Page 55 of Gilded Saint

“Bad enough. You need to get her outta here.” He leads me up a narrow staircase and around a winding hall. “You gotta tell her we can’t have this. We’ll block her ass. Overdose shit’s bad for business.”

Bass pumps through the floor. The ceiling height up here requires both of us to crouch. He opens a black wooden door into a small room that reminds me of the servants’ quarters inDownton Abbey, a show my youngest sister loved and forced me to watch. There’s a narrow bed and a wooden chair with an exhausted Dante bent over his legs, phone in his hand, texting someone.

Lina’s sprawled across the mattress in a skin-tight black leather dress that has risen over her ass. She chose to avoid panty lines tonight, and she waxes, something I never needed to know. Her skin is pale, but her lips and cheeks are flushed. If her lips had been blue, it’d be a different scenario. I lift her wrists, check her arms. No needle marks. She’s wearing skimpy shoes that show her toes.

“What’s her drug of choice?” I ask Dante.

“Magic flying dust. Passed out isn’t Lina’s jam. At least, not in the last couple of years. I’m telling you; someone drugged her drink.”

“We have bartenders and security who watch that shit,” the bouncer says from the door.

“Well, check your tapes. Because I’m doing a blood test, and if she was drugged here, you’ll be hearing from us.” I shift Lina, trying to decide the best way of hauling her ass. She’s too fucking tall.

“I’ll help you,” Dante says.

“What? You take her feet and I take her head?” It would be like moving a sofa through that narrow staircase. “Here. Help me get that dress down.” I glance at Dante, wondering why the hell he left her dress like that. Nick definitely needs to can his ass.

“Doesn’t go down much more than that,” Dante grumbles.

Her knees are bright red, like she went down hard on them.

“Did she pass out suddenly?”

“She was loopy. Fell multiple times trying to dance. I’m telling you, man. She was roofied.”

“Help me get her on my shoulder. Fireman’s hold.”

He helps, and it’s a challenge, but I’ve hauled a lot heavier over much longer distances than what faces me.

“You stay behind. Get his name. Watch the tapes.” Dante nods while twirling a ring on his finger. Black ink covers most of his neck, and I’d bet if his suit jacket didn’t cover his chest and arms, he’d be one giant sleeve. He’s intimidating, which is why Nick hired him, and it’ll earn his keep tonight. “Get as much information as you can.” I wait until the fuck lifts his gaze. “We need to know who and why.”

“That’s pretty fucking obvious,” he argues. “Someone wanted to fuck her.”

Maybe. “If you want to live to see the weekend, you’ll get the name. Hear me?”

The bouncer widens his eyes at that, but I don’t give a fuck. Nick doesn’t exactly aim for the squeaky-clean image.

Dante shoves a handbag in my hand and grunts. He’s either telling me it’s Lina’s or he’s telling me to sod off. I did my part by warning the wanker. If he wants the ability to wank again, he’ll listen.

The valet’s eyes widen when the back door opens, but the guy’s sharp, and he jumps out and lowers the front passenger seat so I can lay Lina down. I buckle her in so the lap belt will keep her in place, pay the valet, and head out.

When I turn out of the alley, a car moves out of the line of parked cars. Headlights prevent me from seeing inside or identifying the compact car’s make and model.

I flick on the signal, turning right. The car follows. There aren’t many vehicles out at this early hour. When I turn left and the car does too, I’m more annoyed than anything. Who the fuck would mess with Nick?

I can’t see inside the trailing car, and with Lina with me, I won’t take unnecessary risks.

At the next intersection, I approach slowly, ready to stop at the yellow. The light turns red, I look both ways, and blast through the intersection. Trouble is, there’s not a lot of traffic, and the tail blasts through it too.

It’s a chase. On the off chance someone is tracking her phone or something in her handbag, I roll down the window and sling her handbag out. I lose the tail in a New York minute, but to be safe, I drive out of the city for a good forty-five minutes before winding my way back in a circular direction to home.

The sun skims the Thames by the time I pull into my underground parking garage. Lina’s out cold, but she’s twitched here and there.

When I park the car and come around to her side, she rubs her face and opens one eye.

“Where am I?”

“You’re safe.”

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