Page 46 of Endless

“No you wouldn’t have.”

“Seriously. He almost knocked you over. I would have, had Bill not stopped me.”

Bill stood there, looming over us, his arms over his chest. “That there is one messed-up kid.”

My hackles went up. “But—”

“He’s lucky he’s got you.” Bill smiled. “We bringing him up to your place or is Drey taking him home?”

“Neither.” I frowned at Bill. “Got to hit bottom, right?”

His dipped his head. “I knew I liked you, Lizzie.”

“What’s going on?” Doug asked.

“Doug, can we use the room the rest of the day and tonight?”

“For…”

I looked down at Damon, my soul aching for him. “We’re going to leave him here.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Damon

Slicingpainsplitdownmy head like an ax had mistaken me for wood.

Grabbing my temples, I rolled over, and my bare arm met something cold. As in, water or—wait, it was mushy. And then the stench hit me like that ax had come in for another swing to finish off my skull.

“Son of a bitch!” I rolled away and smacked into a wall.

Where the hell was I?

“Hello?” I said.

My voice echoed not only through my head like a gong, but through the air. As in, it felt like I was somewhere big. Open.

But not outside, the ground felt smooth, other than the nasty puke I rolled into.

I palmed the wall, and it didn’t appear there was anything in my way, so I pushed up.

Last thing I remembered was—Oh, shit. I’d decked some guy. Big—shit, Bill. I’d taken a swing at Bill.

I sat straight, listening. Where’d he throw me? “Hello?”

Still no answer. It was quiet. So I wasn’t in jail. Unless I was in solitary, but that wouldn’t happen. Well, unless I did something really stupid while drunk.

My stomach churned as if it were going to do a repeat performance of what I’d rolled into. My head still throbbing, I stood, using the wall as my aid. I patted down my back pocket; no phone. Where did I lose that?

Okay, this wasn’t good. Not good at all. Shuffling forward, I used the wall to guide me. My thigh met a sharp corner, and a jolt of pain bolted up my leg. Reaching down, I felt something smooth and hard. A desk. Or table maybe. My thigh had found a corner most gracefully.

I could work with a table. That meant I was maybe in a house. An office maybe? Bill’s? It’d be quiet this time of day. Wait, what time of day was it? How long had I been out?

“Shit,” I whispered.

Groping at the table, I moved along, skimming the surface for any clues as to where I was. Smacking my lips, I searched for moisture. The motion made me gag.

“Anyone here?”

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