Chapter 6

Chapter Six

T hump. Thump. Thump. Someone is stomping around inside my head. Reaching up, I circle my fingers over my temples, trying to ease the pounding currently warring within my brain. It doesn't work. Whatever is going on in my head, the pain only intensifies the more the consciousness seeps in.

I keep my eyes closed and bury myself under the covers. Maybe if I go back to sleep, I can wake up again without this pain. The soft fabric engulfs me. I feel like I'm lying on a cloud. The bed is warm, and the sheets are the silkiest thing I've ever felt.

My eyes snap open, and my hands run down my body, checking for clothes. They're still on. I breathe a sigh of relief when I do a mental rundown and don't feel any injuries or like I've had a whole lot of fun. I would want to remember, if you know what I mean. My vagina feels normal, not like I've spent a night fucking someone. But that only leaves me with more unanswered questions.

Why am I not in my bed? Where exactly am I?

I listen and hear the faint voice of someone singing. Whoever it is, they're not in this same room.

I pull myself up and reach for the knife that's always on my ankle. It's not there, so I check my leg where I know I put one last night, and again it's gone. Looking around the room does nothing to make the weapons appear. What the movement does achieve is the rolling of my stomach.

I spot an open door that I'm hoping is a bathroom and rush as quickly as I can through the door. The cold, hard tiles grate on my knees as I collapse in front of the porcelain throne. Just in time for the contents of my stomach to make an appearance. Once I don't think I can possibly bring anything else up, I pull on some toilet paper and wipe my mouth before flushing the toilet.

I drag myself upright again, leaning on the vanity, and start rummaging through the drawers until I find some toothpaste. I squirt a small amount onto the tip of my finger and rub it over my teeth, doing my best to scrub them clean. Then I rinse out my mouth and stare at my reflection in the mirror.

I look like shit.

I splash my face and reach for one of the folded towels on the shelf next to the vanity, doing my best to free myself of last night's makeup, and then comb my fingers through my hair. "It will have to do," I mumble to my reflection. I've spent far too long in this person's bathroom, in this person's house, whoever this person is.

Guess there's no time like the present.

I look around the bathroom again. I don't like not having a weapon on me, something to defend myself with. Although, with the way I feel right now, an ant would be able to knock me on my ass. There's nothing I see that I can use, so I open the cabinet and shift through bottles until I find a small pair of nail scissors.

"Not the best, but it'll do," I murmur while clutching the scissors in my hand. I do a quick scan of the bedroom when I walk back in. My shoes are nowhere to be seen, and my socked feet slide a little too easily on the smooth hardwood floors. I peel them off. If I have to force my way out of here, socks won't help me stay upright.

Taking a deep breath, I try to calm my nerves. Whoever I heard singing isn't making any noise now. I tiptoe down the hall, and my eyes spot what I'm praying is the front door. Maybe I can get out of here without even being seen. That would be ideal. Then I could call for an Uber or a cab.

I pull my phone out of my bra where I stuffed it last night, tap the screen, and silently curse when nothing but blackness greets me.

"You got anything else hiding away in there?" a deep, gravelly voice says from behind me.

I quickly turn around, only to find the last person I expected to see. Enzo Valentino. A shirtless Enzo Valentino. My eyes travel down his bare chest, all the way to where that delicious V forms at the low-hung waistband of his basketball shorts.

Shaking my head, I internally curse myself. I am not checking out a Valentino.

"W-what? Do I know you?" I ask, catching myself. I'm not supposed to know who he is.

Enzo's eyes spark. There's something there that I can't quite pick up. This guy isn't the easiest to read. Whatever he's thinking, feeling, he's a master at disguising it. "I'm Enzo. Is this a common occurrence? You waking up in the homes of men you don't know?" There's a little tick in his jaw when he asks the question.

"No, I don't. How did I get here exactly?" I scan the room, the tiny pair of scissors gripped in my hand like a lifeline. I'm alone with a Valentino.

"I brought you here. Found you past out in a bathroom of a frat house. You have no idea how lucky you got last night, how close you came to becoming a statistic," he says. "You really should be more careful with who you take drinks from."

My mouth drops open and then snaps closed. I was… drugged. I'm careful. I'm always careful. I don't remember much of anything from last night—well, nothing more than walking into a party and seeing Enzo hit some guy. Then I remember getting a drink with Pacey.

"I am careful. Why would you bring me here?"

"Because I wasn't about to leave you on a bathroom floor for a bunch of deviants to do with you as they please. I don't know where you live or what your name is. Where else was I supposed to take you?"

"Is that your thing? Being a white knight?" I fire back at him. "Saving girls at parties?" I know he's not. The Valentinos aren't good people. Honestly, I'm surprised I've made it this far in his presence without a scratch on me.

"I'm no white knight, piccolo ladro. Believe me. I just happen to have morals and a little thing called a conscience from time to time," he says. "Come on, you need food and I made you breakfast."

I watch him brush past me and can't manage to do anything but stare after him. What the hell is happening? Did he really just say he made me breakfast? As I'm contemplating this, I'm mesmerized by the muscles in his back. It's a sin that something so damn pretty can be so rotten underneath.

Then his words hit me. Piccolo ladro . Little thief. He thinks I'm a thief. What the hell does he think I stole? Better yet, how do I get out of this alive? I've seen what men like him do to the people they think stole from them.

"I'm not a thief. I don't know what it is you think I've stolen, but I assure you it wasn't me," I tell him. "Thanks for the… help. Last night. But I really need to go."

"I'll take you home after you eat. And trust me, you most certainly did take something that wasn't meant for you," he says cryptically. "But don't worry. I didn't need it anyway."