Trapped (Caged #2)(48)

Amanda was glaring daggers, not surprisingly.

Ryan just looked at the ground, his jaw tight with his teeth clenched.

Chelsea had her hands over her mouth.

Michael’s face showed nothing but pity.

My father—Douglass Teague, the richest man in the county—just stared, openmouthed.

It was the last face that tore into me, though.

My mother stood in the middle of the dance floor with tears running down her face.

I felt the bile rise in my throat, but I locked it down as I made my escape, Tria dragging behind me. I was a little disoriented at first—there were people standing all around just inside the doors of the club—and I wasn’t sure what direction all the cars were parked. I wasn’t even sure which car I was going to seek out—the limo or Michael’s Rolls.

The door swung open with a bang, eliciting a grumbled reprimand by one of the people working at Sophia’s. As soon as the cool air hit me, so did the drink. I stumbled a little on the steps, which nearly brought Tria down as well.

A camera’s flash went off.

“Liam!” Tria screeched. “Slow down! I can’t run in these shoes!”

“Then f*cking ditch them!” My fingers tightened on her hand as I brought her closer. I wanted to put my arm around her to help her along, but I was afraid I wasn’t quite in control enough to do that.

Actually, I was feeling pretty seriously out of control, and I quickly realized that it wasn’t just the rage. As we headed around the back of the building, I saw where the cars were parked and quickly found a convenient shrub and waited for dinner to emerge.

It didn’t, but my head continued to spin.

“Liam, you need to sit down,” Tria said. I nodded, and she helped me over to the edge of the building and sat me down on the grass.

My stomach rolled again, but apparently I wasn’t going to puke. I didn’t think I had consumed that much champagne, but evidently I was a little low on tolerance these days. It hadn’t seemed like too much, but my spinning head disagreed. Of course, there were the whiskey shots before we headed to the wedding as well, but that had been hours ago.

I realized Tria was trying to talk to me, but my ears were ringing, and I couldn’t make out what she was trying to say. When I didn’t respond, she placed her hands on my cheeks and turned my head to look at her.

“Do I need to take you to the hospital?” Her words finally broke through the haze, and I shook my head a bit.

“I’m fine,” I tried to say, but I wasn’t sure how it came out. I grabbed the tie and pulled the knot out and then unbuttoned the first three buttons of my shirt.

Tria sat back on her heels and sighed heavily.

“I wish I had my purse,” she mumbled.

I tilted my head to look up at her, then down to the little clutch purse wrapped around her wrist. I knew I had gone back for it—I wasn’t that out of it—so what was she complaining about?

“Not this one,” she said. “My purse.”

Of course—the Yeti’s U-Haul.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because then I would have what I need!”

“What’s that?”

“Pepto, some antacid tablets, tissues, water—you know.”

I shook my head and tried not to laugh. Laughing would definitely hurt. I leaned my head against the brick wall behind me.

“You sure you’re okay?” Tria asked again.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“Okay, then,” Tria said as she straightened her back and squared her shoulders. “In that case, we need to have something absolutely clear between us.”

Her posture and words scared me a little, and when I got a good look at her face, illuminated by the glow of the streetlights, I knew I was in a lot of trouble.

“What’s that?”

“Don’t you ever, ever,” she said as her eyes blazed at me, “tell me to shut up again. If I have something to say, I’ll f*cking say it. You got that?”

I swallowed hard.

“I got it.”

“I want your word,” she said. “That seems to matter to you, at least. Promise me, and don’t you dare break this promise.”

I went a little cold.

“I give you my word,” I told her. “I promise I won’t do that again.”

She nodded once before she helped me stand on shaking legs, and we both headed to the side of Sophia’s where everyone was parked. Like some sort of mind reader, Damon was standing just outside the car. He opened the back door as we approached.

“Home?” he asked quietly as we settled in.

I leaned my head back against the seat and grunted some sort of affirmative answer.

“My purse is back at your uncle’s,” she said. “And my clothes—we’ll have to go back there first.”

“All of your belongings are in the trunk, Miss Lynn,” Damon informed her. “Is there something you would like out of it now? I could retrieve it for you.”

“Oh, I can get it!” Tria responded with a bit of a blush as she reached for the door.

“Please, Miss Lynn,” Damon said with a smile as he got out of the car and leaned into the window. “Allow me.”

“Always prepared, aren’t you?” I called out as Damon handed Tria her purse.