Page 17 of Sawyer

“Time—” I swallow and hiccup. “Is not linear. Did you know that?”

“He’s fucked, Bast.”

“Rawr,” I growl at that voice. I know them. I can’t see them, but I know them.

Would it matter if I didn’t know them? No.

I’ve lost all I could lose—my world, my love, my mate.

Gone. Forever.

One day, I will be gone too.

Except… “I’m supposed to be doing something.”

“No shit.” Anger simmers all around me, but it isn’t enough to sober me up. “You had a job, Sin.”

My head lolls to the side, and I blink at the guy sitting next to me. He’s a blur. I know his voice, though, and that’s enough for me. Not that I’d care if anyone attacked me now.

Let them come.

“I’m working,” I tell the voice.

“You’re toasted, Sin,” another voice says, and it’s getting under my skin that I can’t see who is talking to me. “I’m getting you a cab.”

“Leave me.” I shake off the hand that tries to grab me. “Don’t touch me, and I am working.”

I think.

I widen my eyes, trying to focus through the elixir. Although the bliss that it invokes numbs me, I can work and hold on to my high at the same time. It’s called multitasking. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again.

I’m a functioning addict.

“You weren’t supposed to know,” I mutter to the two men before me. “Fuck.” Running a hand down my face, I damn near knock out my nose ring. Sniffling, I clear my throat and try to focus once again.

The lord and savior of our people sits across from me. “Sebastian, your highness.” I dip my head, earning a scowl from the man himself, especially when my forehead smacks the table and I jerk upright.

Oh, I am toasted.

I look to my right, finding his trusty delta protector, who is never far behind.

“Hey, asshole.” Riot smirks at me. “Welcome back.”

“Not back.” I lick my lips and reach for the bourbon sitting on the table. “Just functioning.” My eyes still aren’t working right. They keep closing on me. Opening. Then closing. Rinse and repeat. My fingers shake as I grip the glass and throw the drink back.

Alcohol burns my throat deliciously, adding to the numbness I crave and the utter bliss of nothingness.

“Dude, Sera is worried about you,” Riot says, allowing a thread of his annoyance to bleed into his words.

It does the trick. “Sera, shit.” My beautiful, innocent sister-in-law. The baby sister of the love I lost. She’s the last connection I have to the one I should have had eternity with. Now she spends more time looking after me than worrying about her life.

It isn’t fair to her. I’m a bastard for making her worry.

“Yeah, Sera,” Bast mocks. “And if Sera is worried, then my mate is worried, and I hate it when she whimpers.” Ah, Audrey. Sera’s best friend. Too many omegas are trying to play mother hen to the lost alpha, the one intent on killing himself via self-sabotage.

I admit, sabotage feels fucking amazing. It’s like living without a single fuck left to give.

“Control your alpha urges, my liege,” I retort.

---