Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“Yes, you look like you frequent dive bars,” I said as we made our way to the door of the one near the hospital. Which was either the smartest or worst placement idea ever.
“Who says I don’t go to dive bars?” Bellamy asked as I moved inside.
It was a small, packed space with an oblong bar and just a few bar tables along the sides. Two middle-aged men manned the bar with the sort of disinterested practice that you expected from these sorts of places.
“Your shoes. Your shoes say you’ve never seen the inside of a dive bar,” I said, moving up to the bar. “Anything,” I told the guy who was approaching, drying a glass with a less than clean rag that was hanging from his belt. “Give me literally anything but make it strong,” I demanded.
“You got me,” Bellamy agreed. “I can mark it off my bucket list now, though,” he said. “The decor is…” he started, looking at the wall full of neon beer signs and anthropomorphized animals playing poker and pool, “well… it’s here,” he said, nodding.
“Thanks,” I said, grabbing my drink, and throwing it back in one long swig.
“Congratulations, you likely now have hepatitis,” Bellamy said, grimacing at my cup as I passed it toward the bartender and asked for another.
“Trust me, this is one of the nicer dive bars in the area.”
“Are you drinking?” the bartender barked at Bellamy.
“I am paying,” Bellamy said, slipping his card across the bar.
I don’t think the bartender was prepared for the Black card, but I wasn’t the least bit surprised. Men who spent three-hundred-grand on a car got a credit card without a spending limit.
“Oh, good, good,” the bartender said, seeing dollar signs. “Can I get you guys anything to eat?” he asked.
“I don’t think I’m even that brave,” I admitted, shrugging.
“Probably the smart choice, sweetheart,” the bartender admitted, handing back Bellamy’s card.
“So, we’re just going to pretend like this night didn’t happen,” I said when the bartender got busy at the other end of the bar.
“Is that a question or a demand?” Bellamy asked.
“Well, seeing as you are not only an accessory, but someone who aided and abetted a crime, I figure it is just a fact. Whoa,” I said, holding a hand out as I moved toward one of the bar tables, feeling the world turn on its axis.
“You okay, love?” Bellamy asked as I slammed a hand on the table as the world continued to spin.
I mean, granted, I’d wanted strong drinks.
But two shouldn’t have been able to knock me onto my ass.
And certainly not that fast.
“Something’s wrong,” I said, slow blinking at the bar that was suddenly nothing but blots of color. “I, ah, I think I’ve been drugged,” I added, trying to reach for my phone, but my arm just fell down at my side, heavy and limp. Useless.
“I’m afraid you’re right, love,” Bellamy said as his arms went around me, lifting me up.
“You,” I accused with what was left of my rational thought.
“Right again.”
And that, well, that was all I remembered.
Until I woke up.
On a plane.
CHAPTER THREE
Shawn
I woke up disoriented and spacey, feeling detached from my own body.
My own body that was sprawled across a queen-sized bed at the back of a plane.
I only knew the latter part because the window shades were up, and I found myself staring at the blue sky and fluffy white clouds.
Both of which I cursed with every foul word I could think of since the brightness sent a shooting pain through my temples, making me roll onto my side to face the wall without windows. But the movement made my stomach slosh around, made bile rise up my throat.
What the hell was going on?
Why was I on a plane?
Whose plane was it?
And why the hell couldn’t I remember what happened the night before?
A low, pathetic whimper escaped me as I pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes, trying to ease the sledgehammering pain as I took slow, deep breaths to calm the nausea. Which did about as much good as you could expect. Meaning none.
“I thought I heard someone muttering profanities,” a smooth male voice said, making me whip back onto my back, waiting for my vision and stomach to settle before my gaze landed on the owner of it.
There were tugs of familiarity at first. The handsome face. The bright blue eyes. And, for some reason, my mind was flashing back to Tiffany vases and a Rolls-Royce emblem.
But I couldn’t quite force the memories to fully surface, to meld together to make a scene and help me put some context on the events of the moment.
What I did know was that, whoever this man was, he wasn’t familiar to me in that I’d known him for more than a night or something. And I was alone with him. For some reason… on a plane.