Page 41 of Toxic

Gianni gives me his look. It's a warning that I'm making a mistake. That the last place I should be going is to a hotel with Bridget. And I shouldn't be getting involved in her life again. My brother says all this to me just through his eyes.

I ignore him, tightening my arms around her, then motioning for him to secure the room and get the key when we pull up to the front doors.

He shakes his head but gets out. When the door shuts, I kiss Bridget's blonde hair and mumble, "I need you to pull it together to get past reception."

She tilts her head and slowly meets my gaze, the blues peeking out under her lashes. "Why are you acting nice toward me right now?"

My stomach quivers. I want to tell her if she searches deep enough, she knows why. No matter what's gone on between us, my obsession with her, no matter how hard I've tried, has never wavered. And even though she's never wanted me since before she left for Chicago,I'd step in front of a bullet before I let anything happen to her. But all I say is, "We're friends."

My statement only makes her cry harder. Her expression becomes more painful.

I sigh and hold her head against my chest again. "Bridge, are you going to be able to get through reception? If not, I need to take you to your place or mine."

She nods, sniffling hard. By the time Gianni comes back with the key, she's calmed enough for me to get her out of the car. Still, I take my sport coat off and instruct, "Hold on to my waist." She obeys, and I wrap it around her, so her face is covered.

Gianni gives me athis is a bad idealook,but I ignore him and order, "Text me when you find out."

He grinds his molars then gets in the car. It's all I have to say. In all reality, I don't even need to speak it. Whoever that asshole who was on Bridget is, he's getting picked up tonight. As soon as she's okay, I'll be dealing with him in the dungeon.

I swiftly move Bridget past reception, into the elevator, and down the hall. I knew she drank too much, but she stumbles so much, I debate about picking her up. When we get into the suite, I remove the jacket and guide her to the bathroom. I turn on the cold shower and unzip her dress.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"Sobering you up."

"I'm fine."

I unclasp her bra and pull it off before she can stop me. "You aren't."

She covers her chest with her arms. She demands, "Stop! This isn't appropriate."

Years of anger hit me. "You think going to that club is?"

Her eyes turn to slits. "Don't you dare judge me!"

I slide my hands on her hips, under the thin string of her panties, and in a quick move, tug my hands away so they rip.

"Dante!"

I move her into the shower.

"Jesus! It's freezing," she shouts.

"Yep."

She steps forward, out of the way of the cold stream.

"Get under the water," I order.

She looks at me, breaks down again, then crouches on the tile. Sobbing, she states, "I hate you."

I strip and step in the shower then pull her up. She's right, the water is cold as fuck. Any alcohol I drank that's still in my system seems to disappear. "Well, I don't hate you," I reply and hold her tight to my frame. I pump the wall container of shampoo and lather her hair.

She just cries while I wash her hair and body. When I finally turn off the water, her teeth chatter and her lips are purple.

I wrap a fluffy towel around her, another around her hair, and then one around me. I pick her up and set her on the counter. She stares at me, her eyes more green than blue but bloodshot.

I put paste on the hotel toothbrush. "Open."

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