Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
It’s actually kinda nice in here when it’s empty. I double check all the doors and windows, then call Tobias.
“All clear?” he asks.
“All clear,” I tell him.
“Thanks, man. Much appreciated, Axle.”
We hang up, and I shut off all the lights. I’m heading to my room when I hear a sound that makes me freeze. I wait in the hallway, listening.
What the hell is that? And where’s it coming from?
I follow the sound of the noise, then realize it’s coming from the women’s bathroom. Shit. I didn’t even think to look in there to make sure it was vacated. And sure enough, as I approach, I hear a coughing sound and a whimper. I speed up my pace, shove open the bathroom door and freeze.
There’s a woman kneeling over a toilet. The stall door is closed, and I can only see her knees on the cold tile. What the hell? Her skin is so dark in contrast to the vivid white tile, and the memory of earlier makes my pulse race. There’s no way, though. It wouldn’t even make sense.
“Hello?” I call.
I can see the bottom half of her body go rigid.
“Go away,” she moans, then her body convulses, and she retches. My stomach twists, but there’s no fucking way I’m leaving. I step into the bathroom and wait until she calms. Something in me tells me to leave. If I keep pushing through, this isn’t going to end well. My body vibrates with nerves, and I know that there will be no turning back after this. I push the door open. I know what I’m going to see before I do.
Chandra. Her head on her arm and eyes closed. Sick as a fucking dog.
“Chandra?”
Her eyes fly open.
“No,” she whispers. “It’s a nightmare. Tell me I passed out or I’m dead.”
I huff out a mirthless laugh. “Nice to see you, too.”
Chapter Three
Chandra
I want to die. I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole. Hell, maybe I did die, and this is some cruel punishment for not using my discretion and coming to a place like this. I died, and now I’m in hell.
After the second drink I had at the bar, my stomach twisted in knots, then morphed to a painful, dull ache. About thirty minutes ago, I found my way to the bathroom and thankfully just in time. I emptied the contents of my stomach, and even overcame my aversion for public bathrooms so I wouldn’t puke on the floor.
Verge is clean, though, thankfully. Impeccably so. Still, kneeling on the floor with the cool tile at my knees is mortifying.
Maybe I caught a stomach bug. Maybe it was something I ate. All I know is that I’m sick, violently and nearly instantly.
And then Noah walked in. Or at least someone who bears a striking resemblance to Noah.
But no. It’s got to be him.
He called me by name, and I’d know that voice, those eyes anywhere. The man I fell in love with.
The man who ruined my life.
It’s been seven years.
He looks so different now, though. He’s covered in tattoos, and the hair I once knew as dark is speckled with gray at the temples. I thought he was a man when I knew him, but he’s aged. Time has been good to him. His body is leaner, more defined and muscled, and he holds himself erect.
God, he was hot when I knew him. Now, he’s grown into his looks and my belly tightens. He’s beautiful.
I don’t know if I can trust myself to speak.
“I don’t go by Noah anymore,” he says, and I recognize a firmness to his jaw I’ve never seen before. “Name’s Axle. But we can talk later. What the hell are you doing sprawled out on the floor like this?”
I glare at him. “Examining your tile,” I quip. “What do you think I’m doing, besides emptying the contents of my stomach and wishing for instant death?”
A corner of his lips quirks up, but he quickly sobers. “Let’s get you out of here. Then, we talk.”
I clutch the toilet. “If you move me, I could make you regret it,” I say with a grimace. “I’m violently ill.”
He shrugs and his voice drops. “Life is pain, highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.”
No. Don’t. My mind pleads silently with him. He’s quoting The Princess Bride. We watched that movie together until we could quote it back to front, and I’ll never survive an onslaught of memories with Noah. It almost killed me when he left me, and he doesn’t know what I did in the aftermath. How I saved him. How I killed myself in the process.
I can’t help myself. I close my eyes and whisper, “What fresh hell is this?” It’s my favorite quote from Jane Eyre.
But no. The old Noah and I related with literary lines. It’s a closeness we shared that was dashed to pieces, and it’s stupid and trite to conjure that up once more.