Page 34 of Viper

Nausea pelted the back of his throat, and it took every ounce of strength inside him not to scream or lose his shit.

Forcing a calm he didn’t possess, he told the officer that Craig Brawn was in the vicinity.

He ran his thumb along Paige’s cheek.

Please, baby. Wake up.

Chapter Nine

Paige squirmed beneath the water. The pressure in her chest compounded as she jerked and twisted against the arms holding her on the seafloor. Bubbles escaped her lips. A silent scream tore at the back of her throat.

I’m going to die.

She opened her mouth to call for Troy—knew she shouldn’t but couldn’t stop herself. To beg him to find her. To tell him she was sorry they’d wasted so much time. To tell him⁠—

Warm hands enveloped her right hand. Her eyes flew open on a shuddering gasp. A choked cry fell from her lips. A machine beeped beside her, and an IV tube ran into her left hand.

“Shhh. You’re safe.” Troy’s calm, reassuring murmur brought tears to her eyes.

A sharp headache clanged against her temples, and the bright fluorescent lights made her wince. She was clearly in a hospital, but the last thing she remembered was eating chicken Caesar salad and sitting across from Troy at a cute, beachy diner.

The acidic taste of tequila lingered in her mouth. She’d been drinking, but not much. Her brain worked to figure out what’d happened. Had they gotten into a car wreck? Troy looked fine . . . and she couldn’t remember leaving the restaurant at all.

She’d gotten up to pee and . . .

That’s it. She’d been unsteady when she reached the bathroom. She remembered the dizziness. It had swept over her like a tornado, stealing her voice, her strength, and then her consciousness.

You thought you could get away from me. But you’re mine, little starfish.

She tried to speak, but the grittiness in her mouth made her tongue stick to her lips.

Troy quickly reached for a plastic cup of water and brought the straw to her mouth.

“You probably feel like shit,” he said. “You were drugged. A heavy dose of sleeping pills that could’ve been fatal.”

Her stomach lurched. Both from fear and bile.

“They had to pump your stomach when we got to the hospital. Thankfully we—” He propped his elbow on the mattress and dropped his head into his hand.

His fingers returned to hers as if he were afraid to let go.

“I don’t know how I let this happen, Paige. I’m so sorry.”

She swallowed over the daggers in her throat. “It’s not your fault.” The words came out on a shaky croak.

He lowered his hand, and his electric eyes bored into her. “It is my fucking fault.” He heaved a breath. “The important thing is they said you’ll be fine. If you’d had more to drink, though . . .” His voice trailed off.

“I remember going to the restroom and collapsing. H-He—Craig—grabbed me, but I don’t remember anything after that.”

His forehead was crinkled and strain creased the skin around his eyes. Something else flashed in his blue depths . . . anger maybe. The playfulness that usually lingered there was gone.

“I paid the bill and went to wait for you near the restroom. That’s when I saw him carrying you out the back exit.” He bowed his head and gave it a light shake. “I’m fucking glad I was there, but I was almost too late. You would’ve been gone.”

She tightened her hold until his eyes met hers. “You saved me. Twice. Please don’t feel like this is your fault.”

He firmed his lips into a smile, but there was no sign he agreed. “Now that you’re awake, the police will want to take a statement. How do you feel?”

She touched her head with a shaky hand. “Confused. Sick. But I’ll be fine.” She hoped that was true, but with the way the room was spinning, she wasn’t so sure.