Ruthless Heart (Ruthless Devils #1)

The Morning After

Bright light pressed against my eyelids painfully, the morning sun demanding I open my eyes and wake up.

Moving my head away from the brilliant light, I turned onto my side.

I wasn’t ready to admit that I was awake, not even to myself.

Moving hurt my head. Pounding started from what felt like an inch behind my eyeballs all the way to the back of my skull, where the throbbing sensation resonated off of my cranium and bounced back to my eyeballs, which seemed to be pulsing in rhythm.

I have a hangover?

I’d never had a hangover before. I’d only been drunk a few times before, and it didn’t feel like this.

I’d definitely never had this thumping in my temples before.

Sleep. I needed more sleep. My friends told me that sleeping was the answer, and then coffee.

I peeled an eyelid open . . . coffee? That was a reason to bear the blinding pain that rushed into my head as my open eyelid allowed light in, and I hastily closed my eye again.

No. Not even coffee was worth this pain.

There’s a sentence I never thought I’d say, I thought ruefully.

Sleep, that I could manage.

Settling in under the sheet, pulling it high up over my face to block out the light, I promised myself five more minutes.

Running water had my eyes peeking open again, and slowly, I moved my head from under the sheet to look around. I could hear the shower. As my eyes adjusted to the horrific brightness, I slowly realized three things.

This was not my room.

These were not my sheets.

This was not my bed.

Cautiously, tentatively, my hand slipped under the blanket and explored as a worrying realization crept into my foggy head. I’m naked? Why am I naked? Where are my clothes? Alarm and panic were quickly replacing the pain in my head from too much alcohol the night before.

The bathroom door opened, and I hastily dropped my head under the sheet, closing my eyes as the rest of my body froze.

“I can’t believe you’re still here,” a male voice muttered.

So, he knew I was here, and from the sounds of it, he wasn’t happy about it. But the more important question to me was, who was he?

“Yo, chick.”

Chick?

“Yo, girl.”

Slightly better.

“Woman!” he said loudly, his irritation bleeding into his tone. “Wake the fuck up and get the fuck out. I don’t have time for this.”

I will never drink again, Lord, if you send me a sign that I did not have sex with this guy.

I heard a door being flung open, as it bounced off what I assumed was the wall, announcing that there was another person in the room. “There’s a girl in your bed?” the new person said, and I wasn’t sure in my hungover, dying-of-humiliation state if he was stating a fact or asking a question.

“Yeah, she’s not waking up either.”

“Fuck.” I heard the hesitation. “She dead?”

“Are you fucking stupid?” I heard the scorn in Bathroom Guy’s voice, and between the pain in my head from the hangover and the burning embarrassment, something niggled that I recognized his voice.

“You think I fucked her to death?” I could hear his amusement as his movements sounded louder in the room, and I guessed he was getting dressed.

Cue a snort-laugh from the other guy. “Maybe she’s just passed out in bliss?”

“My dick feels raw, so I definitely fucked her more than once . . . so . . . not impossible.”

He did? Cold horror crept slowly up my body. I had sex? With him? He sounded like a complete dickhead. It was taking all my willpower to lie there and breathe evenly when, in reality, I wanted to bolt out of the room and then crawl into the nearest hole that I could find.

“Well, that was TMI,” the other one said with a small laugh. “You better have wrapped it up.”

“Obviously. Can’t remember much, but I picked up enough wrappers when I went to the shower this morning,” I heard him tell the other one, and then I heard him stamp his feet. Was he putting shoes on? “She isn’t waking up.” The irritation was back in his voice.

“Back up a minute. You? You’re fuzzy on the details?” the other guy asked curiously. “I thought you weren’t drinking last night?”

“Yesterday was fucked, you know that.” I heard Bathroom Guy sigh. I needed out of this room. “I must have had more to drink than I thought,” he added quietly. “You know what those parties are like, the cups have more alcohol than soda.”

“Yeah, but still, you shouldn’t be drinking the night before.”

Even under the sheet, I could feel the unspoken tension between the two of them, and I was now rigid, waiting for the fallout.

The other chuckled softly in what I think was his attempt to lighten the mood before he changed the subject.

“So, who’s blondie?” he asked casually. “You do know who it is?”

Which confirmed that they couldn’t see me, which was great, I thought as relief washed over me.

However, it was clear the asshole I slept with didn’t know who I was any more than I knew him.

The bright side of this was that I may still get out of this unscathed.

Well, apart from the damage to my dignity, but if it meant I could avoid a face-to-face confrontation this morning, I was okay to deal with my dignity later.

“Fuck knows, some girl,” my sleeping partner answered casually. “Not sure I could pick her out of a lineup.”

I could almost hear his shrug. Asshole. He obviously did this a lot, and that realization made me feel worse.

“You really were wasted. Was that wise? Damn it, how are you standing right now?” Again, the amusement leaked through the reprimand, and I also would’ve liked to know how he had no hangover.

Reprimand Guy spoke again. “What do we do with her? We’re going to be late, and we can’t be late today.

” He was now sounding less amused and more frustrated.

Welcome to my morning.

“Fuck.” I heard the footsteps approach and forced myself not to cower. “Girl?” the guy snapped at me. I lay immobile, forcing my breathing to be calm and steady, which would be funny if the rest of my body hadn’t been drenched in nervous sweat.

Could this be any worse? I will never ever drink again.

Please don’t make him pull the sheet back.

My stomach churned, and my eyes opened in horror.

No. My mouth flooded with saliva. Please no.

My stomach roiled again, and I had no choice but to bolt upright and shove past whoever as I launched myself at his bathroom and hurled up the contents of my stomach.

“Fuck, that’s nasty,” I heard his friend mutter. “Fine ass though.”

Even over my retching, I could hear the guy’s answering grunt. “Fuck. I don’t have time for this shit,” he protested.

“We really don’t, you’re going to have to leave her here.”

“Shit.” I heard him swear again just as another wave of nausea hit me.

“Just lock up the goods and make sure all the used condoms are gone. She could be a crazy clinger looking for a meal ticket.”

I heard the bathroom door slam shut as I said another prayer to the porcelain throne my head was halfway down.

Even as I threw up and clung to the toilet bowl, I heard them moving around in the bedroom.

There also seemed to be more voices now.

As my stomach tried to turn itself inside out, or what felt like it, I was very, very conscious that I was stark naked.

Tears from my violent gagging ran down my face, as did snot from my nose, and I could almost taste the vomit in my nose.

Oh my God, I’m dying.

The door opened as another wave of sickness left my body.

“Ugh, Jesus.” I heard him hesitate. “There’s water by the bed, painkillers too, take them and leave. Do not use my shower.” He hesitated. I could feel him behind me, and I was suddenly grateful that my head was hanging over his toilet so I didn’t have to look at him.

My head was on my arm, which was currently across the toilet bowl, my blonde hair a curtain around me, giving me some privacy as my body shuddered in aftershock of the violence of my vomiting. I tried to nod that I heard him, acknowledge his stern disgust that he wasn’t bothering to hide from me.

I could feel his eyes on me, and then I heard another curse as he seemed to make the decision that he had to leave me.

With effort, I managed to lift my head and look up as I heard another heavy sigh.

A mirror above me allowed me to catch a look at his side profile as he turned and stormed out of his bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

Even with him gone, his presence lingered and as I crouched there, the image of him burned into my brain. Thick black hair with a clean, sharp jawline, and a nice straight nose. Even side-on, he was gorgeous. Nausea washed over me again, but not from my overindulgence in alcohol this time.

No.

It was because of who was leaving me to throw up in his bathroom. I knew exactly who he was, even if he didn’t know me.

The infamous quarterback for the Cardinal Saints, my college.

Possibly the most arrogant, dangerous guy I had ever met.

Jett Santo. Shit.

I knew who he was; the whole of Tennessee knew who he was. What I didn’t know was how I ended up in the same orbit as him, never mind his bed, and as I leaned over the toilet again, my focus shifted to getting out of here.

And him? Well, he didn’t know who I was, and since I had no intention of ever letting him find out, I could deal with this whole experience later. For now, I needed to stop vomiting, pick myself up off his bathroom floor, clean up, and leave without letting anyone see me.

Totally doable.