Page 71 of Ricochet
If only I could forget what her lips tasted like, what her skin felt like, I would be able to go through this unscathed, with my mind intact. I needed to get myself out of this misery, because allowing myself to even think about my feelings for her was a recipe for a disaster and the probability of me screwing this whole operation for her would be almost certain.
And Storm.
Motherfucking Storm Knoxx.
I was going to kill him myself as soon as we got our mother away from him. Tristan called our father yesterday, letting him know what was going on, and he confirmed her disappearance. They couldn't figure out when or how, but nobody had seen her for over five days, and that asshole, our sperm donor, didn't think to tell us.
Well, he was another asshole I was going to kill, and the list was just growing longer.
I almost killed my own brother when I saw him with Ophelia. Fucker knew I was falling down this rabbit hole of feelings and regrets, and he just went ahead and fucked the only person I ever loved.
Seeing her give herself to him, seeing her enjoy it, I finally understood how she felt all those years ago when she found me with Cynthia. What the fuck had I been thinking? I screwed up the best thing I had for pussy that meant nothing to me.
And all because I couldn't handle everything that was going on around me.
I couldn't handle Ophelia gradually turning into a psychopath, my sister marrying a man I didn't want her to marry, our father pushing us further into the business, Cillian spiraling... I just couldn't handle any of it.
"Do you know what the best way is to screw up your life, Stephan?" My words were slurred, but fuck if I cared at that moment. The bartender who couldn't be older than twenty-one looked at me skeptically, and I couldn't blame him. I was pretty sure I was a sight at that moment.
"No, sir."
"You fuck over the girl you love more than your own life, because you are a pussy."
"Sir?"
"Have you ever been in love?"
“Can’t say that I have, Mr. Nightingale.”
I laughed as he started eyeing me slowly, probably ready to call security to escort me to my room. Hell, if I were him I would've escorted myself out of here three hours, and two whiskey bottles ago.
"Trust me, you don't wanna be. It is a recipe for broken heart, and an eternity of messed-up feelings."
"Um..."
"Pour me another one." I chugged the rest of my drink, and dropped the glass on the bar.
"Sir, I really think you should head back to your room."
Maybe he was right, but not to my room. An idea popped up in my head and what a brilliant one it was. She already fucked my brother, so what was the worst thing she could do after that. My heart was already upstairs in her room, so why not the rest of my body?
"You know what?" I stood up, almost falling off the chair in my drunken stupor. "I'm alright, I'm alright." I straightened myself up before he could even come around the bar. "I am going to go back, and I hope you have an amazing night."
I didn't wait for his response, and started heading toward the main lobby and the elevators leading to our floor. These lights were way too bright. I would have to talk to the team here to change them.
If I couldn't get drunk in Vegas, what was even the point?
"Good evening, sir." A bellboy appeared in front of me. "Do you need any help?"
Did I need help? Of course, I needed fucking help, but he couldn't give me what I needed. What I needed was to go back in time and fix all the shit I did to her. I needed to save my sister, take her far, far away from Croyford Bay and Ophelia.
Hell, maybe if I hadn’t fucked up like I did, I wouldn't even have to take her away. Ophelia would still be mine; we would be married by now, maybe with a kid.
"Sir?" He was still standing in front of me, waiting for a response.
"No, thank you. I just need to go to my room." I passed him, crossing the lobby.
They couldn't have made these elevators in the lobby directly, but they had to put them inside another hallway. Why did we acquire this hotel again?
