Chapter 9 Katie
KATIE
Is this what death feels like?
My head is lifting. I can feel my swollen eyes at the natural arch of my brow, my mouth is drier than that Sahara Desert, and to top it all off, my stomach is yo-yo-ing between my throat and my rectum. I don’t know if I need to throw up or reenact the food poisoning scene from Bridesmaids.
God help me.
I roll over, not quite ready to shit myself in this state of agony.
As I lay on my side, I manage to just about peel open my eyelids, and it’s then that my stomach decides it’s time for a round of acrobatics.
I clutch my abdomen, desperately trying to hold everything down, but the nausea overwhelms me.
The room spins as I scramble from the bed and into the en-suite bathroom.
I barely make it to the toilet before my body violently expels everything in my stomach.
The sound and smell are unbearable, I can’t help but think that this must be the lowest point of my life, which is really saying something.
Where, in the name of all that is holy, am I?
How the hell did I get here?
And whose shirt am I wearing?
Please, Jesus, say it is not one of those arseholes from the bar.
I sit on the cool tiled floor of this all-black bathroom and try to remember what happened last night.
My gut is telling me I was spiked— it wouldn’t be the first time— but one look around this bathroom is telling me that wherever I am is far too pricey for the two dickheads that practically stalked us last night.
And where is Ciara?
I push myself to my feet and feel the room spin again. If I’ve been abducted, these arseholes are going to be sorely disappointed in me. If I can survive my mother, some traffickers shouldn’t be an issue.
I wonder if they’d take her?
I stumble back into the bedroom; apparently black is a theme here. Wherever here is.
There is a piece of A4 paper on the nightstand that catches my attention.
Did we go home with a bouncer last night?
This is so fucked up and weirdly sweet for him to go through all this trouble.
I take the note’s advice and jump into the shower, hoping to wash away the stench of death before I meet the mystery man who left this note.
I grab a t-shirt, hoodie, and a pair of grey joggers from the wardrobe and slide them on before I go hunting for my sister, who is not in her room. Panicking, I run back into the room I just left and ring her phone.
I can hear it. It sounds like it’s coming from somewhere upstairs.
“Hello?” Ciara groans.
“Ciara!”
“Fucking hell! Please don’t shout; I already feel like I’m about to die.”
“Where are you?” I demand, my eyes jumping to the door in case she decided to magically appear.
“Bathroom, don’t wait for me.”
“Don’t make me go down there alone!”
“Don’t make me vomit all over the hardwood floors,” she counters and hangs up.
Double shit.
I take a deep breath and reluctantly make my way downstairs. “Please don’t be a psycho-killer. Please don’t be a psycho-killer.” I freeze on the bottom steps, debating going further or turning back to wait for Ciara.
“Morning.”
I almost jump out of the joggers.
I imagine I resemble a deer in the headlights as I turn to face the source of the voice. Red flag alert. RED FLAG ALERT! ALERT!! ALERT!!!
“Morning!” I squeak, imagining my face turning crimson.
It could not have been a bouncer. It could not have even been the barman. It had to be AJ Quinn in all his tattooed and topless glory. He leans against the doorjamb to the left of the staircase and smirks at me, his grey eyes roaming over me with a hint of amusement.
“I don’t bite, you know,” he says, then adds, “unless you ask me nicely.”
I gulp and give him a tight smile.
“H-how did we?” I trail off. I don’t even know what I want to ask. How did we end up with him? What the hell happened to those two creeps? How did I end up in his bed?
AJ chuckles, his smirk widening. “You look like you need some coffee.”
Well, I suppose that’s one way of telling me that I look like a rumpled ball sack.
He turns to what I’m assuming is the kitchen. I don’t know what else to do but follow him and his absurdly muscular back as he walks away. “Latte? Mocha? Americano?” He throws over his shoulder, stepping around the kitchen island to the coffee machine.
“Eh…” I look at the machine, then at him. I don’t know why I was expecting him to have instant sachets or even a Nespresso machine. He has a proper espresso machine with all the bells and whistles; of course he does. “L-latte please.”
He takes a navy cup from the shelf and starts grinding the coffee beans, his hands moving with practiced precision. Navy to match his kitchen, I notice it once I can pull my eyes from his toned stomach.
“Are you alright, Katie?”
Shivers slither down my spine when I hear my name pass his lips. I must have told him my name at some point. I don’t remember telling him it at Dandelions.
“I think so, I’m just…”
“Confused?” He finishes my sentence, a knowing smile playing on his lips. I nod, feeling a mix of embarrassment and intrigue. “The drugs will do that to you, love.”
“Drugs?” I’m definitely going to throw up again.
His smile fades slightly as he sets the coffee grinder aside and turns to face me. “Yes, the drugs,” he says, his tone serious now. “I saw you at the Orion with the two blokes you were with in Dandelions last night.”
“Y-you were at the Orion?”
He retrieves the coffee grinds with a shrug. “I own the Orion.”
Of course he does.
“I had to stop off to get some work done when I noticed a familiar face on the cameras,” he explains, his intense gaze making me feel like he can see right through the layers of clothes I’ve borrowed from him.
“I didn’t expect to see you there, especially with those lads.
You looked a little,” he pauses for a brief moment to collect his thoughts, “out of it.” AJ adds the grounds to the coffee maker and presses the start button.
“I thought that was a bit odd given the fact that you were drinking water when I arrived, and I hadn’t seen you with another drink in Dandelions after that pair showed up.
” The machine whirs to life as AJ continues to speak.
“I spoke to the bar staff, who said you didn’t order anything other than water since you arrived at the club. ”
“But,” I stammer. I stuck to water because it’s safe and virtually undruggable.
AJ seems to follow my train of thought because he says with a slight grimace. “Check your arms and thighs for any signs of injection.”
“But surely I’d feel an injection?”
He turns his gaze to the milk frothier, “You’d be surprised.”
I pull off the hoodie I borrowed from him and begin inspecting my arms.
“Ah!” AJ exclaims. He turns the machine off and rushes over to me, pointing at a small bruise on my forearm.
“There it is,” he says, turning my arm enough for me to see the bruise.
“That’s definitely a needle mark,” he confirms. His grey eyes lock on mine, and I feel my cheeks heat. “I guess you’re one of the lucky ones.”
“Yeah,” I grunt, pulling my arm back and rubbing the bruise. It happened again. How the hell did it happen again? I’m beyond pissed at myself for going to that stupid club with Ciara. For fuck’s sake, we could have been killed. “Thank you,” I mean it, even if it doesn’t sound like it.
“Hey,” he bends his knees and crouches down to my level. “You did nothing wrong, ok?”
I force myself to look at him. “Why are you being so…”
“Nice?” he smirks. “I’m not. I’m really an arsehole; haven’t you read the papers?” He turns to get my coffee from the counter.
“The only reason I buy papers is to line my guinea pigs’ cage,” I reply with a small smile. “Oreo probably shat on your face for all I know.”
He laughs and hands me my coffee. “Guinea pigs? Really?”
“What’s wrong with guinea pigs?” I demand. How dare he make fun of my piggies? “They’re adorable and low-maintenance pets,” I defend, taking a sip of my latte. “Unlike some people I know.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Your sister, you mean?”
I pin him with a glare. “You were right; you are an arsehole.”
He only shrugs. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I slide onto a stool at the kitchen island, and he walks back around the counter.
“Do you know what happened to those blokes last night, the ones who—”
“The last time I saw them, they were running from the bouncers,” he says, settling his forearms on the counter and leaning in.
“With any luck, they were hit by a truck,” I mutter under my breath.
Something sparks behind his grey eyes. “Vicious little thing, aren’t you?”
“Can you blame me?” I gesture to the needle mark on my arm.
“Not in the slightest. I’d imagine you’d want to call them out on it if you ever saw them again.”
“Call them out?” I growl. “I’d want to rip their cocks off with a rusty pair of pliers and feed it to them.”
“Ooh!” he exclaims, his eyebrows raising in surprise. “Tell me more.”
“You don’t need to be condescending, you arsehole!”
“I’m not!” he beams, his gaze diverting momentarily when my phone flashes.
A text from Cillian.
He raises an eyebrow. “Boyfriend?”
“I don’t have one. I don’t want one. Men are scum,” I point to my arm. “Case in point!” I huff out a breath. Why is he so easy to talk to? I rarely meet anyone I can talk to like this. Hell, I can’t talk to my brothers without feeling the need to fill in silence. “What does AJ stand for anyway?”
He chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Aiden James.”
I hear a groan from behind me and see Ciara, still in her dress from last night.
“Check your arms,” I tell her as soon as she steps into the room.
She does just that, and we find a needle mark on her forearm. I fill her in while she’s panicking. Nothing like this ever happened to Ciara. Always me. I imagine it’s more of a shock for her.
“You look like shit,” AJ says bluntly, causing Ciara to glare at him. “Bit old to be wearing a dress like that, don’t you think?”
“Aiden!” I growl.