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Chapter 315
Chapter 315:
Then she closed her eyes, resting her head against the steady heartbeat of the man she had just methodically destroyed, and waited for the morning sun to detonate the bomb she had spent the night building.
The harsh morning light pierced through the narrow gap in the heavy blackout curtains and struck Cole directly in the eyes.
A low, agonizing groan vibrated in his throat.
He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt cemented shut. A catastrophic headache hammered against the inside of his skull. His brain felt swollen, completely saturated with the toxic residue of alcohol and the heavy sedative he had no idea he had consumed. His mouth was desert-dry, tasting of old copper and bile.
Cole forced his eyes open. The light sent a sharp spike of pain behind his retinas.
He tried to shift his weight and roll onto his back.
He could not move his right arm.
Something heavy and warm was pinning it down.
Cole blinked rapidly, fighting to clear the fog from his vision. He turned his head to the right.
His heart stopped beating entirely.
Lying in the bed, curled tightly against his side, was Alycia. Her bare, pale shoulders were exposed above the white blanket. Her blonde hair lay in a tangled mess across the pillows. She was breathing softly, her back pressed intimately against his chest.
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Cole’s brain violently rejected what his eyes were telling him.
A freezing, paralyzing shockwave crashed through his nervous system. The blood drained from his face so rapidly he felt dizzy. He wrenched his arm out from under her waist and scrambled backward across the mattress to the opposite edge. He looked down at his own body. He was stripped to his underwear.
His eyes darted around the room. His ruined suit jacket lay thrown on the floor. His trousers were draped over the armchair. The heavy, sour stench of spilled red wine mixed with expensive perfume saturated the air.
And then his eyes locked onto the center of the bed.
Where Alycia’s hips had been resting, a dark, dried patch of crimson blood stained the pure white sheets.
The air was torn from Cole’s lungs.
A physical wave of extreme nausea struck his stomach. He clamped his hand over his mouth, fighting the violent urge to vomit.
No. No. No.
The word pounded in his head like a siren. He clawed at his memory. He remembered the club. He remembered screaming at Julian. He remembered the whiskey.
And then — absolute, terrifying darkness.
He had blacked out. And in that blackout, he had committed the ultimate, unforgivable sin. He had touched the woman his dead brother had loved. He had destroyed the last shred of honor he still possessed.
His scrambling woke Alycia.
She let out a soft, confused whimper, rolled slowly over, and pulled the white sheet up to cover her chest. She looked at Cole. Instantly, tears welled in her eyes. Her lower lip began to tremble. She looked like a shattered, terrified victim.
She shrank back against the headboard, drawing her knees to her chest. As she moved, the sheet slipped just enough to expose the dark, angry bruises marking her neck and collarbone.