Jasper shuddered, a delayed kick from the bourbon. “While I don’t agree with you that we owe her anything, I think we can let her stay here under our protection for a while.” As if the matter was settled, he moved on to his favorite topic. Business. “What are we gonna do about Savannah Rhymer?”
Ma sighed. “Ronan is getting impatient.” But the smile that curved her lips and the gleam in her eyes said, “He can wait. I need to figure something out so Jasper can focus on this current situation. Is the Rhymer girl being taken good care of?”
Jasper gave a nod to Ma before he turned his attention to me. “Anything else I need to know?”
I didn’t know how Jasper knew I was digging into the FBI agent, but he did so I didn’t bother lying. “Nothing of interest. Yet.”
“Let me know.”
“I will.”
Jasper nodded, looking suddenly unsure, and I knew he wanted to say something else so I waited. And waited. “Watching your girl spiral like this can’t be easy.”
I shrugged. “It’s not easy or hard, it just is.” I let the crack about Bonnie being my girl slide.
“All right. I’m here if you need to talk.”
“Thanks,” I told him and left before he tried again. Not that I didn’t appreciate it, his concern. Everything Jasper did was in the name of the Ashby family, whether we all agreed with him or not, but talking about emotions wasn’t his specialty. It wasn’t mine either, but I was at least capable of it.
Unfortunately, Jasper was perceptive and seeing Bonnie drinking too much, and based on the Gen Z crowds that called Bullets & Beer home, probably snorting coke or molly, maybe both, wasn’t easy. It brought up ancient history.
We were all just one second away from repeating that history, no matter how ancient it seemed just one hour ago.
Chapter Three
Bonnie
“You have got to be kidding me.” The words left my mouth without any real heat, and I slammed my eyes shut right away. Maybe it was because my mouth was as dry as the desert that was Glitz, Nevada, or maybe it was because I shouldn’t be surprised that this is where I ended up.
Again.
The room wasn’t the same. This one was decorated in deep rich golds with shades of yellow. Like the blue room I’d been in before and probably every other guest room in Ashby Manor, it was slightly over the top but tastefully so, as dear old mother was fond of saying. I knew where I was but not how I got here or how long I’d been here. It was time to open my eyes again, look around for clues. Be an adult.
The door opened, slightly at first and then all the way. A gray-haired man smiled at me. “Hello, Bonnie. I’m Dr. Callahan. I’m glad to see you’re awake. I was starting to worry about that head injury.”
Immediately, my hand flew to my head. “Ouch!” A big knot the size of an orange turned my normal-shaped head into something alien and misshapen. “Dr. Callahan. What happened?”
His silver brows dipped in low. “I was hoping you remembered,” he said, concern lacing his words and putting me right back on edge. “Your blood alcohol level was high, too high, so I can’t be sure if the memory loss is from the trauma,” he pointed to my head. “Or the alcohol.”
“I just had a few drinks,” I insisted instinctively, as if this man was my father. He wasn’t. He was a mob doctor, and he was checking me out as a favor. Nothing more.
“A few more drinks, and you might’ve gotten alcohol poisoning.” There was no judgment in his tone, but still I bristled at his words, too many years of my father’s words ringing in my ears.
“My point is, lay off the booze for a few days and let’s see if you can piece together what happened.”
“I don’t need to know what happened.” I didn’t really care, honestly. Whatever happened hadn’t killed me, so it didn’t matter.
“I do.” He handed me a bottle of pills and a sheet of paper. “One pill twice a day. No more, got it?”
I nodded.
“Say it: No more.”
“Two pills a day. No more.” I took the bottle and examine it. “What is it?”
“Oxycodone. It’s for pain from the knot on your head and all the bruising to your upper body.” He looked away and for the first time I realized I was wearing pajamas that weren’t mine. Suddenly I was worried about what had happened to me.
“Bruises? What bruises?”
The doctor sighed. “My best guess is you were mugged and beaten, possibly kicked repeatedly based on the footprints on your side. Take it easy and your memory will surely come back.”
I nodded but I didn’t believe him. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe him specifically, I didn’t believe anything. I didn’t believe in anything or anyone. “Sure. Thank you for looking after me.”