibuprofen. The pills rattled in my shakinghand as I dumped a few into my palm, my eyes darting to the half-empty whiskey bottle sitting on the counter.
How damn convenient.
Fuck it.
