Chapter 11
Fuck. Me.
I was angry before I even opened my eyes.
That resounding anger sat heavy in my chest, hot enough to burn through the pounding headache currently splitting my skull in half.
The motel room smelled like stale beer, cheap soap, and probably leftover semen that had never gotten cleaned up.
I stared at the ceiling for a long while, trying to remember how the hell I’d even ended up here.
The mansion…
I couldn’t go back home, not after that.
What the fuck was my life?
The pieces started falling into place.
The bar.
Ryan.
Whiskey.
Jailbait.
That fucking grin.
My stomach dropped at the image, and my dick decided that now was a splendid time to rise and shine.
“No…”
I sat up too fast, and the room pitched sideways before it finally settled in my unsteady gaze. I squeezed my eyes shut, rubbing both hands over my face while I chased memories that refused to come together.
I remembered… him watching me.
I’d followed him outside.
We were angry and fighting over something.
After that…
It was nothing but flashes of fucking frowny faces and his voice.
Anytime I tried to remember anything more, it was just…
Darkness.
I looked around the room, my pulse climbing with every second I stared at a new section of this confusing hell.
My badge sat on the nightstand, and it was like a fucking reminder of my obligations that I couldn’t seem to remember.
My wallet was beside it. My phone, keys, and everything else were exactly where they should’ve been.
So why did I feel like something had been stolen?
The answer hit me before I was ready for it.
Not stolen.
Fucking taken.
A cold wave rolled through my stomach, and I resisted the urge to vomit. “You sadistic bitch.”
The words barely made it past my teeth before the puke followed.
He’d gotten exactly what he’d wanted, hadn’t he?
He’d gotten under my skin, and the feeling of revulsion warned me it was far worse than just that.
I slammed my fist into the drywall beside the bed, and the dust rained onto the carpet, but the sting in my knuckles didn’t make me feel any better.
Nothing would, and for the first time in a long damn time, I couldn’t remember what had happened to me.
That scared the hell out of me and pissed me the fuck off even more.
I showered longer than I needed to, scrubbing at my skin until it turned red and blotchy. But no amount of gargling with water and soap made me feel better.
I still felt dirty.
I still felt like I was carrying around someone else’s fingerprints.
By the time I threw on yesterday’s jeans and drove to the precinct, all that humiliation had hardened into something simpler, an emotion I knew rather well....
Hatred.
I was going to find Jailbait.
And when I did…
He’d finally stop smiling.