Emily’s POV

I gripped the doorframe, my knuckles turning white as the suffocating stench of spilled scotch and blood hit my throat.

"You don't get to ask me that, Daniel," I said, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to sound cold. "You don't get to lay there drunk after what you did and demand answers from me."

Daniel didn't move for three agonizing seconds. Then, with terrifying speed, he rolled off the bed.

"I don't get to ask?" he growled.

He crossed the room in two massive strides, his unbuttoned white shirt flying open, revealing his chest slick with sweat. Before I could back out into the hallway, his...