Page 119 of Damaged Prince
Clearly, my brain is being controlled by the alcohol I’ve consumed because I still walk up the steps and down the hall.
The pit in my stomach grows with every step I take.
Justin said the rooms were off limits, but does that apply to his best friend's brother?
He would lose his shit if he knew what Owen was doing up here.
The sounds of the party drift away, and everything becomes quiet. Huh. Maybe they didn’t come up here.
Still, one by one, I try the doors, finding them all locked. For a brief moment, I feel relief. As I try the last door, I wish I hadn’t.
This one opens into a bathroom. My heart stops in my chest when I open the door just enough to see the girl from the party, the girl who was all over Owen, on her knees with a cock in her mouth.
Tears spring to my eyes as I stumble away, raw pain clenching around my heart.
Taking off down the hall, I try to keep it together. I can’t believe it! I can’t believe he would do that to me.
I hate him. I fucking hate him so much.
Only I don’t. If I did, it wouldn’t hurt so damn much.
Not wanting to go down the same set of stairs I just came up from and be laughed at by the guys who knew what was going on up here, I take off for the set on the other side of the house.
They warned me, they told me what was going on, and I didn’t listen.
I should have just fucking listened.
As soon as I find the stairs, I take them down two at a time, the pressure on my chest keeping me from breathing. I need to get out of here. Away from whatever is going on upstairs.
I’m just getting to the end of the steps when I nearly trip over someone who’s sitting at the bottom of it.
“Shit, sorry.” I grab onto the railing, pulling myself to a stop.
When they don’t say anything, not even moving, I carefully step around them.
Curiosity has me looking back. My eyes widen when they land on a very familiar face. “Owen?” I gasp, blinking in shock and confusion.
Wait. If he’s here, who’s upstairs with the girl?
That doesn’t matter. Because he’s not. He is here. Not up there, not with another woman.
My relief is short-lived because the longer I look at him, the more I start to grow worried.
“Owen?” I take a step towards him. His eyes are closed, head leaning against the wall. “Owen.” His name comes out as a rush. Dropping to my knees, I give him a shake. “Owen, wake up.”
He lets out a small groan, his head falling back. Fuck.
“Owen.” I tap his cheek, panic setting in. “Owen, wake up.” He doesn’t. He lets out a few more groans, but his eyes won’t open.
Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I pull up Logan’s contact.
It rings a few times before he answers. “Laney? Baby, where are you?”
“I’m in the house.” My voice is laced with worry. “I think around the side? I don’t know. I’m at the bottom of a staircase, not the main one in the living room. Logan, Owen is here, and he’s not looking good. He’s breathing, but he won’t wake up.”
My eyes sting, fear for Owen thick. Bringing my fingers to his neck, I check his pulse. It seems to be strong, but what the fuck do I know?
“Shit,” Logan curses. “I’ll be right there, okay? Just hold tight.”
