Liar (Madison Kate #2)(96)

This was all making my head pound. "Why was someone trying to kill Drew?"

"Any one of probably a hundred reasons," Steele muttered, a bit snarky.

"None of which we can ask her," Kody added. He blew out a long breath, rubbing his tired eyes before meeting my gaze. "Drew was murdered tonight. Her throat was slit and her body left behind the dumpsters at the party venue."

My jaw dropped. "What?"

Kody grimaced, and now I understood why he was so worked up. His ex-girlfriend had been murdered and his current girlfriend almost murdered... Yeah, that was bound to wind the tension up pretty tight.

"I'm going to get the doctor," Steele announced, standing up from his chair. "MK needs to be checked over properly, now that she's awake."

Neither of the boys objected this time, so I got the feeling they'd told me everything important. Or anything directly relating to how I'd almost died in the trunk of a car, at any rate.

"Can I get you anything?" Kody offered when I remained silent after Steele left the room. "I don't know if food is allowed, but I can go and ask."

My stomach churned violently at the mention of food, and I groaned. "No food," I replied with a grimace. "I feel like I'm hovering on the edge of vomiting as it is."

Kody nodded, frowning. "That's the fentanyl, I think. The paramedics gave you a dose of Narcan when we found you and it's in your IV, but it'll take a few hours yet for the fentanyl to pass through your system."

"Kody," Archer said, speaking for the first time since I’d woken up, with his voice low and husky, "can you give us a second? Go and grab us all some coffees or some shit."

Kody scowled. "That takes longer than a second, dickhead."

Archer turned a scathing glare on his friend. "So?"

Kody glared back, but crossed the small room and pressed a kiss on my forehead. "Press your nurse buzzer if he pisses you off, okay? I'll be quick."

"It's fine," I assured him, blinking my heavy lids as he frowned in concern, then shot Archer a warning glare on his way out of my room.

Silence fell over the room as the door clicked shut once more, but for once it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. Archer made no move to speak, staring off into the distance like he was totally lost in his own thoughts, so I let my eyes close. Just for a moment.

I didn't even realize I'd fallen asleep until a warm hand touched mine, threading our fingers together. I cracked my lids and found Archer had moved from his seat in the corner of the room and taken Steele's right beside my bed. It was his fingers laced with mine, and his head bent over our hands like he was praying.

"Hey," I croaked, and his face shot up with a slightly panicked expression.

"Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up." He started to release my hand, but I tightened my fingers around his, indicating that I wanted him to stay.

I let out a yawn. "It's fine, I wasn't asleep. Just..."

He grimaced. "Out of it."

"Yup," I agreed.

We fell silent again, and my gaze dropped to our hands. His thumb was rubbing small circles on my skin, and that small gesture gave me so much comfort it was almost staggering.

"You saved me," I whispered after some time.

Archer shook his head, not meeting my eyes. "I never should have left you alone. That whole meeting with Zane and Charon... what if that'd been a diversion? A distraction to strip you of backup?"

I gave a soft snort. "But it wasn't. That drugged drink was meant for Drew. I was just a fucking moron for drinking it."

He let out a shaking sigh, but still didn't look at me. He just lowered his head until his face touched our joined hands, his eyes shut tight, and stayed like that while I drifted back into a weird, scattered dream state that made my pulse race.





I was kept in the hospital overnight for observation while the fentanyl passed through my system. It was a long night of vomiting, nausea, headaches, and panic attacks, but I didn't spend even a second of it alone. The guys took it in shifts to stay with me, and I took a huge amount of strength from their continued presence in my room, despite all the drama they must be dealing with outside.

The police came by twice to speak with me during the night. Once to question me about my "attack" and ask what—if anything—I remembered about the person who'd given me that first dose of Narcan and locked me in the trunk of Steele's car. The second time was to interview me about Drew's death.

I wasn't a suspect in any way—my alibi was pretty solid—but a whole heap of people had seen me argue with her earlier in the evening. It was hard to believe in coincidences when I was almost killed and she was.

One of the cops let it slip that Drew had been found with a bag of Rohypnol in her pocket and they speculated that it was a gang-related crime. But a sinking feeling in my gut told me why she’d been in possession of that particular drug.

She'd tried to roofie me.

I'd been right to avoid the drink she was offering me, but I'd been oh so wrong in taking hers instead.

It was midmorning by the time my doctor cleared me for discharge, on strict orders to rest and maintain fluids for the next few days. He reminded me no less than six times of the fact that I was lucky to be alive and—essentially—not to fuck up again.