Page 20 of Her Guardian
“And?” I press, taking another drag from my cigarette.
Sarah’s face falls. She nibbles her bottom lip. A word tries to form, but she hesitates. I lean forward and put my finger under her chin, tilting it until I see tears in her pretty blue eyes again. I didn’t put those there this time.
My protective nature flourishes to life like a beast in the wild. I start to see red, and I don’t even know why.
“Tell me,” I demand.
Sarah is silent for a few moments that feel like an eternity. I’m about to demand my answer more forcibly when her lips tremblea few whispers I can’t make out before she finally raises her voice.
“The last time I-I was in Las Vegas,” she mumbles. “I went to a bar and…”
The red in my vision builds into a rage. I can already tell where this is going.
“Tell me,” I repeat, my jaw tightening until it makes my neck stiff.
“It was late. I shouldn’t have stayed so late, but I was… I was talking to the bartender,” she says, fear radiating behind her tears. “He offered me one last drink, and… he put something in it. It had to be him, because there was nobody else around.”
I pull my hand away from her face, crush out my cigarette, and stand up. I’ve heard enough. I grab my suit jacket and throw it on so fast I hear a few threads rip.
“Which bar?” I growl. “Give me the name.”
“Nothing happened, Boyd,” she says, some panic in her voice. “I started feeling woozy. I sent a text to Lea and Massimo sent someone to get me!”
“Whichfuckingbar?” I insist, leaning forward until my fists are against her mattress and I’m inches from her face. “Either give me the name, or I’ll start with the closest one and I won’t stop until I find out who put something in your drink.”
“Fletcher’s,” she whispers. “Down the strip by?—”
“I know it,” I snap, my back popping a few times as I pull away from her.
I tolerate a lot working for the Morandi family. But this isn’t something I’ll tolerate.
I stomp to the door and yank it open so hard I bend the hinges. I get halfway down the hallway before Sarah comes chasing after me with her purse in her hand.
“Wait! No, Boyd!” she calls out. “Nothing happened!”
“It could have,” I say, not slowing my pace. “And it could easily happen to someone else.”
I make it to the elevators before Sarah catches up to me. She latches onto my arm, trying to turn me around, but it’s a fruitless endeavor.
“I don’t want any trouble!” she whines. “That’s why I didn’t tell Massimo!”
“If I wasn’t so angry right now, you’d get another spanking for keeping it to yourself.” I shrug her off my arm. “What if I had been some other girl, huh? Someone who didn’t have a best friend on speed dial who could send someone to get her?”
“I know, but I was just so embarrassed.” Sarah looks away and tears stream down her cheeks. “I never take drinks when people offer them to me. I didn’t expect thebartenderto roofie me.”
The elevator doors open and I step inside. Sarah doesn’t follow me. I wait until the doors start to close, then I put my hand out to stop them.
“Are you coming?” I ask. “Or are you just going to stand there, cry, and feel sorry for yourself? You can even put this on your fucking podcast and shout his name to the entire world. I don’t give a damn.”
Sarah hesitates, then she steps in the elevator, so I let the doors close.
“I don’t want to talk about this on my podcast,” she mutters.
“Suit yourself,” I grumble, hitting the button to take us to the lobby.
Someone tried to take advantage of this pretty little thing. They roofied her. Fuck that. I knew everything that happened with Massimo and his brothers wasn’t enough to sap the excitement out of her voice. Sure, it was scary, but she was fine at the wedding.
I certainly didn’t want to be there after what Erica did. Sarah’s excitement practically radiated off her and made me feel just a tiny bit less miserable. She also looked fucking incredible in that bridesmaid’s dress.
