The doctor shakes his head at my chart. “You can consider yourself lucky to be alive. Whoever put the flunitrazepam in your drink used a dose that could have knocked out ten people. The police are looking into it, but so far they haven’t found a culprit.”
And they won’t—I know at least that much. Maybe it was a crazed fan targeting me, maybe the dose was actually meant for a girl, maybe it was some sort of prank. Doesn’t matter much why the drug ended up in my drink, because the police aren’t ever going to figure it out. The downtown club scene is just as tight-lipped as it is risky.
I close my eyes and let out a curse, wincing as the loud sound strikes my aching head. I’ll probably never know who drugged me, but that’s not going to stop me from hating their guts.
Killer rests a comforting hand on my shoulder, and I wait for him to make some crack about the irony of the situation—I always go out of my way to avoid alcoholic drinks, and I still ended up getting roofied. But Killer stays quiet. That’s a first.
I swallow hard, and more pain burns my throat. “Why does my throat hurt so bad?” I ask. “And the rest of me?”
The doctor glances up from his chart and says, “Your throat hurts because we had to intubate you for a short period. You stopped breathing on the way to the hospital. The rest of your body is probably sore from the seizure you had, but there was no serious damage from it.”
I stare at him incredulously. “My breathing stopped?”
He nods. “Like I said, the overdose was very serious.”
“And what about Ali?” I ask, turning back to Arrow.
The doctor clears his throat and announces, “You’re on a light dose of painkillers, and the IV saline will flush the last of the toxins out of your system. You should be feeling back to normal within a few days, but you need to stay in bed for now. We’ll talk later about when you can be released from the hospital. Any questions?”
I shake my head, and the doctor quickly shuffles out the door, his nose buried back in his notes. My focus shifts back to Arrow, who is shaking his head. Oh hell. This can’t be good. My pain is suddenly a hundred times worse, and my stomach clenches with nausea. I squeeze my eyes closed as I wait for his answer.
“The cops have her,” Arrow says finally. “I called the local station and managed to talk to someone. He said they’re putting her on a plane back to Los Angeles. Her dad will pick her up at the airport.”
Something pokes at the back of my mind, a clouded memory I can barely grasp. It slowly comes into focus, and I hear Ali’s voice whispering to me, “I know it makes me crazy, but I love you.” She must have known at that point that she was about to get caught. But she still said she loved me, like it didn’t even matter that I had completely failed to keep her safe.
I tear out my IV before anyone can stop me. It hurts like a bitch, but I don’t care. I deserve the pain.
Clenching my fists, I stumble out of the bed. Dizziness slams into me, and Arrow yells at me to lie back down, but I ignore him and head for the door. I need to get to that police station and make them realize it’d be dangerous to send her back.
Something hard slams into my face, and I vaguely register that it’s the floor. Voices erupt around me, and everything goes black.
33
ALI
WHEN MY PLANE lands in Los Angeles, I swear I feel the whole ground shake. Then I realize it’s not the ground—I’m the one shaking. I wish my emotions were something innocent, like fear or terror, but that’s not the case. What I’m feeling is pure rage. It eats at my insides until I can’t keep it in anymore, and my whole body trembles.
As soon as the cops picked me up, they called my dad and made arrangements to transport me back home. No one has spoken to me in-depth about Jace, although one of the officers told me that Los Angeles authorities will be filing kidnapping charges against him. I still haven’t gotten over the relief of hearing Jace is alive, but I’m choking on the guilt of knowing he’s in trouble because of me.
Next to me, the airplane’s deputy watches me with mild concern. He’s the guy who was put in charge of monitoring me during the flight and getting me back “safely” to Los Angeles. He wears his gun and security badge on his right hip, so everyone walking down the airplane’s aisle can see them. The deputy hasn’t told me his name, and I haven’t asked. I’ve kept quiet ever since I was handed over to his custody.
The deputy raises an eyebrow at me as the plane comes rolling to a stop. “Not fond of plane rides, huh?”
“Screw off,” I snap, surprising both of us. I don’t think I’ve ever said that to an adult. Maybe Jace is rubbing off on me in more ways than I thought, although I’m not sure that’s a bad thing.