Chapter 23
HAILEY
Jameson wasn’t dead.
Holy shit!
Jameson wasn’t dead.
What did Greyson mean by “yet?”
Jameson wasn’t dead. Yet.
This changed everything.
Madison was free.
I pushed against the hard wall of Greyson’s chest. “I have to get out of here!”
His hand clenched around my elbow. “I’ve already made myself clear on that point.”
I jerked back; his grip tightened around my arm, refusing to let me free. “This isn’t funny. Let me go!”
His gaze dropped to my mouth, then lifted. “I wasn’t laughing.”
I resisted a second time, but his hold only increased, his fingers digging into my skin. I looked left, then right, searching for someone, anyone, who could come to my aid.
We were alone. No sounds of people talking or cleaning, not even the soft rustle of footsteps on thick carpet. Where was everyone?
Fixing Greyson with a hard look, I threatened, “If you don’t let me go, I will shriek loud enough for the neighbors to call the cops.”
His lips lifted at one corner. “Go ahead. I’d love a prequel.”
My mouth opened on an outraged curse. “In your fucking dreams, asshole. I’m never sleeping with you.”
He reached up and caressed my bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.
I held my breath.
“I’m going to enjoy proving you wrong, and when I do, you will be screaming my name.”
My heart raced. The Scotch tumbled around in my empty stomach. The room suddenly felt overly warm, and I couldn’t seem to fill my lungs.
I tried once more to break free, this time losing my footing and stumbling backward.
Greyson caught me around the waist, pulling me close before lifting me into his arms. He was so fast it took me a moment to figure out what the hell happened.
The walls wobbled as he carried me out of the room and down a massive open hallway.
Both sides were lined with countless old portraits, presumably of his ancestors, each with a more sinister frown than the last. They were a silent, stern army of disapproval, awaiting his instructions to attack my lower-middle-class ass.
My head lolled to the side, feeling almost too heavy for my neck, before dropping onto his shoulder.
My tongue was thick and unwieldy as I slowly formed words. “Where are you taking me?”
“To bed,” came his curt reply.
My pulse stuttered and I melted into him. With far more effort than it should have taken, I braced my palm flat against him and shoved. “No. Stop. I don’t—”
He chuckled. “Calm down, little bird. Don’t ruffle your cute feathers. When I fuck you, I want you awake and alert so you can feel every touch, bite, and lick. I promised you’d be screaming my name, and you can’t very well do that if you’re passed out.”
I gasped, my body heating at his words.
He winked in response.
I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again, blinking hard, trying to clear my vision, but the walls just spun faster like a carousel from hell. Something was wrong. Really wrong. My temples throbbed as a terrifying realization came over me. “Did you drug me?”
Greyson didn’t respond as he kicked open an oak paneled door and brought me through.
I glared at him as I tried to yell, my words slurring. “Oh, my god. You did! You bastard! You drugged me! You just tried to kill me!”
He lowered me onto the bed.
My body sank into the plush down coverlet as if I were sinking into a cloud. I struggled to raise myself to my elbows. The drugs weighed down my limbs, my movements sloppy and uneven against the overly soft covers. The moment I sat up, I swung my legs over the side, determined to leave.
He couldn’t keep me. I wouldn’t let him.
Greyson wrapped his powerful hands around my ankles and set them back on the bed. He then placed both of his hands on either side of my head and bent over me, caging me in with his body, his warmth seeping through my clothes.
When he spoke, the scent of smoky liquor on his breath wafted to me. “Listen carefully, little one. I did not drug you. If you hadn’t swilled my expensive Scotch like a sailor on shore leave, you wouldn’t be feeling the effects so keenly right now.”
My brow furrowed as I looked away from him and huffed. It took a lot to get me wasted. “Not true. I can hold my liquor.”
He captured my chin and turned me back to face him. He moved closer and for a second, I thought he was going to kiss me. For a second, I wanted him to.
“I didn’t say you couldn’t hold your liquor. I said you couldn’t hold mine.”
My eyes narrowed. “I’m glad I amuse you.”
He stroked my cheek. “Oh, my little bird. You do a great deal more than just amuse me.”
The air thinned as I stared at his mouth. He dragged his tongue across his upper lip, and I barely contained a whimper before my vision swam.
I wasn’t here to make out with a kidnapping psychopath.
Madison.
I had to remember I was here for Madison.
I fisted his shirt. “Madison. I have to help Madison.”
He loosened my hold and pulled a blanket over me. “Madison is safe with Pierce.”
“But if Jameson isn’t dead, we need to tell everyone. They need to know she didn’t…kill him. They’ll be hunting her down like a…like a…dog. That’s the word, like a dog. She…she…doesn’t…deserve that.” The words were coming slower, more labored.
He combed his fingers through my hair, smoothing it away from my face. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. No one can know.”
My brow furrowed. “That’s strange…no, that’s not the right word…
it’s wild…no…crazy. That’s crazy! We have to tell what’s-his-name…
numbnuts. And the media, we should alert the media.
And... and... we need to...we need to...
” My mind became fuzzy, my words jumbled together, loose and clumsy.
My momentary burst of alertness and energy faded back into a drunken haze.
“Get some sleep,” he murmured.
I shook my head, fighting the effects of the warm bed, the Scotch, and Greyson’s soothing touch. “No. I can’t. I must save Madison. She’s not guilty. People need to know Jameson’s not dead. You have to help me tell them.”
“I’ve already told you that’s not possible.”
I forced myself upright, but my arms shook. Everything pitched sideways and I grabbed at his collar, but my fingers wouldn’t close and I fell back against the pillow.
Madison. I had to stay awake for Madison.
The thought was sharp and clear even as everything else went squiggly around the edges.
I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyelids and burrowed deeper into the covers, only half listening to him now as traitorous sleep crept over me. “Why?” I mumbled. “Please.”
Greyson leaned down and kissed my forehead before whispering, “Because I’m the one who helped Jameson fake his own death.”