Fall Into You (Morally Gray, #2)(41)

“Bad stuff,” she whispers, her voice faint and scratchy. “’Kay.”

I’m encouraged that she’s responsive. Being as gentle as I can, I open her mouth and stick my finger all the way in.

She jerks and retches, grimacing.

“I know, baby. Do it for me. You can do it.”

Hating myself for hurting her but knowing it’s necessary, I shove my finger deeper.

This time, she heaves, makes a sound like she’s dying, and throws up. I pull my hand away and hold the basket in place as she vomits into it, coughing and spitting.

I focus on holding her steady as she continues to retch until there’s nothing left to come up. Then she collapses back against the sofa, groaning.

I pull off my suit jacket, use it to wipe off my hand, and toss it aside. Holding her wrist, I take her pulse. It’s fast and weak, but steady.

I go into the small bathroom attached to the office, wash my hands, and wet a hand towel. I use it to clean Shay’s face.

As I’m wiping off her chin, her lashes flutter. She opens her eyes and whispers my name.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

She mumbles something about riding a pony. I have no idea what she’s talking about, so I smooth my hand over her damp forehead and hope the doctor isn’t delayed.

Emiliano returns with the blonde in tow. The second she spots Shay on the sofa, she drops her handbag on the floor and rushes over, pushing me aside as she sinks to her knees.

“What happened?”

“Her drink was spiked.”

She lifts one of Shay’s eyelids and examines her pupil. She takes her pulse at the vein in her neck. She adjusts the collar of Shay’s blouse, then kisses her forehead. Then she stands and turns to me with a thousand suns exploding into supernovas of hatred in her eyes.

“If you did this to her, I’ll lock you inside your house, set it on fire, and watch you burn. And that’s not a threat, motherfucker. That’s a promise.”

Emiliano and I share a glance. I can tell he’s as impressed as I am.

“I’d never hurt her, Chelsea.”

If she’s surprised I know her name, she doesn’t show it. She just stands there staring at me like some bloodthirsty Viking queen about to launch a war.

“Emiliano, check out the security feed for the last hour at the bar. Keep your eye on guero.”

“Sure thing.” He sits at the desk and starts clicking around on his computer.

Chelsea is still staring bloody murder at me. She shows no signs of panic or fear, or any of the other stress reactions people usually exhibit in these kind of situations. I think if she had a sword in her hand, I’d already be decapitated.

I say gently, “It wasn’t me. I’m her boss—”

“I know who you are,” she cuts in. “I remember you.”

“I remember you too. Shay called you a dangerous creature.”

“That’s because she knows what I’m capable of. And let me tell you, boss man, if me, you, and big papi over there get into it, I’m the only one who walks out of this office alive.”

Chuckling, Emiliano says, “I’m really starting to like this girl.”

Me too.

I hold up my hands in surrender. “I hear you. Okay? We’re good.”

After a moment of narrow-eyed doubt, Chelsea decides she’ll let me live for a moment longer.

“Walk me through what happened. She left the table to go to the bathroom. Ten minutes later, big papi comes to get me and brings me back here. She’s passed out on the sofa, and you’re hovering over her like some psycho who wants to make a suit out of her skin.”

Emiliano chuckles again.

Ignoring him, I tell her everything that occurred since I came in the restaurant. When I’m done, she folds her arms over her chest and gives me a slow, calculated once-over.

“You watched us on the security cameras.”

The way she says it sounds really bad. Emiliano thinks so too, because he throws me an I-told-you-so look over his shoulder.

“Yes.”

“So you followed her here from work.”

Jesus, she’s sharp. I should hire her.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I saw her getting into her car in the parking garage. Because I wanted to know where she was going. Because I couldn’t help myself.”

She steps closer, demanding, “And because what else?”

“Because I haven’t stopped thinking about her since we met.”

“You like her?”

“I more than like her.”

She searches my face with the unblinking focus of a hawk in a tree searching for mice in the bushes. I let her look. I don’t have anything to hide.

At least where Shay is concerned.

Into our standoff, Emiliano says, “Got it. That pinche puto.”

Chelsea and I turn to see a slow-mo image on his screen of Dylan taking a tiny vial from the pocket of his slacks. He hides it in his palm. When the bartender sets two drinks in front of him, he passes his hand over one of them, tips it quickly, then picks up both drinks and turns away.

“Guedo’s done that before. He’s good at it.”

Watching the screen with glittering eyes, Chelsea says softly, “That wasn’t GHB or Rohypnol. It worked too fast. I’m thinking ketamine.”