Chapter Twenty-Three #3
"Oh, um," I started, trying to trudge through the thickness in my brain, finding the consistency much like molasses, confusing me.
I reached for the first thought that made sense even though I knew as it was coming out of my mouth that it wasn't the right book, that it wasn't my favorite.
No, it was Sammy's favorite. “Sense and Sensibility,” I told him, finding my words slow, a little slurred.
That wasn't right.
I didn't drink that much.
I shouldn't have been slurring.
My brain shouldn't have been so slow.
My body shouldn't have felt so weird, so disconnected.
Testing my theory, I went to lift my glass up toward my mouth, but found it wobbly, weak, the fragile wine glass tilting in my hand, spilling what was left of the cool liquid on my dress, soaking through to my thigh.
"Oh, what did you do, princess? Let me help you," he suggested, reaching into his jacket to produce a white handkerchief, holding out toward me, blotting at the spot on my dress.
Then pushing up the material, wiping my bare thigh, fingers high, too high.
The words flashed in my mind as I numbly tried to push his hand away, finding no strength there to do so.
Drugged.
He'd drugged me.
My mouth opened as his body shifted, taking the glass, reaching to put it behind me on the end table, then pressing his body against mine, but I found my tongue fat, unable to make proper noises.
This was how he did it.
He slipped something into their drinks—into Sammy's drink—to make them easy, compliant, unable to scream or fight back, likely woozy on the details later, maybe wondering if they drank too much, if they had been willing participants.
Garbled noises escaped me as a hand grabbed the bodice of my dress, pulling it down, exposing my breast to his greedy palm.
Hailstorm wasn't going to charge in, I realized, a bubble of panic working its way through my system.
They didn't put cameras in this room from what I'd heard from the brief Lo had told me. The homeowners had been watching the staff like hawks to make sure they didn’t grab any valuables.
With the door closed, they hadn't been able to get into the study or the family room which was equally as off-limits during the event.
And they wouldn’t hear me speak, cry, scream, because I couldn’t seem to make my mouth find any words.
Not even as his mouth moved over my skin, not even as his hands slipped my skirt further up.
No.
Nonono.
"Oh, I have wanted you for years, princess."
That word, God, that word started to break through the fog, reminded me of why this was happening.
Sammy.
He'd hurt Sammy like this.
He made her powerless like this.
She couldn't stop him.
I could.
I could if I could just get word to Lo and her people.
His hand clumsily pawed at my panties as I focused on my arm, getting it to rise, getting it close to my face, knowing that whatever was going to come out of me was not going to be loud.
When I felt the material rip, the word whispered out of me.
“Help.”
I heard a zipper slide down.
It was quickly drowned out by something else, though.
A door flying open, feet storming inside, yelling.
Michael's body was pulled off of me, un-obstructing my view, allowing me to see not only Lo's team, but various party guests rushing in, horrified looks on their faces.
The first person to come to my side was not on my team, was not one of the highly trained individuals I had met with several times.
No.
It was a woman in her fifties in a champagne-colored dress with a giant diamond hanging between her breasts. A woman I had exchanged pleasantries with just about an hour before. One of the owners of the house. Olivia.
"Oh, honey, okay," she said, yanking my skirt back down, pulling my top back up, protecting my modesty as she tried to sit me up.
"I saw it. I saw what he was doing. Don't you worry.
Me and Marvin, we are going to make sure the cops know what he was doing.
Are you... can you sit up?" she asked, trying again, finding me flopping around.
"I think she’s been drugged," one of Lo's women said, coming up, gently grabbing my face, lifting it, looking in my eyes. "We need to get her to a hospital."
"I called the police," another voice from the crowd called. "They’re on their way."
"What's her name?" Lo's woman asked, already knowing, but we had to all play our parts flawlessly if we wanted the charges to stick.
"R-something," the woman still kneeling before me said. "Rachel? No, Reagan."
"Reagan, honey, it's going to be okay," I was told, even as my brain felt even more floaty, more disconnected.
"N-N-Nixon," I murmured, not knowing much at this point, but knowing he was on the forefront of my mind.
"Nick? Did she say Nick? Maybe her boyfriend? Does anyone know this woman personally?" the hostess asked the crowd.
But they didn't. Aside from introductions. I hadn’t been trying to make friends.
"It’s okay, sweetheart, the police and doctors will take care of you. And find your Nick. I promise."
I wasn't sure where Michael was at this point, but I heard shouting from the front of the house.
Some time passed before I could hear police, could see faces dancing around in front of me, before I felt myself strapped to a gurney, my body jostling around on the bumpy route to the hospital.
Everything after that was a blur as the drugs took a tighter hold on my system. I knew I was put in a bed, had my blood drawn, an IV was put in.
For the most part, I was left alone as my stomach rolled, as my vision flashed, as everything went numb—blissfully, beautifully numb.
Whatever time I woke up, it was with a hangover the likes I had never known. My brain was splitting, my stomach queasy, and I felt wrung out inside.
"Hey."
It wasn't Nixon's voice.
I wanted Nixon.
I vaguely remember asking for him.
But he wasn't there.
Why wasn't he there?
Instead, when my head turned on the pillow, I saw Lo sitting at my bedside, arms resting on her thighs, her long blonde hair pulled up.
"Hey," I mumbled, my mouth weirdly dry, my tongue almost, I don't know, fluffy.
"I know you want Nixon," she told me, reading my thoughts. "I know you are confused and hurting and you want him. But he can't be here. You know why he can't be here."
I did.
Because we were trying to reduce any chance of things getting thrown out of court, because his previous connection to Michael might look suspicious if Michael had people private investigating leading up to the inevitable trial.
"I know," I agreed, feeling a hole spreading inside.
"He's a wreck, just so you know. I literally have three guards on him because he tried to plow through the one I brought with me when I told him what happened."
"He's a good man."
"Seems that way," she agreed, giving me a small smile. "Now, back to what happened to you."
"He drugged me."
"Yes," she agreed, nodding. "I'm sorry."
"You didn't drug me."
"No, but I should have anticipated that angle. There should have been cameras in that room."
"It's not your fault. I watched him," I said, foggy memories trying to come back to me. "I watched him get me a drink, and hand me the drink. I didn't even see him do it."
"It was our job to see it. We failed you."
"It didn't get that far. I don't think it got that far," I clarified, realizing there were big holes in my memory.
"He had your top down and he got your panties off but that was as far as it got.
The police arrested him on sight. It's not common that the elite turn on one of their own, but when they all saw it, the mob dynamic thing sets in.
We also lucked out in that Olivia and Marvin have cameras in their living room and study.
I managed to get the detectives to give me a looksie.
It was clear you only had about a drink and a half.
And in the room, that you were drugged, slow. It's pretty open-and-shut."
"Good."
"It's all over the news. I imagine... I think maybe you should get in touch with your parents."
Oh, God.
My parents.
I had selfishly considered the fact that they would finally believe me when I proved Michael was the scumbag rapist I told them he was. I hadn’t, however, given their reaction to this happening to a second daughter much thought. They had to have been a mess.
"You are going to be discharged in a little bit.
I once helped one of your nurses get her children back from her abusive ex, so she let me in here, filled me in.
You were drugged, obviously. Unfortunately, it is becoming easier to get in this town lately.
You're going to feel like shit today. And your memory might forever be fuzzy.
But you're physically fine to go home and rest."
"Alone," I added, hearing the pity in my own voice.
"Well, see," Lo started, giving me a knowing smile, "I think we have worked out that one last kink."
"How?"
"Nixon told us when the two of you ran into Michael on the street, that you said you were friends.
In a situation such as this, you would seek out private security.
Especially if you know someone in the business.
You are going to hire the Rivers Brothers.
And then there is an excuse to have them around you all the time.
They'd never be able to prove anything else. And I doubt they will even try."
"Why?" I asked. "Of course he would try to find any angle he can."