I Knocked Him Out (Love at First Crime Book 2)

by Jessica Frances

  “I’m going to get another drink. You want a fresh one?” he cuts her off, already getting up and standing over us.

  “Sure,” she mumbles, and I shake my head when he looks at me.

  “I … I don’t think he’s into me anymore,” she tells me sadly.

  I’m fairly certain he wasn’t that into her to begin with.

  “Joey is hard to pin down,” I try to sound diplomatic.

  “You’re his friend; what can I do to make him like me?”

  I cringe at how shitty that sounds out loud, and for the desperation I see in her eyes.

  “You know you’re a really great woman. You’re beautiful, smart, and sweet. If Joey can’t see that, then that’s his loss. You shouldn’t change yourself for any man.”

  She seems to mull over my words, but I’m unsure if any sink in, especially when she continues on.

  “I would almost think you want him for yourself if it wasn’t for Declan.”

  “Excuse me?” There is nothing in that sentence that makes sense to me.

  “Declan and you,” she replies as if that explains it all.

  “What about Declan and me?”

  “You obviously have a thing.” She indicates to me and over my shoulder, where I glance back to see Declan standing next to a leggy blonde by the bar. His attention doesn’t seem to be on her at the moment, but it’s certainly not on me.

  “I’m still not following what you’re saying,” I choke out, angry at myself when I want to tear that blonde woman’s hair out.

  “I sensed it yesterday when I met you guys. Your chemistry is thick. As in, I felt like I should leave the room it was so heavy. Joey agrees.” She nods her head to herself like what she is saying isn’t the most ridiculous thing in the world.

  “He what?” I demand, wondering if I’m drunker than I realize since Kay might as well be speaking a different language.

  “I can’t work it out, though,” she carries on like I’m not staring angry daggers at her. “Is the sexual tension there because you have had sex and it ended badly, or because you haven’t had sex yet?” she asks as if she has any right to know the answer to that. I don’t even know this woman!

  “There is no sexual tension because that is never happening. I don’t know what Joey has been giving you to drink all night, but it has obviously killed some vital brain cells.” I stand, surprised by my own momentary dizzy spell. Perhaps I have had a couple drinks too many tonight.

  I make a decision to switch to water. No need to get hammered tonight and ruin drinking just in time for Ava’s bachelorette party tomorrow. Some maid of honor that would make me.

  I walk up to the bar, making sure to stand at the opposite end of Declan and his leggy blonde, and wait to get the bartender’s attention. Instead, he quickly makes his way down to me with a shot glass in his hand.

  “Courtesy of the man at the end of the bar.” He vaguely indicates his head to the side before leaving to serve someone else and without me getting the chance to order the water I want.

  For a moment, I fear it might be from Declan, but one quick glance shows me he is no longer there, though the blonde is. She is talking to someone new, and from the way he wraps his arms around her hips, she seems to be having better luck than with the previously distracted Declan.

  I try not to dwell on why Declan ditched her and how that makes me feel a little smug. Instead, I inspect the men who are alone at the bar. I don’t see anyone who looks interested in me or is willing to even give me a nod to indicate they are the culprit.

  It feels like a waste to not drink it, but I did just make a decision to drink water for the rest of the night. Then again, what would one shot hurt?

  Just as I wrap my fingers around the slim glass, a hand covers the top and prevents me from picking it up.

  “What—” I look up to find Declan looming over me. He appears furious because, of course he does. What other look would I get from him?

  “Don’t drink that,” he demands.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I saw the man who ordered it. He was one of the men with ass-wipe earlier.”

  “His name is Bowen, you know,” I snap, although that just confirms that I knew who he was talking about when he called Bowen an ass-wipe. Damn!

  My parents might have invited eight of their “closest” friends, but it looks like they all brought their own security teams. Bowen’s, I noticed, is especially large.

  “Yeah, Bowen Pizor. Definitely not a pompous name at all.” He rolls his eyes.

  It gives me pause to see him doing something so normal, given I’m pretty sure I have never seen him do this before. Then my anger returns, and I’m knocked back.

  “What does it matter? So a guy who works with—”

  “For!” Declan cuts in.

  “With or for, Bowen ordered me a drink. What’s the big deal?” I yell, partly to be heard over the music, but mostly because I feel like yelling at him.

  “He slipped the bartender a crisp hundred-dollar bill, and I never saw the bartender pour that drink. He went out the back and came back with it!” Declan shouts back, looking at me like the outcome of his words is obvious.

  While that doesn’t sound great, I’m not willing to let Declan know this.

  “You’re being paranoid.” I shake my head at him. “He probably just ordered me something expensive that isn’t out here on show.” I try to pry Declan’s hand away from the drink, but he doesn’t appear to notice, his hand as steady as a boulder.

  “I bet you one thousand dollars this drink is spiked,” he blurts out.

  I stop my attempt to get his hand away, leaving my hands resting over his arm. I’m too shocked to move as his offer rings in my ears.

  “You’re willing to bet a thousand dollars on this?” I am gaping now.

  “Right, you’re a trust fund baby. Is that wiping your ass money?” he sneers, and my shock over his offer is broken.

  “You’re a dick. Now give me my drink.” I’m still planning on sticking to my plan of just water for tonight, but I can easily tip this shot out over some of the plants littered around the edge of the club without him seeing.

  “No,” he firmly denies me, his stubborn gaze telling me he’s prepared for battle.

  “Declan, don’t be an asshole. I don’t know why you’re so upset about Bowen. So what if he’s an asshole?” I shrug lightly. “I’ve dated plenty before. Why are you pulling this childish act now? Why with him?” I ask, feeling exasperated.

  “He’s different,” is his non-answer.

  “Why?”

  “He’s dangerous. I have good instincts. I always trust them, and they have never let me down. Right now, they’re telling me that ass-wipe is bad news, they’re telling me he’s going to hurt you, and they’re telling me this drink is spiked.”

  “Your instincts aren’t good enough for me.”

  He gapes a little like my words have surprised him, or maybe it’s hurt I see flashing over his gaze. Either way, I don’t stop my tirade.

  “You’ve been a jerk to me for my entire life. You haven’t earned any trust with me. So, for the last time, give me my fucking drink!”

  “No!”

  “Yes!” I snap right back.

  “Sasha, don’t make this harder than it has to be.” He sounds like he’s talking to an errant child.

  “I thought that might have been the issue with the blonde earlier. Couldn’t get it hard for her?” I taunt. It’s probably the wrong thing to say. Actually, it is definitely the wrong thing to say.

  Because, with one feral sounding growl, he picks up the shot and downs the drink in one gulp, clearly without thinking this through properly.

  My mouth drops open in shock. I can’t believe he just drank something he thinks is spiked. His widening eyes tells me he thinks the same thing.

  “Fuck!” he bites out, grabbing his phone from his back pocket then moving his thumbs speedily over the screen as he does who knows what with it. Happy with whateve
r he did, he then slaps his hand down on the bar and bellows for the bartender to get him some water.

  One way to assure you get the shittiest service is to bellow at people, which is why the bartender gives us a surely glance before flat-out ignoring us.

  Soon after, Joey appears, rolling his eyes when he sees us.

  “Let me guess, you two are fighting again?”

  “I need you … You need to … Message says,” Declan mumbles, his voice weakening. I can’t believe he’s already feeling whatever might have been in that drink.

  He must be putting one over on me.

  “What is up with him?” Joey asks me.

  “He couldn’t make it with some blonde and now his ego has been crushed. Poor guy,” I joke, enjoying the glare Declan delivers, even if it does force me to notice the sweat beading over his forehead and the shine over the rest of his face.

  “Right,” Joey snorts. “He sent me a message telling me to watch you and make sure you drank nothing and got home safe. What is really going on?”

  “He’s just being an asshole. I’m going back to the villa now, anyway. No need for a babysitter,” I surrender, definitely over this night. I want to be in a bed where music isn’t blaring in my ears and I’m far away from Declan.

  Declan chooses this moment to stumble over his own feet, while standing still, mind you, and Joey just catches him before he collapses to the floor.

  “Is he on drugs?” he asks in astonishment. Since Declan’s mother died just after he was born from an overdose, he isn’t wrong to be shocked.

  I wonder how much to admit, but I can’t exactly let Declan suffer if he has in fact consumed a roofie.

  “You might want to find your nurse girlfriend,” I answer.

  Joey narrows his eyes on me. “Stay here and watch him.”

  As he walks away, Declan crawls his way along the ground, his words mumbled and too hard to hear over the music.

  “Declan, stop!” I gasp, grabbing the back of his shirt, but it’s too awkward to keep ahold of him, and he manages to make his way to the edge of the club, hunching over a potted plant. That is when I see his hand shoved down the back of his throat.

  He’s trying to make himself vomit!

  I swirl around to block him from view.

  The club is pumping and the beat vibrates around me loudly, yet I still make out the sounds of hurling behind me.

  Cynthia finds me a minute later. I send her away immediately, asking her to get some napkins and two glasses of water. When she returns, she hands me the water, and I crouch down in front of Declan, ignoring the mess he’s made inside the pot, and shove the straw in his mouth.

  He greedily gulps down the water as I press a couple of the napkins around his face. He’s still conscious, but he looks ghostly pale. Sweat covers his face, and his short, dark hair is drenched.

  Taking care of him in this way is a strange sort of intimacy. Even if he is an idiot for drinking something he rightfully believed was spiked, I still feel a small surge of protectiveness over him.

  Once he is finished with the water, I help him sit on the edge of the nearest couch and hand him over the second glass. This one he drinks a little slower.

  His eyes appear less glazed over. Did he get whatever was in his system out?

  Cynthia clearly bailed once she realized what was going on. She does not do well around vomit. Once, when we went out and Ava had a little too much to drink and threw up, three seconds later, Cynthia was vomiting, too. She had been the designated driver, so not a single drop of alcohol was in her system. She called it sympathy vomiting.

  Joey finally returns with Kay, his eyebrow raised when he notices the stains over Declan’s shirt before his eyes immediately travel to the soiled potted plant.

  I would almost feel guilty about that if a bartender here hadn’t been paid off to drug me.

  “Let’s get him some fresh air,” Joey suggests, wrapping one arm around his shoulders as I do the same to the other. I’m a lot shorter than the guys and not sure I’m exactly helpful, but I still move along with them.

  Once we are outside, we lean him against a street light so Kay can see him easily, and then we wait for her assessment.

  While she looks him over, I tell Joey about how Declan thought my drink might have been spiked.

  “And you didn’t believe him? Why the hell would he lie?” Joey chides.

  “We were having a disagreement and—”

  “So?” he cuts me off. “You guys are always disagreeing about something. Dec wouldn’t lie to you about something like that.”

  He’s right. Declan might have wanted me to be more open to believing him when he told me Bowen is not a good guy, but he wouldn’t have used lying about a drink being drugged as a way to make his point.

  “Well …” I try to come up with something to defend myself with. “I didn’t tell the idiot to drink it, and I wasn’t going to drink it myself.”

  “Then why the hell were you fighting about it?” Joey quickly finds the hole in my defense.

  “Because … Because Declan is an asshole. He doesn’t ask me something; he demands it. It annoyed me,” I weakly say.

  “Then I hope you’re happy, because now he’s …” He waves his hands at Declan who is struggling to stand up straight.

  “How is he?” I ask Kay, who is still trying to ask Declan questions while assessing him.

  “How long was it between when he had the drink and started to act different?” she asks.

  “I don’t know. A couple minutes?”

  She frowns as she thinks that over. “And he threw up in there? Was it a substantial amount?”

  I pull a face just trying to recall that. “I didn’t exactly weigh it. It looked like a good amount.”

  “Either of you have any idea how much he was drinking?”

  “No idea,” I answer while Joey shakes his head.

  “He never has more than two drinks when he goes out,” Joey admits, and my mouth drops wide open at that admission.

  “What? Since when?” I recall many instances when I saw Declan wiped out drunk. Of course, nothing recently, but still. Two would do nothing to a man with a solid body like Declan’s.

  “Since Artie died.” He speaks quietly now, and my heart immediately squeezes painfully hearing his name said out loud. Even though it’s been years, it still hurts to think about him.

  “You guys get drunk every anniversary,” I say just as quietly. It’s not that we are trying to keep Kay out of this conversation, but because emotion is constricting our voices.

  “Then and Artie’s birthday, but they are the only times. Otherwise, no more than two drinks.” He shrugs. When I open my mouth to ask more questions, like why did he stop drinking heavily after Artie died, he continues on. “Can we stay on point here?” He turns his shoulders to give Kay his full attention. “So, what do you think? Is he okay?”

  “Can you tell me your name?” Kay asks Declan, sounding like an adult speaking to a child.

  “I’m … It’s …” He shakes his head, his eyes looking a little dazed again. “Declan Lockwood.”

  “Good. And what day is it?”

  He glances around us, his eyes moving from Kay, to Joey, and then resting on me. “Protect Sash. Drink … wrong,” he tells me, and my heart thuds a little louder in my chest.

  He’s drugged and looks like he’s about to fall over at any minute, yet his thought is still for my protection.

  I always knew Declan wasn’t a true bad guy, but I had no idea he might secretly be a good one.

  “Declan, focus. What day is it?” Kay snaps, a little harshly in my opinion.

  His eyes slip away from me, and I think she’s lost him, until he mutters that it is Wednesday.

  “Verdict?” Joey demands as Declan slowly slides down the pole, ending lightly on his ass.

  “Declan is a big guy and the shot glass couldn’t have had much in it, especially if you were the target.” She nods her head at me. “It’s likely he
got something like Rohypnol. Although, from the quick show of symptoms, it could be GHB.”

  “What does that mean? Are they bad?” I demand, feeling like an idiot for not knowing what we should do.

  “All roofies are bad, and all have the potential to result in death,” she says bluntly, making me wonder if this woman has any sort of bedside manner. “But I think Declan should be okay. He threw up soon after he ingested whatever it was, and chances are, it wouldn’t have gotten much chance to work its way into his system. You’ll need you to keep an eye on him until morning. If he shows any respiratory issues, you need to call me immediately.”

  “Wait, what?” My eyes widen as that implication settles in. “Aren’t you going to stay with him?”

  “He’s your boyfriend; your problem.” Kay shrugs unapologetically.

  While I felt a little sorry for her before, since Joey is clearly leading her on, now I hate her a little.

  “Joey?” I beg, knowing if he says the words, she will jump at the chance to play nurse to one of his best friends as a favor to him.

  But Joey just gives me his trademark shrug then grabs Declan around the middle when he lurches forward suddenly. I didn’t even notice him making his way back to his feet.

  “Then we should take him to a hospital. I’m not looking after him all night!”

  I have no idea how close the nearest hospital is. Ideally, we would take him back to the villa just to get the helicopter to make the trip quicker. That would involve explaining what had happened to my parents, though.

  “You’re partly the reason he’s in this state. If you two would stop fighting for two seconds, you might see what is staring you both directly in the face!” Joey barks at me, sounding very un-Joey-like.

  “What are you talking about?” I snap back, more than annoyed that I’m going to be stuck spending more time with Declan.

  He might maybe, possibly, sometimes be a good guy, but he keeps that guy buried under his anger and annoyance when he’s around me.

  “Just forget it. You’re both never going to learn.” He shakes his head at me. I get the feeling he’s disappointed in me, which I absolutely hate. “Just help me get him to the car.”

  One of the SUVs is still waiting by the curb, the driver seeming a little hesitant for Declan, who looks heavily drunk right now, to get into the backseat. Regardless, he doesn’t comment once as I climb in after Declan and watch as he leans heavily against the side door. Joey gets in next, and Kay rides up front with the driver.