Chapter Six
Sienna
There wasa jackhammer drilling through my skull, and I was sure some creature from hell decided to take a dump in my mouth.
“Fuck.” I groaned, stretching out beneath the sheet as my bones complained with the toxic aftereffects of way too much tequila and bad stepmom jokes. I tried nestling my face deeper into the pillow to get away from every tiny little sliver of light. “Silas, you asshole. This is all your fault,” I muttered to myself. With every breath, my liver reminded me how much it hated me, bile pushing up my throat only to have me swallow it back down.
“Jesus Christ.” I jerked upright and leaped off the bed only to come to a screeching halt. “This isn’t my room.”
My feet were frozen to the ground, my mind taking its sweet time to realize that this was the cottage and not a repeat of last summer’s drinking bender post-breakup with Oakley. I was practically waiting for some strange guy to walk out of the bathroom freshly showered and sporting a hard-on.
I placed a palm on my forehead. “Thank God.” Sober me wasn’t a fan of drunk me’s midnight antics and shameless behavior. One thing I’ve learned; self-loathing paired well with a hangover.
I glanced down my body, narrowing my eyes.Where’s my dress?
My memory, or rather lack thereof, was hazy at best. And glancing around the room, no trace of my dress or shoes in sight, had me digging real deep to try and remember just what happened last night.
That’s when it hit me.
Key. Couch. Familiar guy.
Gun.
“Oh, fuck.” I grabbed the sheet and wrapped it around me, creeping up toward the door, first pressing my ear against it. He was still here, in the cottage, which meant the gun had to be here too.
“Shit.” I stepped away from the door, narrowing my eyes as I scanned the room. The second I spotted the phone, I rushed over and picked it up.
Dead. No signal.
“Great.” I tossed the receiver on the bed. He had to have cut the lines before putting me in the room. “Way to go, Sienna. Out of all the guys that were at the party, you had to go and kiss the potential psychotic killer with a gun.”
The curtains stirred, a breeze flowing into the bedroom, and I noticed the open window. I lifted my eyes to the Heavens. “Thank you, God. I promise never to get drunk again.” I stilled. “Within the next week.” I made a cross at my chest and hurried to the open window, thanking God for the juice diet I was on a few weeks ago. Otherwise, my ass never would have fitted through this window, and I’d be screwed right now.
The floor creaked as I lifted one foot off the ground, slipping it through the opening. I stilled, my heart racing like it’s on crack. As soon as I felt ground beneath my foot on the outside, I maneuvered my upper body out the window next. That’s when my careful, tactical window escape changed into me falling on my ass, white petunias tangled in my hair.
I lay completely still, trying my best to ignore how gross it was to have garden dirt in my mouth, and prayed that whoever this man was didn’t hear me take a fall.
Seconds ticked by, and only when I was sure no one heard me, I eased up to my feet, my legs ready to run straight to security.
I turned and looked right at him. “Jesus Christ.”
“The name is Noah, actually.”
Leaves crunched under my bare feet as I stepped back. “Stay away from me.”
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Says the one with a gun.”
“Does it look like I have a gun?” He held up his arms, waving his hands.
“You had one last night.”
He crossed his chest, the white wifebeater shirt pulling taut, perspiration beading on his shoulders. “How was I supposed to know it was your drunk ass sneaking into the cottage?”
I scoffed. “I didn’t sneak.”
“Oh, that’s right. You basically fell into the living room.”