‘Dallas?’ Mavis snorted at the thought of it. ‘No way.’
‘So, she’s celebrating.’ Crack lifted his shoulders.
‘Got plenty more rooms, ladies, if you got an itch.’
‘Which room?’ Peabody demanded, sober now that she’d thrown up everything in her stomach including, she was sure, a good portion of the lining.
‘Number five. Hey, you want a gang bang, I can round up some nice young boys for you. All sizes, all shapes, all colors.’ He shook his head as they marched off, and decided that he’d better go along to keep the peace.
Eve’s fingers slipped off the injector, and the elbow to her cheekbone sent pain grinding down her face and into her teeth. Still, she had first blood, and the shock of finding her ready to fight had shaken him.
‘You should have given me a bigger dose.’ She followed up the statement with a short-armed punch to his windpipe. ‘I wasn’t drinking tonight, asshole.’ She managed to roll him over. ‘I’m getting married tomorrow.’ She punctuated this by bloodying his nose. ‘That was for Peabody, you bastard.’
He caught her in the ribs and winded her. She felt the injector pass over her arm and heaved up by the hips to kick. She would never know if it was blind luck, her lack of depth perception, or his own miscalculation, but he dodged to avoid the gut thrust, and her feet, coming up like pistons, caught him square in the face.
His eyes rolled back in his head; his head hit the floor with an ominous and satisfying thud.
Still, he’d managed to get more of the drug into her. She crawled, drifting in the sensation of swimming through thick, golden syrup. She made it to the door, but the lock and its key code appeared to be twelve feet above her grasping hand.
Then the door burst open and all hell broke loose.
She felt herself lifted, patted down. Someone was ordering in no-nonsense tones that she be given air. Giggles bubbled up in her. She was flying now, was all she could think.
‘Bastard killed them,’ she kept saying. ‘Bastard killed them all. I missed it. Where’s Roarke?’
Her eyelids were pulled back and she would have sworn her eyeballs rolled like fiery little marbles. She heard the words ‘health center’ and began to fight like a tiger.
Roarke descended the stairs, a grim set to his mouth. He knew Feeney was still upstairs, huffing and blowing, but he was convinced. A business deal of the size of Immortality’s potential required an expert and an inside connection. Casto filled both those bills.
Eve might not want to hear it, either, so he wouldn’t mention it. Yet. Feeney would have three weeks to poke around while they were on their honeymoon. If there was indeed going to be a honeymoon.
He heard the door open and angled his chin. They were going to have this out once and for all, he determined. Here and now. He took two more steps, then was down the rest of them in a dead run.
‘What the hell happened to her? She’s bleeding.’ There was blood in his own eye as he snatched a limp Eve from the arms of a seven-foot black in a silver loincloth.
As everybody began talking at once, Mira clapped her hands like a schoolteacher in a room of rowdy students. ‘She needs a quiet room. The MTs treated her for the drug, but she’ll have some residual effects. And she wouldn’t let them deal with the cuts and bruises.’
Roarke’s face went stony. ‘What drug?’ His gaze latched on Mavis. ‘Where the hell did you take her?’
‘Not her fault.’ Still glassy-eyed, Eve wrapped her arms around Roarke’s neck. ‘Casto. It was Casto, Roarke. Know that?’
‘As a matter of fact—’
‘Stupid - stupid to miss it. Sloppy. Can I go to bed now?’
‘Take her upstairs, Roarke,’ Mira said calmly. ‘I can tend to her. Believe me, she’ll be fine.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Eve agreed as she floated up the stairs. ‘I’ll tell you everything. I can always tell you, can’t I? ’Cause you love me, you sap.’
There was only one piece of information Roarke wanted at the moment. He laid Eve on the bed, took a
good look at her bruised cheek and swollen mouth. ‘Is he dead?’
‘Nope. I just beat the hell out of him.’ She smiled, caught the look in his eye, and shook her head slowly. ‘Nuh-uh, no way. Don’t even think about it. We’re getting married in a couple hours.’
He smoothed the hair back from her face. ‘Are we?’
‘I figured it out.’ It was hard to concentrate, but it was important. She lifted her hands, cupped his face to keep it in focus. ‘It’s not a formality. And it’s not a contract.’