Convict Me (Broken Heroes 1)

“No, I came to ask you for a ride home,” I slur, almost collapsing into the chair at the front of his desk. My eyes move around the room as it spins.

This is not fucking good.

“You think going home to your girl like this is a good idea?”

“No, but any other idea is shit too. Doesn’t matter when I go home, my ass is still going to be chewed.” My eyes gain enough focus and to land on the mystery woman.

She’s tiny, maybe five-foot, one hundred and twenty pounds. Her hair is a dark auburn, and her eyes are wide and full of fear. She looks like she’s been caught in a trap with no way out.

“How about you crash at my place tonight? I’ve got something at home that will calm you down a bit without making you puke your guts out in the morning.”

“Sure, let’s go. I don’t know how much longer my legs will work.” I slowly get up from the chair, my entire body swaying as the contents in my stomach slosh from one side to the other.

How much beer did I drink?

Damon looks at the girl for a moment, then back to me before getting up and walking past me. “Let’s go, Kiera. Get your shit, you’re coming with me.”

She nervously grabs something next to the couch and gets up, her legs just as unsteady as mine.

I can’t believe my eyes when she starts following Daman like a lost puppy. Is he taking her to his place? Who is this girl? I must be way more drunk than I thought. My mind has to be playing tricks on me. There is no way in hell Damon is bringing her back to his house, or even letting her ride in his car.

I save the millions of questions for later and manage to follow Damon out to his car. Opening the door, I nearly fall on my ass as I slip into the passenger side. A whimper from the back seat catches my attention.

“How drunk am I?” I lean over and ask Damon.

He doesn’t look like he’s in the mood for my bullshit, but most days, I’m not in the mood for his, so he can deal. “Pretty fucking drunk.”

I nod, as if I understand completely. “Okay, good. Because I could’ve sworn there was a chick in the backseat of your car.”

Damon shakes his head, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say a small smile appears on his lips. But I do know better. Nothing makes him smile. Nothing but money and power.

By the time we get to his place, I am only an eight on the drunk scale. I can walk a little straighter and talk just a tad clearer.

“Go to the guest room and lock the door behind you,” he orders to the girl I keep forgetting exists.

She scurries away, disappearing into the night.

I follow Damon into his living room and sink onto the comfortable leather couch.

He gets out a small metal case from his back pocket and flips it open, revealing three neatly rolled joints. Taking the seat next to me, he pulls a lighter out of his other pocket and lights up one of the joints.

The sweet smell of weed fills my nostrils as Damon breathes out a thick cloud of smoke. He takes two more drags before handing it to me. Greedily, I take a drag, instantly calming.

“So, you really are in love with that girl,” Damon says, like it just now sunk into his brain.

“So fucking much, it hurts. I keep fucking up, but I can’t help it. She pushes all my buttons, good and bad. It’s driving me insane.”

Damon nods as if he suddenly knows what I’m talking about, but he doesn’t understand—he has no fucking clue.

***

When I wake up, my head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton and my eyes feel like someone poured sand in them. Everything hurts…every damn thing.

I wish someone would make that ringing noise stop. The high pitch sound is like a jackhammer to my brain. Prying my extremely dry eyes open, I try to take in my unfamiliar surroundings and make sense of it. It takes me a moment to realize I’m at Damon’s, then another to realize the annoying ringing is coming from my phone.

With my throat just as dry as my eyes, I answer the phone. My voice sounds like its coming from an eighty-year-old chain smoker. “Hello?”

“Um, hey…Hero?” A timid voice filters through the phone.

“Yeah?” I look at the screen. It’s a number I don’t recognize. “Who is this?”

“It’s Tasha.”

Tasha? Why the hell is she calling me?

“I was just wondering if you know where Elyse is. She was supposed to meet me for coffee yesterday and she never showed. I called her phone a million times, but it went to voicemail. I want to make sure she’s okay.”