Page 105 of The Demons We Hide

If only they would like that too. I have a feeling that if I ask, Bran will scoff at the thought of drinking from a can and Avery will giggle and shake her head like I’m playing a joke on her. I’m halfway done with my martini when the waitress returns with the other doubles.

Reaching into my strapless bra, hidden by the dress’s top, I withdraw my cell phone and play my fingers across the screen. There are no text messages from Bran or Avery asking where I am. I try not to let it hurt—no doubt my mother told them the lie that she’d concocted about me not feeling well. Denise Donovan can be convincing when she wants to be. She should’ve gone into acting. Too bad I never got those skills from her because right now I really wish I could go back in there and pretend that I don’t want to claw my own mother’s eyes out or that my friends’ lack of communication doesn’t dig a hole deep in my chest.

A notification pops up on my screen and I swipe it to find one of those random spam email addresses has sent me a series of ads for new music. My finger hovers over the delete button when I pause next to the name of a playlist:For Beautiful Girl’s Drinking Alone.

I don’t know why but the playlist title almost feels like it’s directed at me, but that’s ridiculous. My curiosity gets the best of me, though, and I find my finger pressing the drop down to see the songs listed. The first song isLonelyby Palaye Royale, how appropriate. My lips twitch and I move on to the rest, scrolling through the song titles and recognizing more than a few of them. Whoever put it together has good taste.

I drink the rest of my martini in record time and end up sipping on the doubles as I peruse the extensive playlist. As the minutes tick by and more people leave the bar, I forget all about my intentions of coming in here and getting trashed just to really embarrass my mom. I’m feeling gooey inside and warm by the time I finish the last of my order.

When the bartender begins to wipe down the counter and lights slowly brighten, I know it’s time to go. Withdrawing a few hundreds from the case wallet on my phone, I drop them onto the surface of the table and get to my feet.

“Whoa…” My hand slaps the wall, and I shake my head. Four doubles and a martini as well as all the alcohol I’d had at the party earlier have finally made their presence known. I should’ve eaten more at dinner.

Stumbling forward, the room tilts, but I wave off one of the male waiters as he rushes forward to help me. “No… thanks…” Now, I’m really slurring. My words sound garbled to my own ears. Still, the man doesn’t touch me, and I’m able to make it out of the hotel bar and into the lobby on my own.

In the elevator, I breathe a sigh of relief and lean back against the wall. Minutes pass by when I realize I’m not moving. Shit. I forgot to press the button to my floor. I fumble forward and press a button, cursing when it’s not the one I wanted. I press a second and finally get it correct on the third try.

Maybe now I should go back to my parents’ party.Amusement fills me. I’m actually drunk now. Mom would be so pissed.

I swallow the taste of the vodka still clinging to my throat and when the elevator dings, announcing my arrival onto a floor, I push myself through the doors and fall right into a hard, male chest.

“Oh dear…” Deep, eloquent and familiar, the voice that greets me as firm hands grip my shoulders and help me to stand up more fully is warm.

My head rolls back on my shoulders and I smile back at the man before me. “Hi, Uncle Morph…” I slur.

Morpheus’ face creases in amusement as he gazes back at me. “Hello, Pretty Girl. You’ve been missing for quite a while, where did you go?”

“Hotel… bar…” If he can understand my speech, then he’d be a miracle worker, but then again, he’s my dad’s right hand man. Uncle Morpheusisa miracle worker.

“Too much to drink then?” he steps to the side and hauls me closer, wrapping an arm around my waist.

“Just enough,” I confess with a giggle. “Mom was being a bitch.”

“Ah.” He helps me walk forward, his eyes moving from my face down to my throat and chest and then my dress. “You looked beautiful tonight, Pretty Girl,” he murmurs.

I grin. I’d felt beautiful when Bran had first seen me and asked if we really had to go to the party or if we could stay in my room and fuck. A sweet talker, he isn’t, but at least Uncle Morpheus appreciates the hard work it takes to look this decent for one of my parents' parties.

“Morpheus!” A deep male voice calls out from down the hall and at my side, Uncle Morpheus stiffens. His face, which had been soft and relaxed, goes tight. He glances over his shoulder and sighs.

“I’m sorry, Pretty Girl, but do you mind waiting here for me?” Uncle Morpheus’ words are accompanied by him moving me to a small curtained alcove along the wide hallways. It’s not unlike the booth in the bar with velvet curtains except instead of a table, there’s a small bench there. “I’ll be right back.”

I slump onto the bench when he releases me and lean back as a wave of exhaustion swamps me. I’m so tired. I can hardly keep my eyes open. “‘Kay…” I mumble. Warm fingers graze my jaw and then down to my throat for a brief moment before disappearing.

Uncle Morpheus’ receding footsteps disappear in the direction of the man that had called for him, and I close my eyes, wondering how mad mom will be if I’m found asleep here in the hallway of this fancy hotel. I can’t seem to help myself, though. Trying to lift my arms or stand is a Sisyphean task in futility. So, instead, I recline and let myself drift.

I startle awake slightly at the feeling of a hand on my leg. Dragging my eyes open, I spy Uncle Morpheus on his knees in front of me. My smile is a little uneasy as he pushes the fabric of my skirts up and strokes his fingers, first over my calves and then further up.

“Such a pretty girl, Juliet,” he murmurs. “I’m so sorry for leaving you, but I’m back. Are you ready to go?”

I shift a bit on the bench, but when I try to stand, he stops me. “I’m tired,” I tell him in case he can’t see it on my face.

“I know, sweetheart.” His hands move up some more, grazing over my knee and then on my thighs. “Did I tell you how pretty you looked tonight?” he asks. “Pretty, pretty girl…”

My head throbs. My stomach cramps. My skull feels like it’s the heaviest part of me, and it takes all of my concentration to keep it upright.

Uncle Morpheus’ hands move, one arm tucking under my legs and the other around my back. He stands, lifting me up, and I sigh in relief. Oh, good, he’s going to carry me back to my room. I relax against him. My dad would never do something like this. He’d probably order one of his security guards to do it. Mom would just stand there and yell at me, maybe even hide me if her friends were around.

My eyes slowly slide shut as Uncle Morpheus’ voice rumbles against my ear. “Don’t you worry, Pretty Girl,” he says. “I’ll take care of you.”

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