Damaged: The Dillon Sisters

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Damaged: The Dillon Sisters Page 25

by Layla Frost


  The young woman can’t be older than Briar. I hand her my paddle, ignore the comments from the line behind me, and turn and scan the area for Kate or, worse, my new dog and my date.

  Dammit. I don’t even know what to do with a dog.

  “Wow.” I look to the woman who is now staring wide-eyed at the tablet in front of her. “You’re a big spender! That will be fifteen-thousand dollars.”

  My stomach roils as I hand over the credit card I keep only for emergencies, even though this does not qualify. She swipes and I sign—my gritty signature the only hint of the frayed nerves I’m barely clinging to.

  “I need to leave. Please have the rescue organization contact me about the dog—”

  She interrupts with a smile, reminding me of the hell I’ve just gotten myself into. “And your date.”

  “Yes, that too.” I wave her off, stuffing my abused credit card back into my small clutch.

  “Thank you for your donation,” she calls but I’m already halfway out the door, my dupes not carrying me nearly as fast as I need.

  I type out a quick text to Kate, lying to my only friend about my non-existent emergency, telling her to take the Uber, and that I’ll call her tomorrow. She’s used to me putting my patients first—it isn’t the first time I’ve dumped her in the middle of a night out.

  The cool night air fills my lungs as I move as quickly as I can around the corner of the building. I barely get ten feet into the dark alley before it happens. I drop to my hands and knees, ignoring the bite of rocks and wet, cold concrete on my bare skin. Appetizers, wine, and the protein shake I chugged on our way here haunts me as the contents of my stomach empty and splatter in front of me. Poor decisions chased by dry heaves are the very physical reminders of what I’ve done.

  I tremble but it has nothing to do with the cool, moist air seeping through my barely-there cocktail dress. It offers no protection from the elements or my own self-absorbed and sick fascination.

  I cough and spit as I drag myself to my feet. The buzz of my phone vibrates through my purse. I’m sure it’s Kate, but I don’t dare look. Instead, I move through the dark passageway between buildings, a place I have no business lurking by myself.

  I need a taxi.

  I need my treadmill.

  I need a shower and definitely a toothbrush.

  But what I need now more than anything…

  Is a plan.

  Connect with Layla Frost

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  Titles by Layla Frost

  THE DILLON SISTERS

  Damaged by Layla Frost

  Deathly by Brynne Asher

  THE HYDE SERIES

  Hyde and Seek

  Until Nox: Happily Ever Alpha World

  The Amato Series

  With Us

  THE FOUR

  Styx

  Stoned

  STANDALONES

  Give In

  Little Dove

 

 

 


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