Page 70 of Vengeful Eyes
“I’m not all monster.” Emily giggles. That’s fucking cute, too. I pull my eyes from Hope’s stare and glance at this woman who’s somehow managed to tame a beast like Quinn. “You’re a strange pairing, Emily Cane.”
“Aren’t we all?” she says, walking away towards Gabby.
The night goes on, blood and fists flying around the ring in front of us. Quinn’s all over it, his body front and centre as he absorbs the atmosphere around him. Nathan, too.
They’re like two teenagers suddenly forgetting their place in society and just enjoying a night off. The women sit off to the side, talking, but Hope’s still edgy. The sight of her fills me with an element of compassion for her situation, reminding me of what she once was because of these boys. Still is, I guess. Her eyes flit to me every so often, a frown on her face, and then go back to whatever the women are talking about.
I hail a waiter and sigh, asking for another round of drinks. He scurries off and leaves me to lean back in my chair. I could be tired if I thought about it. Worn out. My fingers pinch the bridge of my nose, rubbing the tension away. Her. What's happened. The way she looked as she begged for forgiveness— the one fucking thing I don't know how to give. All that's gone down, perhaps even Tony, is because of her. Why should I forgive her? For love? Fucking sonnets or some shit?
Her hand lands on my shoulder out of nowhere, lips gently coming to my cheek. “You all right?” she asks, brushing her hands down the front of my chest.
“Tired.”
“Well, we haven’t had much sleep lately.”
Yeah. I sigh again and look at the boys, willing some of that sleep back. I’ll never get it, certainly not for a while. We’ve still got a bitch to find and destroy, and a Yakuza empire to obliterate entirely. We might have made a good start, hit them hard and pushed them back for a while, but it’s not over yet.
Not by a long shot.
“You should get on with telling them,” I mutter. “Never know what’s coming lately.” Perhaps that’s why I’m letting this shit go with Hope and them. No one knows what’s coming. None of us. Every fucking turn is another threat, another concern.
We could all be dead tomorrow.
Our drinks arrive as I stare, champagne and scotch being put on the table beside us. I nod at the scotch bottle, asking her to get it for me. She does, and I down it, hoping for a goddamn pick me up of some kind.
“I will,” she says, rubbing my arm. “Later.”
My eyes close at the feel of her touching me. Soothing. It’s nice when I forget the rest of it, especially with all this fucking sound around me. I draw a long breath in, enjoying the moment, but the moment I do, I feel sick. The room spins in front of my eyes. I close and open them again, frowning, trying to shake the feeling. The fuck is that?
My heart rate kicks up at the feeling, heat travelling through me. I glance around and stand, searching for something as my breathing quickens, too. “What’s the matter?” she asks. “You don’t look good.” She blurs in my vision, her face swerving about. Drunk? I haven’t been so drunk that I was sick in years. I grab onto the back of the chair, confused, and rip at my bow tie to loosen the restriction.
“Benjamin?”
My eyes go to the glass I’m holding, wondering what the fuck I’ve just drunk, then to the bottle on the table.
“You pour from that?” I snap out.
“No. There was a double already there.” Fuck
“Don't drink any of that shit,” I snarl, reaching for the salt and heading from the table. “None of it.”
My feet claw up the stairs towards the gents, my heart racing like it’s about to fucking explode. I snatch a clean glass from another table and run the rest of the way, eventually crashing through the bathroom doors to get to the tap. It’s filled with salt and water and downed so quickly I barely register it happening. My guts heave within seconds, arms braced on the sink top as I stare at the blurred image reflecting back. One second, two, three, and then it all comes back up. I retch and heave repeatedly, trying to purge whatever it is out of me.
“Vico?” Quinn’s voice rings in my ear.
I heave again, more of it coming out to splatter into the sink. Fuck. My legs give way, ass dropping to the floor and chin ricocheting off the surface as more vomit comes out. “The fuck, Vico?”
I can feel him all over me, checking me. My pulse, his head at my chest, his fingers in my mouth, but I can’t move to stop him. Can’t talk either. He shakes me, hand twisting my face about as Nathan’s voice bursts into the room somewhere.
“The hell?”
“Call an ambulance,” Quinn shouts. No. The women.
I try to move, try to show them what I need. Get Hope. Keep her safe. But nothing moves. Nothing will do what I want it to. My mouth tries to open, words sticking in my goddamned throat.
“Put the phone down, Nathan.” My brow twitches. Who’s that? A woman. I try to see through the blur in front of me, try to move again.
Everything goes silent for a few seconds. No noise. Nothing.
