Chapter 2

Kristen

It’s not exactly a secret that Theo and Emma have a somewhat tumultuous relationship. Their wild fights and even wilder make-ups have fed the Hamptons rumor mill for years.

And now, after evading their own wedding far past the point of being fashionably late, I’m sure the gossip will continue for years longer—if they end up getting married at all.

So, as Leo holds out his arm, a mischievous grin pulling at his lips, I can’t seem to help but take it.

If nothing else, he’s the most promising distraction I’ve seen so far.

“Alright,” I say, sliding my arm through his own. “But we have to make this quick—the wedding march will start any second, and Emma or Theo could disappear again at any time. What did you have in mind?”

He laughs, shaking his head in answer. “You’ll see.”

I fall silent as he leads me into the next room, confidently strolling up to the bar with me in tow.

“Oh, wow,” I say with mock amazement, “more alcohol. Boy, you’re sure full of surprises.”

He gives me another calculated look, raising an eyebrow as if inspecting me, an enticing half-smile pulling at his lips.

“Can I help you?” The bartender asks in a bored voice, wiping the counter with a wet rag.

“Yeah,” Leo starts, “you can fuck off.”

I’ll admit, I was not exactly expecting that.

“Excuse me?” The stunned bartender asks, his hand freezing mid-wipe.

“I can take it from here,” Leo says simply, gesturing towards the bar in general.

“I—I’m sorry,” the man tries again, “I’m not sure I understa—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Leo quips, though there’s the unmistakable hint of laughter in his voice. “Go away.”

The man hesitates a moment longer before finally getting the hint. Backing away slowly, as if Leo were a snake that might strike at any second, he rounds the bar, making a beeline for the nearest doorway.

“Okay…” I start. “I’ll play along. Why exactly did you chase off the bartender?”

He reaches for my hand and, chuckling, begins to pull me behind the bar.

At this point, I’m not sure what the fuck he’s got planned, but I feel my feet moving with him all the same.

“I thought,” he says, coming to a stop, “that we could play a little game.”

“What kind of game?”

“Think of it as—a game of chance. Interested?”

I can practically feel my eyes sparkle in response. “I might be.”

In truth, this is the most interested I’ve been all night.

While it’s not exactly something I go around broadcasting, gambling is somewhat of a hobby of mine. Or, at least, that’s how I prefer to think of it.

Somewhere near five hundred thousand in gambling debts, though, my father devised a different name for it. Specifically, addiction.

Like I said, I prefer my term.

I can’t deny, though, that the thrill of those big risks is definitely a passion of mine. And the way Leo is looking at me now—let’s just say, I sense a big risk in my future.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” he says now, raking his eyes across me as a devilish grin spreads across his face.

“Okay, fine, yes.”

“Good.”

He turns away, his back facing me as he begins to pull bottles and cups from the bar.

I stand on my tiptoes, trying my level best to peer over his hulking shoulder. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Hey,” he chides, “no peeking.”

“You’re kidding me.”

He shoots a look over his shoulder, the kind of scolding expression I remember well from the face of my father. “I said: no peeking.”

Laughing, I take a step back, holding my hands out in surrender. “Fine. But this better be good.”

“Oh, it will be.”

I hear clinking glass and sloshing liquids for another minute before he finally turns back to me, a drink clenched in both hands. From what I can tell, they’re identical.

“Well?” I ask, trying to sound impatient when, really, I’m feeling pretty curious right about now.

“Alright,” he says, “so we’re gonna play ‘which drink did I just roofie’. Familiar?”

My laughter escapes in a burst; incredulous giggling overwhelming me quickly.

“Yeah, sure we are.” I say, “You have a fucking strange sense of humor.”

His laughter answers mine, the sound somehow intriguing me even more this time around.

“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun!”

I open my mouth to answer the moment that the room begins to fill with guests.

Shit.

I watch the flow of the crowd, all heading towards the main hall where the actual wedding is set to take place.

Guess I don’t have as much time as I thought I did.

“I think we need to go,” I tell him, inclining my head towards the main hall. “We don’t wanna miss the main event now.”

He smiles that fucking charming smile, holding the drinks out to me.

“Game first, wedding after.”

“Oh, right, wouldn’t wanna miss my chance to get roofied. You’re a riot.” I laugh, still thinking it’s a stupid joke, but not sure I want to leave his side quite yet.

“Exactly,” he purrs, smiling down at me. “You’re not chicken, are you?”

“Oh, fuck off! Never! Hmm…” I tap my chin dramatically, “which to choose, which to choose.”

“That is the question.”

I feel his eyes on me, heavy and pressing as I play along with the little ruse. From the corner of my eye, I can see the room clearing, the last of the guests now filtering into the hall.

As much as I want to drag this charade out, I didn’t wait this long just to miss the damn ceremony.

“I think…this one,” I say finally, plucking the glass quickly from his right hand.

I smile broadly before tilting it to my lips, downing the contents in a single swallow. Maybe it’s too much, but as I pull the cup away, I can’t help but lick my lips in his direction.

After the way he’s been taunting me, it’s only fair, after all.

“Did I get the right one?” I ask playfully, taking a step nearer to him.

He laughs, turning to watch the door to the hall shut behind the final guests.

“What do you think?”

I follow his gaze.

Well, damn, time to go.

I slam my now empty glass down on the bar before shooting him a wink.

“Thanks for the drink,” I say simply, turning to leave.

“Don’t thank me yet,” I hear him mumble as I go.

As much as I’d like to question this latest statement, I’m fresh out of time to flirt. I reach the end of the bar, beginning to round the corner as the first wave of dizziness washes over me.

What the fuck?

My head suddenly feels heavy, my limbs seeming to soften beneath me.

I lift my foot to take another step. I open my mouth to cry out. But reality is fading fast, awareness already blurring at the edges.

I feel myself slump, my hip striking the bar as my legs give out beneath me.

I’m preparing to hit the floor, knowing it’s coming at any second, when I feel arms wrap around me. A tight embrace lifting me bodily upward.

Oh, fuck.

Just when you think a guy is kidding…

I try again to open my mouth, wanting to call for help even though I know there’s no one near enough to hear it.

Note to self: no one fucking jokes about roofies.

Idiot. I’m an idiot! I saw the entire wedding party go into the hall, after all.

I watched and stood out here flirting with the guy who—god—actually just drugged me.

Or actually, it’s even worse than that. He didn’t drug me. I drugged my fucking self.

I can’t believe I picked the wrong cup. Not that I had actually believed there was a wrong cup.

I groan. At least I’m still capable of that much.

I feel the arms around me tighten as my vision reduces to a single pinprick of light, darkness pressing in quickly, robbing me of even that.

“If it makes you feel any better,” a familiar voice pipes up, “the odds really were stacked against you. I mean, after all, both drinks were roofied.”

That son of a bitch.

Then there’s only darkness and the taste of a bitch-ass betrayal in my mouth.