Chapter 20

Groggy and sticky eyelashes fluttering, I moaned when hands shoved my blanket-wrapped, naked frame into a cab. They tossed my slimy purse in after me. Not even sure from where it had appeared. The worn seat was icy. In a swirl that irritated my nostrils, the stench of stale cigarette and marijuana smoke mixed with the pungent aromas of sweat, cum, saliva, and me. Squinting as the bright sunlight slanted in between tall buildings, my vision cleared for a moment.

The hands belonged to Derrin, master of the bazillion red-blinking lights. Cameras galore. In the limo. At the apartment. Even out on its balcony. He’d set the whole damn thing up. And, of course, he wore that delightful broad smile. After my epic performance, heaps of money would pour into his coffers.

The pretty lips on his handsome face had been moving, but I couldn’t hear the words. Everything was muffled, as if I paddled far beneath an angry ocean. In the hazy morning sunshine, his eyes were so very, very pretty.

“Fuck me. Pl-Please fuck me,” I murmured through cracked lips.

Nope, not my finest moment. Not by a long shot. But the madness still roamed the shattered remnants of my mind.

Though his eyebrows lifted, he pushed my clawed hands away and slammed the door shut. His stare tracked me until the taxi went beyond a corner and he disappeared.

With a burbling groan, I fell over sideways on the seat.

Blackness.

How’d I get here?

Fingernails scratching along the textured wall, I wobbled just inside the door to our hotel suite. Warm jizz dribbled from my desiccated, crusty lips to spatter the soft blanket around my aching chest. Russet sunbeams streaked across the room, and I kept squinting my thickly crusted eyelashes.

Pain. Pain was everywhere, within and over me. A million bites and scratches coated my skin. Far inside me, a million shards of glass crinkled and ground, adding to the torturous sensation. All at once, throbbing. Beyond aches. Jagged, twisting shards. As if I’d been dragged behind a pickup along a country road all night long. A road of sharp rocks. The jagged edges of which had stabbed deep—so very deep—into me. Over and over.

“Dave?” my broken lips murmured before unleashing a wet cough. That hurt, too.

But no answer came. The only sound was the faux-ticking of an electronic bedside clock. Frothy spittle slithered from my open mouth, and I swiped at it with the back of my hand. Rather than wiping the goo away, it only smeared my crusty cheek, and a lengthy exhale escaped me. Not just saliva, it was white-streaked.

Skull pounding, I attempted one more step. When the room wavered, I swayed with a moan. My swollen tongue swept the inside of my cheek. Yes, the all-too-familiar taste of salt and dough ... And man. A half-thought bubbled at the edge of my memory. Even as a grimace slid onto my exhausted face, I stumbled a half dozen wobbly steps and crumpled forward to flop atop the bed.

Dave’ll be back. He always helps me afterwards.

With that final thought, I curled up tight. Although the aroma of fresh flowers filled the room, I reeked of well-used pussy. Of well-used everything.

God, I’m thirsty.

And so hungry.

He’d always helped me. Beneath the matted hair covering my face, my eyelids tried to open but couldn’t.

Dave!

I think I yelled, but maybe not. Blackness took me once more.

My eyelashes flew open.

“Dave?” I croaked, pain shooting along my throat.

Nothing moved in the gloom except a narrow yellow strip flapping from the air conditioner vent high on the wall.

Sharp stinging erupted as my painful tongue slid over the slashes a million razors had left on my salty, desiccated lips. A tear blurred my vision. Then another. The agonizing cuts lining my mouth and throat ignited whenever I swallowed. So raw. And dry.

Without lifting my head, I made out the polished black nightstand and its ticking clock through my sticky hair.

Math, math, math.

After turning slowly to keep from passing out again, I looked toward the still open curtains. Only dim light from a lamppost in the distance shone through the darkness. Large raindrops thumped against the window glass. Once more, I stared at the time.

Math, math, math.

“Oh, shit!” I yelped, which hurt. Then gulped. That was even more painful. “Fourteen hours!”

It’d been fourteen hours since returning to the hotel. That meant almost ... More math. My brain also hurt. Oh fuck! Thirty hours since the party at the club had begun.

“Shit,” I murmured, careful to minimize the pain.

My gaze swept the clean room. Where the hell is my husband? Something happen to him? Dave was always there for me. My heart twisted. Is he alright?

“Shit!”

With a loud groan, because that curse was really painful, I tried to peel my sticky frame from the bed and sit upright. But the world spun, and I collapsed onto my back. After several further attempts, I finally managed to slam my hands out to each side and prop myself up. As the soft, matted blanket dropped away, cool air blasted my glistening body as I swayed.

The hotel room was spinning.

Though the distant dresser kept going in and out of focus, there was a pair of plastic water bottles and several white pain pills on the wooden surface. So, Dave must’ve returned. While struggling to control my breathing and clear my eyes, I gathered every iota of strength. A dribble fled my aching loins.

When I looked down, my stomach flip-flopped. “Oh, God,” I whispered as shivers sped through me.

My outer folds, inflamed and bright crimson, pulsed. My stomach spasmed at the sight. A pearlescent smear coated the side of the bed, descending from between my shaking legs. With no clothes, nothing but purple-orange bruises, red bite marks, and finger scratches covered me.

As memories, more like flashing hazy images of faces and bodies—so many bodies—flooded my cotton-stuffed mind, my voice rasped in shock. Madness gone and reality present in full force, the room skidded backwards. Above, the ceiling blurred as loud huffs left my gluey lips and air sliced along the razor cuts in my throat. Warm tears tickled my cheeks and my blinking watery eyes struggled to focus.

What’ve I done? I rolled my head to stare at the blurry, pulsing red numbers on the clock. My God, what have I done?

More chilly oxygen sucked through the glass slices as I inhaled. My chest tightened and my nails dug into my clenched palms. Whatever I’d done, I needed to move.

Except of course I couldn’t. For the longest time, my angrily protesting muscles wouldn’t respond. I didn’t deserve their response.

“Fuck!” I nodded as the tears continued to drip and the pain deep inside me spasmed.

With a loud cry, at last I abandoned sitting upright, rolled onto my side, and slipped to the floor with a thud. A scream burst from my lips when my knees, scraped and bruised, slammed into the carpeting. Fingernails clawing at the plush pile, one slow motion at a time, I crawled uneasily towards the bureau.

Once there, I sat, tacky spine against its cool wood, gathering enough oomph. And a lot more oxygen. With a snarl that hurt like hell, I swiped a shaking hand upward to knock the bottles and pills to the ground.

After gathering the scattered items, I eased my legs outwards with a muffled cry. Loud panting breaths echoed across the room while pain ravaged my entire frame, inside and out. On the third try, my fingers at last ripped the first plastic cap away. As it slopped from the bottle, icy water scorched, then numbed the agonizing blade cuts in my mouth and throat.

The cool fluid burbled in my belly while, gasping for air, I stared around the room.

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