Baiting Him (How to Catch an Alpha #2)(57)

“Are you okay?” Leah asks me worriedly, holding my arm as I grasp the top of my dress with my hands.

“I’m fine,” I tell her shakily before I rush to Gaston’s side, dropping to my knees next to him. “Is she okay?”

“I don’t know,” he says, and I lean in closer, then reach out for her hand, wrapping my fingers around her wrist to check her pulse. When I was working as a manager at the restaurant, the owner required us all to take CPR classes just in case someone ever choked. Thankfully, our instructors were thorough in everything they taught us.

“Her pulse and breathing are both normal,” I tell Gus when I feel the steady beat of his mom’s pulse against the tips of my fingers, and I watch her chest rise and fall without wavering.

“That might be, but something isn’t right,” he tells me as he lifts her head to the side and it falls right back against her shoulder without him holding it up.

“An ambulance is on the way.” I know it’s Tyler speaking. I look over my shoulder and find him holding his phone to his ear, with Leah, who looks completely freaked, tucked under his arm. “They say they’re less than five minutes away.”

“Thanks,” I whisper to him, and then I turn my attention back to Rita, who hasn’t moved, even with her son calling her name and trying to get her to respond.

It feels like it takes a lot longer than five minutes for the paramedics to show up; then when they do, it’s a whirlwind of activity. They quickly check to make sure she is stable, and once they see she is, they load her onto a stretcher, and with Gaston right at her side and me close behind, we leave the club and go with them to the ambulance parked outside at the curb.

“Who’s riding with her?” one of the paramedics asks, looking at the group of people who’ve come outside.

“I am,” Gaston says, and then he looks through the crowd that seems to be closing in around us. When his eyes land on me, I can tell he’s torn.

“I’ll meet you at the hospital,” I tell him softly, and with a jerk of his chin and a look at Chris, he gets into the back of the ambulance with the paramedics to ride with his mom.

“We’ll drive you.” A warm hand lands on my shoulder, and I turn to find Tyler and Leah.

“Thank you,” I whisper as my brother wraps his arm around me, with Sam close to my side and Leah looking back at me every few seconds.

When we get to the hospital, Tyler and Chris find out from a nurse that Rita has been placed in a room and that we have to wait in the waiting area for someone to come out and talk to us.

Not sure what is happening with Gaston or his mom, I pace back and forth across the tile floors, jumping every single time the doors at the end of the hall open up until I eventually give in to the urge to cry. Sam pulls me down to sit next to him. With my face tucked against his chest and my tears dried up, I lift my head when I hear the swoosh of the automatic doors. I don’t expect to see Gaston, but when I do, I let out the breath that has been trapped in my lungs since I watched him get into the back of the ambulance with his mom.

I stand quickly, then rush to him, feeling his hands curve around my waist as mine land on his chest. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine.” His jaw tics. “She’s a little out of it, but she’s awake, and the doctor told me she will be okay.”

I sag against him in relief and then ask, “What happened?”

“She was drugged,” he says.

I gasp as my head jerks back. “What?”

“They ran a few tests and found that she had Rohypnol in her system.”

“Oh my God.” I cover my mouth and stare at him in horror.

“Mom said the last thing she really remembers is taking a drink that was brought up to you in the VIP.”

“To me?” I ask, confused. All night, drinks were brought to the VIP section to each and every one of us. More than once, I turned a drink away because I didn’t want to get drunk. “Are you telling me that drink was meant for me?”

“Sweetheart.” Gaston captures me around the waist as I attempt to pull away from him.

“I cannot believe this.”

“Security at the club has already gone over the footage from the time you entered the club to when the paramedics showed up,” he says, and I notice his jaw is clenching in anger. “I know who laced the drink, and the police have already been notified and are probably already arresting her.”

“Who? Why would someone do something like that?” I ask, and his eyes close. I grab hold of his biceps and squeeze until his focus is on me.

“It was Georgia,” he finally answers, and I stare at him.

“Georgia? Your bar manager?”

“Yes,” he says, sounding angry. “She . . . fuck! I thought we talked shit out and that she was over whatever shit she had in her head.” I can tell he’s not even talking to me; he’s just talking, and I want to shake him.

“She had a thing for you?” It’s a statement, not a question, and he nods.

“I don’t even know what to say,” I admit, wrapping my arms around him.

“Me neither,” he says, and I feel his breath at the top of my head.

“I’m glad your mom is okay.”

“Yeah, me too,” he murmurs, holding me close, and my eyes slide closed. I soak in the feeling of being in his arms and the warmth of knowing his mom is okay, and I pray that Georgia, whoever she is, gets what she deserves.