Chapter 240
Lucas's POV
I carried Sophia into the elevator, her weight almost nothing against my chest, her breath hot and uneven against my neck.
The doors slid shut, and she stirred, mumbling something incoherent, her fingers clutching weakly at my collar.
"Lucas," she slurred, her voice thick, drugged. "Where... where are we going?"
"Somewhere safe." I kept my tone flat, controlled, even as something twisted in my gut at the way she trembled against me.
The elevator descended. Her head lolled against my shoulder, and I could feel the fever radiating off her skin, could hear the shallow, rapid breaths that told me the drug was still working its way through her system.
First floor. The doors opened.
And there she was.
Claire stood in the lobby, her expression shifting from surprise to something calculating the moment she saw us. She took a step forward, her voice rising.
"Lucas! Wait—don't leave—we need to talk about this—"
I didn't slow down. Didn't even look at her. Just kept walking, my jaw set, my arms tightening around Sophia.
"Lucas, please—I can explain—"
I pushed through the revolving door and out onto the street, her voice fading behind me. Sophia stirred in my arms, her eyes half-opening, unfocused.
"Was that... Claire?" she mumbled, her words slurring together.
"Don't worry about her."
"She—she did this—" Her hand pressed weakly against my chest. "She put something in... in the coffee—"
"I know."
"I hate her." The words came out broken, almost a sob. "I hate you too. Both of you."
I didn't answer. Just scanned the street, spotted a small hotel half a block down, and headed for it. Sophia's head fell back against my shoulder.
"But I... I also..." She trailed off, her fingers curling into my shirt. "Why do I still want you? Even now? It's not fair."
"It's the drug," I said quietly. "The drugs lowered your self-control."
She shook her head, the movement sluggish. "Yeah, it's just the effects of the drugs."
I pushed through the hotel entrance, ignoring the startled look from the desk clerk. "I need a room. Now."
He fumbled with the computer, handed me a key card. "Room 304. Third floor."
---
The room was small, generic—king bed, single window, bathroom to the left. I kicked the door shut behind me, locked it, and carried Sophia to the bed. The moment I set her down, she grabbed at me, her fingers tangling in my shirt, pulling me closer even as tears streaked down her flushed cheeks.
"I hate you," she whispered, but her hands were already tugging at my collar, pulling me down. "I hate you so much."
"I know."
"But I—" She pressed her face against my neck, her breath hot and uneven. "God, Lucas, I can't stop wanting you. Why can't I stop?"
"It's the drug, Sophia. You need to rest—"
"No." She pulled back, her eyes glassy but fierce. "It's not just the drug. It's never just the drug." Her hands slid up to cup my face, her touch trembling. "You're so handsome. How is that fair? How is it fair that I still—"
She cut herself off with a broken sound, and then her mouth was on mine—desperate, messy, tasting of coffee and something bitter. I kissed her back before I could stop myself, and she whimpered against my lips.
"I'm scared," she breathed between kisses. "Scared someone's gonna take you. Scared I'm gonna lose you. Even though I should want to lose you."
A memory slammed into me—three years ago, the first night we'd been together, when she'd had too much wine at her parents' anniversary party. She'd clung to me just like this, said almost the exact same words.
I'd loved it then. Loved the way she looked at me like I was the only person in the world.
Now, it just made my chest ache.
"Please," she whispered, and I could hear the drug in her voice, the way it stripped away her control. "I need—Lucas, I need you. I know I shouldn't. I know I'll hate myself after. But right now I just—"
My hands moved on their own, pulling her blouse over her head. She lifted her arms to help, and I saw the tears still streaming down her face even as she arched into my touch.
"I hate that I want this," she sobbed as I unhooked her bra, let it fall. "I hate it so much."
I bent my head, took one nipple into my mouth, and she gasped, her fingers threading through my hair, holding me there even as she cried.
"Lucas—oh God—I hate you—"
I switched to the other breast, my hand sliding down to unbutton her pants. She lifted her hips, helping me pull them off, and when I looked up at her, she was staring at the ceiling, tears pooling in her ears.
"This is the drug," she whispered, like she was trying to convince herself. "It's just the drug. It's not real."
I kissed her again, deeper this time, my hand sliding between her thighs. She was wet—so wet—and she moaned into my mouth when I touched her, her hips bucking against my hand even as she sobbed.
"Please," she gasped. "Please, Lucas—I can't—I need—"
I knew what she needed. I unbuckled my belt, shoved my pants down, and positioned myself between her legs.
She looked up at me, her eyes hazy, conflicted, full of something that looked like anguish.
"I'm going to regret this," she whispered.
"I know."
"I'm going to hate you even more."
"I know."
She reached up, touched my face, her fingers trembling. "Then why does it hurt so much to want you?"
I didn't have an answer. I just lined myself up, felt the heat of her against me, and started to push in.
She tensed immediately, her hands flying to her stomach.
"Wait—" Her voice was sharp, panicked. "No—Lucas, stop—"
I hesitated, my brow furrowing. "Sophia?"
"My stomach—it hurts—something's wrong—don't—"
I thought it was the drug. Thought she was just disoriented, confused. So I kept going, pushed forward, and slid inside her.
She cried out—not in pleasure, but in pain—and I froze, my heart hammering.
"Sophia—"
"It hurts," she sobbed, her hands pressed to her abdomen, her whole body going rigid. "Lucas, it hurts—stop—please—"
I started to pull back, but that's when I saw it.
Blood.
Not just a little. A lot. Smeared across her thighs, staining the sheets beneath her, dark and spreading fast.
My stomach dropped.
"Fuck—" I pulled out immediately, my hands shaking as I reached for her. "Sophia, what—"
She curled on her side, knees drawn up, her face twisted in pain. "I told you," she whispered, her voice hollow. "I told you to stop."
Panic clawed at my throat, but I forced it down, forced myself to stay calm. "Okay. Okay, it's okay. I'm calling 911."
I grabbed my phone, dialed with trembling fingers. The operator answered, and I gave her the address, told her we needed an ambulance, now.
"What's the nature of the emergency?"
"She's bleeding. Heavily. From—" I swallowed hard. "From her vagina. I don't know why."
"Is she conscious?"
I looked at Sophia, who was still curled up, shaking, tears streaming down her face. "Yes. But she's in a lot of pain."
"Help is on the way. Keep her still and try to keep her calm."
I hung up, grabbed a blanket, wrapped it around her trembling body. She flinched when I touched her, pulled away.
"Don't," she whispered. "Don't touch me."
"Sophia, I'm sorry—I didn't know—"
"You didn't stop." Her voice was flat, dead. "I told you to stop, and you didn't."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I opened my mouth, tried to explain, but nothing came out.
She turned her face away, and I sat there, frozen, useless, while the blood kept spreading.
---
Five minutes later, I heard the sirens. I scooped her up again, blanket and all. She didn't protest this time. Didn't say anything. Just let me carry her out into the hallway, her body limp and cold in my arms.
I jabbed the elevator button, my mind racing—what the fuck happened, why is she bleeding, did I hurt her, did the drug do this, what if she—
The doors opened, and I stepped inside. As they started to close, I saw a flash of movement at the end of the hall.
Claire.
Standing there, watching, her expression unreadable.
And for the first time in a long time, I had no idea what the fuck I was going to do.