ATONEMENT | MAFIA ROMANCE | SMUT

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

I picked up one bottle to read the label. "Josh?"

Tossing it on the black leather wing chair, I separated the large double doors at the back of the room and saw Josh's lifeless, breathless body on the sofa, the thin cotton sheet tangled between his legs.

"Josh?" With a racing heartbeat, I hurried towards him. "Wake up." Holding his pallid face in my hands, I tapped his cheek. "Josh." My breath came out harsh and short. "Please, I cannot handle any more heartbreak."

Tears welled from deep inside.

"Please," I said on a wretched sob. "Josh, I need you to wake up. I need to see your eyes." Putting my ear to his lips, I listened to his shallow breaths and thanked the heavens. "Oh, thank God." My forehead landed on his bare chest. "You drunken idiot."

Unlocking my phone, I searched through contacts and dialled Nate's number.

"Mrs Warren," he drawled into the receiver. "What can I do for you?"

"Nate, It's Josh." I speared a hand through my hair. "I came to his house. He's on the sofa, and he won't wake up and—"

"Woah," he interrupted, his voice spiked in dread. "Calm down. Is he breathing?"

"Yes." My face scrunched up. "Barely."

He spat out a slew of curse words. "What did he take this time?"

My heart stopped. "This time?"

He went quiet. "Listen, I need you to get some water and soak the shit out of him. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"Wait. What?" Sadness morphed into fury. "What the hell is going on?"

"I don't have time to explain," he shouted, and I withered back into my defensive shell. "Just get some water."

Nate ended the call.

I stared at the phone screen with incredulous disgust.

Chucking the phone on the coffee table, I returned to the kitchen and hunted the disorganised cabinets for a plastic bowl. When I came unstuck, I used a large saucepan, filled it with cold tap water and juggled it to the living room. Not wanting to drown the poor sod, I sprinkled drips onto his face with my fingers.

He never flinched.

Sucking in my cheeks, I raised the pan above his head and, eyes squeezing shut, emptied the water all over his head.

Josh groaned lethargically, his lips parting on a shallow intake of breath. "What?" His muffled voice failed to mollify me. "I'll do it in a minute."

My blood boiled. "You asshole!"

He blinked owlishly.

"I thought you were fucking dead," I chastised, and he yawned. "I will murder you."

His fingers splayed over his water-misted chest. "Did I piss myself?"

My eyes rounded.

"Well, that's embarrassing." Grasping the back of the sofa, he awkwardly pulled himself upright. "What time is it?" He eyeballed the saucepan. "Did you cook?"

"No, I soaked you." Plonking the pan on the floor, I made room on the cluttered coffee table and took a seat on the wooden ledge. "Yet, you ask if you urinated and if I cooked."

He rubbed the scruff of his jaw. "I woke up with wet pants. Obviously, I assumed the worst."

I picked my fingernails. "Do you often wet the bed?"

"No." He was disgusted. "Alexa, what the fuck?"

"Then, why ask such illogical questions?"

When his head tilted, I heard bones click.