Page 65 of By His Vow

I hurt him last night.

I led him on to sate my own need for attention and then I dropped him just as fast.

I open up our group chat to find more of the same. Them freaking out that Kingston has fucked me into some kind of pleasure-induced death.

If fucking only.

I quickly reply, letting them know that while I might have woken up in some kind of hell, I’m pretty sure I am still alive. The hangover is evidence of that.

Dots start bouncing as one of them replies, but a knock at the door has me putting my cell down and racing over.

I glance down at myself a second before I pull the door open, questioning my state of dress, but the lure of coffee means I throw caution to the wind.

Ignoring the person holding the tray, I focus on the contents, excited to see my caffeine hit, but I don’t find it.

In its place is a glass of very familiar-looking green stuff.

My blood boils as fury wraps around me.

“Where’s my coffee?” I demand.

“I’m sorry, Miss. Your order was changed,” the poor guy standing before me explains.

“Well, change it back. I need coffee.”

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid we can’t do that. Please enjoy,” he says, thrusting the offensive drink toward me.

I have little choice but to take it, and the second I do, he hot-foots it down the hallway.

Pussy.

Kicking the door closed behind me, I look between the glass of gunk and my cell.

Kingston is going to pay for this.

17

TATUM

Anger doesn’t even begin to explain the eruption within me when I stalk back into my hotel room with a tray in my hands.

“Fucking Grinch juice. Fucking Kingston Callahan,” I mutter darkly as vivid images of all the ways I could cause him pain for this emerge in my mind.

I dump the tray on the nightstand and glare at the green gloop as it sloshes from side to side.

Nothing about it is tempting. Not a fucking thing.

With a sigh, I snatch the bottle of water from the tray and twist the top.

The coolness might be refreshing as I swallow, but it has nothing on a nice strong cup of coffee.

“Asshole,” I mutter, going in search of my cell again.

I decide against replying to Lori’s messages. Way too much has happened—or not, I don’t know—to attempt to explain it over the phone.

I flop back in the bed, my stomach rolling horribly as I bounce before the line connects and starts ringing.

“Ah, here she is,” Lori sings happily.