Corrupted Union: A Forced Marriage Mafia Romance (The Byrne Brothers Book 2)
Corrupted Union: Chapter 18

Had my eyelids turned to sandpaper? And oh my God why did my head hurt so bad?

This was the second time I’d tried to wake up. The first time, I’d decided it wasn’t worth the pain and passed back out. While the throbbing in my head was only mildly better, I felt enough confusion and alarm to push past the pain. I had to figure out what the hell was going on.

I cracked open my eyes one sliver at a time. The room around me was garishly bright, like I’d fallen inside of a giant light bulb. Okay, maybe not garish, but it looked to be midday, and the gossamer drapes over the enormous windows did nothing to block the sun.

I was in a bed. The room was luxurious though unfamiliar.

I racked my brain trying to figure out how I’d gotten there but came up empty. I remembered getting ready to go out, and Keir coming to pick me up at my parents’ house. He’d looked so incredibly sexy, I’d been speechless, and when he’d whispered close to my ear that I was the most breathtaking woman he’d ever laid eyes on, I thought my cheeks might be permanently tinged pink.

I could see it all so clearly. The expensive steakhouse he’d taken me to. The chardonnay we’d shared. I could recall some of our conversation, but that was when things got fuzzy, as though paint thinner had been spilled on my canvas and erased the rest of the image. What the hell had happened?

I took a slow, even breath, then pushed myself upright. My head pulsed so angrily I had to close my eyes momentarily. When they re-opened, I saw that I wasn’t alone. Keir lay in the bed beside me, watching me with interest.

“Where are we?” I rasped. My throat felt like I’d been gargling with gasoline. “Why can’t I remember anything?” I was wearing one of Keir’s shirts. His torso was bare, but I didn’t know what lay beneath the sheets. Did we have sex again? Wouldn’t I remember if we had?

Panic trickled from my scalp down to my fingertips. I was instantly covered in a thin layer of sweat, and my pulse began to throb in my neck as my stomach lurched upward to join it. I clamped my hand over my mouth and tried to drag myself from the bed, but before I could, Keir was there with a small trash can. As though the mere sight of the can signaled permission to my body, I vomited into the container repeatedly.

“That’s it. Let it all out,” he said softly while holding my hair back.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, was more embarrassing than getting sick in front of someone else, let alone the sexiest man you’d ever known. If I hadn’t wanted to die five minutes before from the ice pick in my skull, I sure as hell did now.

Despite how I might have felt, however, the Grim Reaper hadn’t come for me yet. After a round of dry heaving, my body finally stopped convulsing. Keir handed me a washcloth from the nightstand, then a glass of water. I dabbed my mouth as he collected the soiled plastic liner from the trash can, tied it off and took it out of the room.

The trash had been double or even triple lined, leaving the can ready for a possible reoccurrence. Even in my disoriented state, I noted that the trash can, washcloth, water, and even a bottle of painkillers had been set out as though in preparation. As though Keir had known I was going to be sick. I wasn’t the type to get blackout drunk, especially at an expensive steakhouse. If this wasn’t alcohol induced, then what? Drugs? That was even more absurd. But as I peered at my unfamiliar surroundings, no other explanation came to mind.

“Keir, what the hell is going on?” I asked as soon as he returned.

“How much do you remember?” He was wearing boxer briefs. Not naked, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

“Not much. I remember going to dinner, but I’m not sure I even remember leaving.”

He stood in front of me, hands on his hips, eyes guarded. “I’m going to tell you what happened, but I need you not to overreact.”

I huffed out a sarcastic laugh. “You might as well tell me to do the opposite. I’m already halfway to freaked-the fuck-out. What the hell happened? Was I drugged?”

The muscles in his jaw flexed with strain. “You were, and more importantly, we got married.”

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