Reckless (The Powerless Trilogy #2)

One

Jamie

My head pounded as consciousness slowly crept back in, my body burning with residual heat. I cracked one eye open and was met with a mirrored ceiling. And that wasn't all.

Holy fucking shit.

The source of the heat became obvious as I stared at the reflection above me. I was on my back, one arm draped across my naked stomach, the other thrown casually above my head. I was the filling in a man-sandwich. One that had no doubt been hot as hell last night when I was off my fucking head, but in the cold light of day, it left me with the same hollow feeling I'd started the night with.

Fucking wonderful. I'd done it again.

As I lay there, wondering how the hell I was going to escape without disturbing these two fine pieces of arse—and trying to figure out where the fuck I actually was—a groan beside me had me holding my breath. The guy on my left rolled over, his arm sweeping across my body and landing squarely on my tit. The right one. Yeah, I was pretty sure there was a joke in there somewhere. But I wasn't fucking laughing.

Getting a good look at his face without the beer goggles on, he was hot. I could see why I'd ended up where I was. Short brown hair, and if I remembered correctly, matching brown eyes. My eyes scanned the rest of his naked form, and several images from last night flashed through my mind.

My chest tightened. I realised I was still holding my damn breath, so before I turned blue, I let it out as slowly and quietly as possible. It proved harder than it sounded. The air left my lungs in a whoosh that was anything but quiet.

Returning to the plan for my walk of shame—which, considering how many I'd done, you'd think I'd be a master at by now—I used the mirrored ceiling to scan for my discarded clothes. I located my bra hanging from a guitar standing in the corner. My dress was on the floor by the bed to my right. Thong? Fuck knows where that scrap of material was. I vaguely remembered taking my shoes off at the front door.

Bag? Where was my bag? Not finding it anywhere in the room, I hoped it was close to the front door.

The guy on my right had his back to me, snoring softly. As gently as I could, I lifted the other guy's arm off me and began to shimmy down the bed. Just as I reached halfway, a knee came out of nowhere, smacking into my temple. The throbbing in my head intensified, and I stifled a cry of pain, raising my hands to protect myself.

When I finally made it to the end of the bed, I slipped down to the floor, quietly blowing out a long, deep breath in relief. After a few seconds, I gathered myself and crept around the room collecting my clothes.

Reaching the door, I grasped the handle, grimacing and praying it didn't creak as I pulled it open. Once I was safely outside the room, I tiptoed towards where I roughly remembered the front door being.

Scanning the apartment and looking for my bag as I went, I took in my surroundings as more memories of last night flashed through my head. Shaking them off, I spotted my bag on a coffee table in the lounge area of the open-plan apartment. Quickly throwing my bra and dress on, I headed that way, snatching it up when I reached it. Then I speed-walked to the door, grabbing my shoes on the way.

Just as I closed the door behind me, my phone rang in my bag. It was Cam's ringtone. Pulling it out, I flicked it to silent and hurried to the lift.

I felt bad ignoring her, but I just couldn't speak to her right now. I couldn't deal with another one of her lectures or her concern about what I was doing to myself. I knew she was worried and she cared, but the problem was, I didn't. I didn't give a flying fuck about anything. All I wanted to do was get shit-faced and lose myself in a warm body. I kept hoping if I did it enough, it would erase the memories and the hands of another man. One I wanted to forget, but my mind and body wouldn't let me.

Well, that wasn't strictly true. I did forget temporarily, but then it all rushed back in like a fucking tornado, tearing up everything in its path. Sebastian Roberts had fucking ruined me. One weekend. That was all it took for a man I didn't even know, who did the most delicious things to my body, to turn me into some psycho bunny boiler who couldn't get him out of her head.

The sound of a car horn blaring had me almost jumping out of my skin. I realised I'd made it all the way outside the building and had stopped in the middle of the road.

"Are you crazy, lady? Get outta the fucking road!" The guy, who was still blaring his fucking horn, shouted at me.

"How about, screw you, arsehole," I snapped, lifting my middle finger and watching as the guy's eyes widened at the gesture. He didn't say another word, and I took my sweet arse time walking to the pavement.

I still had my phone clutched in my hand, and as I was about to call for a taxi, it started ringing again. This time it wasn't Cam. It was worse. My mum. I cancelled the call and brought up the number for a taxi firm.

An hour later, I was soaking in the tub when the house phone rang. The answerphone picked up, and my mum's voice echoed through the speaker.

"Jamie, it's mum. I know you're angry, but we need to talk, please. Call me. I love you." The machine beeped to indicate the end of the message. I slid down in the bath, submerging myself under the soapy water and holding my breath for as long as possible.

I shot back up when my breath ran out, sloshing water over the edge of the bath onto the floor below. I gasped for air, a direct comparison to my life lately. Drowning. Suffocating. Unable to fill my lungs with good, clean air.

Nine months ago, I was attacked by a man called Russ as a warning to my best friend, Cam, and since then, I'd been slowly spiralling. Add to that my weekend with Seb and the separation and looming divorce of my parents, and my life was completely out of control. I had no idea how I was supposed to get it back on track.

After my bath, I made a quick lunch from some leftover pasta and salad. My stomach protested, but I forced it down. Then I crawled into bed and tried to catch up on some sleep before my shift at the hospital later.

My job was the only thing keeping me above water lately. Literally.

* * *

For a Saturday night, it had been surprisingly quiet, but typically, as soon as you think it or someone says it, all hell breaks loose. We'd just been informed of a stabbing, and ETA was five minutes.

Just as I finished prepping the trauma bay, the double doors from the ambulance bay slammed open and two paramedics wheeled in the patient on a stretcher. As one of the paramedics gave a rundown of the patient's stats and injuries, the patient started thrashing about and shouting abuse.

Once the paramedic had finished his handover, the registrar took over, and within minutes the room was a hive of activity as we began treating another victim of the knife crime that existed today.

The patient was a young lad of twenty-five, and from the myriad of scars littering his body, including an old gunshot wound, this was not his first time. It made me incredibly sad to see the devastating effects of crime. We had seen a huge increase in cases like this, and the victims seemed to get younger and younger.