Page 19 of Bossy Bodyguard

I groaned, twisting on the bed that felt too soft and fuck—my arms hurt. With much effort, I opened my lids, flinching at the headache, and looked around the unknown room—

“Are those chains?” I asked, my voice groggy, staring at the heavy chains dangling from the wall. “Why are there chains on the walls?”

“How are you feeling?”

My eyes averted from the chains to the person I least expected to ever be concerned about me, ask me that question. I giggled, covering my mouth and looking away from him.

“Like you care.” I met Mia’s and Summer’s worried eyes. They were both still in their black dresses. “What happened?”

I frowned at the bedroom I was in and knew that this was definitely not my room. I was still wearing my black dress. My heels were missing from my feet and placed on the side of the bed with an empty bucket. My pink Manolo Blahnik heels.

“Did I get drunk?” I muttered, scratching my head. I remembered getting in a car, asking my car driver to take me to the Vixen Club. I talked with Joe, had drinks and then… Panther! I remembered that man. Asian, tattoos, all black hair with a very light sprinkle of grey, his hands holding me upright. I remembered him. Cillian. Piercings. Sex. Lots of orgasms.

Quite a dirty little mouth you have.

“Where’s that man?” I asked, noticing his large frame was absent. “H-he was with me. Where did Cillian go?”

“He saved you,” Damon said, his face poker.

“He did? But I remember he was with me and then—”

“You were roofied, Emma,” Damon gritted, my eyes snapping at his face. My palms felt clammy all of a sudden. I knew I didn’t feel right. “Someone slipped a rohypnol in the champagne bottle and that man saved you.”

I shook my head, the curled ends of my hair brushing my shoulder and making me shiver. “N-no, I wasn’t. I’m sure.” My voice was shaky, and I didn’t believe that I was roofied. Someone tried to…

“Em…”

I didn’t like the sound of pity from Mia. Flaring my nose, I stood up and glared at all three of them. “I wasn’t roofied. I was just drunk. Ask Joe, I drank a lot of glasses of negroni. Then I had champagne with Cillian, but…” My feet still felt wobbly, but I took my heels and my purse, ignoring their burning stares on me. “I’ve a headache. I’m gonna go home.”

“Emma.” Damon wrapped his hand around my wrist, stopping me. His gaze was concerned, and it made me feel like shit. Who was he to care about me? No one. “We already talked with Joe. Maybe you should—”

“Nothing. Happened,” I said, yanking my hand from his hold. “I’m fine.”

I didn’t wait to hear any more fake concerns from someone who had ignored my existence for the past nineteen years. My friends didn’t deserve my anger, but they were being too anxious about some stupid little thing. I wasn’t roofied. I was just drunk.

Because I remember Cillian entering the room after I had found his ring. Holding me when I wasn’t feeling well and laying me down on a bed. Yes, he cursed a lot, but he took care of me.

I would feel better once I sleep it off.

My driver didn’t ask me questions as I settled in the car’s backseat. I sighed, closing my eyes and massaging my temples. It was a long fucking day.

My phone pinged with a text. I checked it and froze, uneasiness spreading over my body, stiffening my hands.

Unknown: It’s okay, don’t be sad. I’ll take care of you. I left you a nice present. See you at home soon, love.

It was an unknown number, and I didn’t know what the sender meant. A present?

Shaking off the stupid thought, I rubbed the goosebumps on my arms and asked the driver to hurry. I wanted to shower again or maybe take a warm bath and sleep for a week straight.

I went to my room as soon as I got home, ignoring how empty it felt compared to that morning. Throwing my phone on the bed, I stripped out of the dress and ran a hand through my hair before entering the washroom—

A gasp left my mouth. This time fear with uneasiness rolled over me, buckling my knees. On the white marble sink were my panties covered in—

Bile rose in my mouth as I averted my eyes to read the message on the mirror written with a red lipstick.

‘I bought a new pair, don’t worry. Hope you like the present.’

There was a heart, too, and true to the words, there was a pastel box placed beside the bath. I didn’t want to open it.

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