Fangs for Nothing

Chapter Five DUNGEONS AND DRAG QUEENS

DAMMIT, Drake thought, did these bitches have to wake him up the same way every goddamn morning? He was really tired of getting a boot to the ass as a wakeup call. And this kick was particularly forceful this morning. Not to mention whoever did the kicking had an unusually large foot and one sturdy boot.

He groaned, letting his head fall to the side as he struggled to stay asleep, willing his body to just move with the sway of the ship. The longer he slept the less he had to deal with his situation. He made another noise low in his throat. His shoulders and wrists ached from the manacles. But even worse than that was his head—it throbbed, an almost crippling pain ricocheting around his skull. Probably from dehydration and lack of sleep.

But none of this was new; he’d existed like this for . . . he’d lost count of the days. Being held in the dank hold, surrounded by stench and sickness, the days and nights running together. All he knew for sure was it felt endless.

He let his head loll to the side. More aching muscles. More pounding in his head. But even through the pain, he did register that the hold didn’t smell as awful as usual. Nor did he hear the customary coughs and retching of the other prisoners. Why?

It didn’t matter, really. He still felt wretched and he was still restrained. A state that had gone on for an eternity with no end in sight.

Eternity. Eternity?

The word joined the pain in his head, bouncing around, causing no agony, just questions. Why did that word seem so significant? He wished he didn’t feel so miserable and he could focus. Eternity.

Then slowly the explanation came back to him like a floodgate had been jimmied open, and memories rushed in.

The captain of this prison ship was female, and she was . . .

“A vampire,” he said aloud before he could stop himself.

Another kick landed against his backside—this strike even harder than the first.

Shit, had one of the crew just heard him? Did they think he intended to reveal their secret? He knew that would mean certain death, and he had no intention of letting the truth about his captors be known. He didn’t want to die. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be a vampire either. But all he knew at this moment was that he did not want to die.

He needed to be sure whoever heard him knew that. He wasn’t a thief, even though that was the accusation that had brought him to this hideous state. Nor was he a traitor. He’d vowed to the captain he would never expose the crew’s secret if she spared him. Was that why it was quiet down here? Had the crew fed on the other prisoners? Shit, he had to scramble to make sure his confused slip of the tongue wouldn’t be his undoing.

He opened his eyes, expecting his gaze to meet darkness. The fact that it didn’t was almost as disorienting as the complete blackness. He blinked, trying to get an idea of where he could be. In the Captain’s quarters? On deck?

He blinked again. This was not the eighteenth-century prison ship he had been brought to Louisiana on. Unless his captors had miraculously turned the ship into a houseboat, because this was decidedly a house. He glanced around him to see an assortment of what appeared to be sex toys and restraint devices on the faux-marble walls. Okay, it was a strange house, and although he couldn’t say exactly where he was, it was definitely not the ship. He looked down at himself. He wasn’t manacled to the beams above, and the reason he thought he’d felt the rocking of the vessel was that he was dangling in the air. His ass was in a swing of sorts with his arms cuffed together above his head and to the swing itself.

What the hell?

But he was quickly distracted from his own predicament when a small person seemed to scramble out of nowhere, screaming. Really, really loudly. A very cruel joke when he couldn’t get his hands free to cover his already-sensitive ears. The caterwauling certainly wasn’t helping the pain in his head. But more than anything, he hated the fact that he was restrained, bad memories still clinging to him. He tugged at the cuffs binding his wrists, his movements erratic and panicked.

Only when he glared back at the woman, whose screams were not helping his situation, did everything completely fall into place.

“Cupcake?”

The woman stopped looking frantically around and stared at him, then her gaze dropped to what she was wearing. His puffy shirt. Her already-pale face turned ashen, and for a moment she looked as if she might pass out. Then her wide-eyed stare returned to him, roaming down over his body. Her eyes stopped and grew even rounder when she reached his crotch.

He looked down also, and saw that he wore nothing but chaps. And his Old Chap was lying against his thigh for the whole world to see. Or at least for Cupcake to see. Amazingly, her gray pallor turned pink almost instantaneously.

But with her reaction, a sheepish averting of her eyes and the realization that he wasn’t back on Captain Morgan’s Floating Ship of Bloodletting and Doom, he actually chuckled. Being in a sex swing with his Happy Jack swinging in the breeze was not the worst thing he’d ever experienced.

Especially when it was having such an interesting effect on Cupcake, who still averted her eyes—mostly. He noticed she took quick glances every now and then. Which was making old Happy Jack all the happier.

“I don’t suppose you could help get me down?” he finally asked when it became clear that Cupcake had no intention of saying anything first.

She hesitated, shooting another quick glance at him, this one directed at his face. Mostly.

“Presumably you are the one who trussed me up here. So shouldn’t you be the one to get me down?” he said pragmatically.

“I did not—truss—you up there.”

He gave her an amused look.

“Well, I have to admit I don’t remember. Unfortunately. But since I’m wearing no pants . . .” He glanced down at himself. “Well, virtually no pants. And you are wearing my shirt, I’m thinking something happened between us.”

She cast a look down at herself, too, then crossed her arms over her ample chest as if that would somehow nullify the fact that that was his shirt . . . ruffles, lace, and all.

“Some help,” he prompted again.

She hesitated a moment longer, then dropped her arms and let out a sigh. Apparently she saw no other way around helping him, for which he was thankful. His shoulders and arm were killing him. Still, she only took a few steps closer to him, clearly trying to decide what would be the best strategy to get him down.

“You’re not going to be able to avoid getting up close and personal,” he said with a grin, then spread his legs so she could move between them and reach the cuffs.

Her cheeks grew redder, but rather than move between his legs, she placed a hand on his leather-clad knee and shoved it toward the other one, closing his legs. She still had to press up against his outer thigh and side of his chest to reach the lock.

“Or you can do it that way,” he said wryly. It was on the tip of his tongue to point out that one of her very full, very perky breasts was still right there in his face, but decided against it.

He didn’t know Cupcake well, but he knew her well enough to know she’d just leave him hanging if she got pissed off.

“How long have I been up here?” he asked, trying not to think about how amazingly tempting that breast was—so close to his face. His mouth.

“I have no idea,” she said absently, focused on undoing the lock. “Don’t even know where we are or who those other people are, for that matter.”

“Other people?” He tried to look around, but his position made it impossible. The deeper meaning of her words hit him and his gaze shifted to her face. “Wait, you mean you don’t remember either?”

Her fingers faltered and her face grew redder, if that were possible. “No.”

He was silent for a moment. “Shit. Not again.”

This time her hands dropped completely from the cuff and she gaped at him, her eyes huge and startlingly blue.

“What do you mean, ‘not again?’”

He gave her a pained look. “Well, this memory loss thing . . . it happened another time, too.”

WAS HE FREAKING kidding? He’d had this happen before? Because Josie Lynn could absolutely assure him this had never happened to her before. Waking up in some sort of sex room? Wearing only a men’s shirt? With other scantily clad people passed out around her? Yeah. This had never happened. Ever. Frankly, she couldn’t recommend it.

And of course it would be the sexy pirate she would wake up with . . . well, sort of with. She was wearing his shirt, so clearly she’d been with him for a least part of the time that she couldn’t remember. Very possibly really been with him.

She shot a quick glance past him to the couple only a few feet away. Had she also been with that guy? At least she recognized the pirate, but this other guy . . . oh dear God. And the woman. Then she realized another woman lay on the floor, still unconscious. Or at least she hoped the woman was unconscious.

She had to be. Josie Lynn didn’t want to contemplate other alternatives. Nor did she want to think about what they had all done in this room together. What if they’d had an orgy . . . ?

Oh, this could be really bad.

“Okay, you kind of look like you might pass out again,” the pirate said, drawing his attention away from the others. “So could you get me down before you do that?”

Josie Lynn gave him a dirty look. “I love the concern.”

“I assure you, I’m very concerned,” he told her. “But I’m also a little concerned that I have no feeling in my hands, too.”

Begrudgingly, Josie Lynn supposed that was an understandable reason to be worried and set back to getting him unlocked. This time, maybe because she just wanted some answers, then out of here and away from all of these people, she managed to unfasten the locks without too much struggle.

“Thanks,” he said, wincing as he lowered his arms and flexed his fingers.

“So you said this has happened before?” she said, ignoring his gratitude. “How many forgotten orgies have you had, exactly?”

The pirate stopped rotating his shoulder and looked at her. “Whoa now, who said anything about orgies? Why would you think we had an orgy?”

She lifted her hands and looked around the room, ending her tour on him and his lack of attire.

He shrugged. “Okay, I can see where you would conclude something sexual happened last night, but if we all did have a forgotten orgy, it would be my first.”

“So what happened again?”

“I think someone must have drugged us.”

“Drugged us?”

How could he stand there, his penis hanging out for all the world to see, and calmly tell her that he thought they’d been drugged?

“And do you and your friends get drugged often?”

“No,” he said with the same nonchalance. “But it did happen once before.”

Josie Lynn stared at him, trying to stay calm. “And do you know who did it?”

“The first time?”

She nodded slowly, starting to wonder if he could possibly be serious, or if maybe he was just nuts.

“Yeah, we know who did it the first time,” he said, again amazing her with his matter-of-factness. “But I highly doubt he’d do it again. It was an accident.”

Okay, yeah, nuts seemed like the most likely explanation here, but before she got the chance to tell him that, the other man, who thankfully had clothes on, called to him.

So this other guy knew the pirate. And, she realized as she looked closer at both the man and woman, they were handcuffed together.

Of course they were handcuffed together. Yeah, this was effin’ nuts.

LIZETTE WAS HAVING a rather pleasant dream of riding in a hot air balloon over the French countryside after the Parisian World’s Fair back in 1889, when she had the sensation of being tugged, accompanied by an irritating rattling. She wanted to suggest to whoever was creating the ruckus to please cease, but she was alone in the balloon.

Then a scream cut through the air, ripping her balloon and sending her basket plunging to the ground and her certain death.

If she wasn’t a vampire, that is, and if she wasn’t dreaming.

Lizette jerked awake and shot her gaze around the dim room, not recognizing her hotel room. This was not the Royal Sonesta. This was not her room. Where on earth was she?

She realized what had woken her up was a woman she did not recognize screaming at the top of her lungs as she stood in the middle of the room, looking down at her rather unusual outfit, which consisted of a puffy blouse and nothing else. Lizette frantically looked down at her own attire, and while she was still wearing her skirt, her jacket was gone, and her blouse was unbuttoned almost to her navel. Her bra was showing.

Letting out a little squawk herself, Lizette moved to rebutton it.

But when she pulled her right hand toward her breasts, a man’s hand came with it.

Lizette swallowed hard and stared in bewilderment at the faint dark hair on the back of the callused hand, not entirely sure what she was looking at.

Hand. Metal. Oh my.

Her sluggish brain processed the fact that she was handcuffed to a man. The silver ovals encased both of their wrists, and his hand was now flopping on her lace bra. This was not a good sign. Her gaze shot to her right as she shook her hand, trying to force the man’s hand off of her, which as much as she would like it to be, was not in fact dismembered.

It did belong to a living vampire, possibly the last vampire she would like to be chained to in a dark room that she didn’t recognize.

Oh dear. It was Johnny Malone who was handcuffed to her.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” he said with a half smile.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“I have no idea.” Johnny swept his free hand through his short hair. “I was actually hoping you had some idea of what happened last night, because I don’t. Never once have I blacked out, and yet . . . nothing.”

She didn’t remember anything either, and frankly, that was terrifying. “I don’t remember a thing! This is awful. Where are we?”

“Zelda’s dominatrix dungeon.”

“What?”

“And no, that’s not a fetish game show. We’re at the bride’s house, in her special soundproof room.”

Bride. That’s right. Lizette had gone to the wedding of Johnny’s friend to confront Johnny for missing their appointment and removing his drums from the apartment before the investigation had been concluded. Or had even really started, frankly. She remembered arguing with him, feeling a bit faint, drinking a horrible-tasting punch. Then mostly nothing.

“Did I dance with you?” she asked him in horror.

Johnny gave her a rueful look. “I think we danced together and then some.”

Oh dear. Did he mean . . .

Lizette’s head was throbbing. Her eyes were gritty. Her shoulders and legs were stiff.

But those were not the only parts of her that were sore. As she sat on the carpeted floor of Zelda’s dominatrix dungeon, she stared at the handcuffs attaching her wrist to Johnny Malone’s, and had the horrible suspicion that he was the party responsible for the unmistakable well-loved sensation between her legs.

She wouldn’t have slept with him. She couldn’t have. Except there was no denying a few particular facts.

She was handcuffed to him.

A quick shift confirmed she was no longer wearing panties.

And despite the way her head ached, whenever she glanced over at him, there was a sizzling awareness between them, like their bodies remembered what had happened even if neither of their brains did.

“I don’t know what to say. I am mortified,” she told him honestly. “I have never blacked out from drinking. Ever. I would have declined the toxic punch if I had known it would result in . . . this. Whatever this is.” Overcome with the sudden desperate need to get out of the room and distance herself from Johnny and the knowledge that she had behaved like a complete wanton, she tried to stand up.

Only to wind up falling down on her backside when the weight of Johnny’s attached limb pulled her straight back down. “Stand up!” she snapped.

“Fine. Jesus. How was I supposed to know you were going to stand up? I’m not psychic,” he mumbled. “On the count of three, we’ll stand, okay?”

She nodded, realizing he was right.

“Un. Deux. Trois.”

He spoke French. Amazed, Lizette pushed off the floor with him as they stood together. He didn’t look like the type of man who would know a second language, whatever that might look like. She realized that this could work to her advantage, because she remembered a key piece of information. “Saxon’s new wife is mortal, yes?” she asked quietly.

He nodded.

“Is that her?” she asked, gesturing with her head to the screaming blouse-wearer.

“No. I have no idea who that is.” He edged forward in the dark a little. “I think that’s Zelda on the floor, passed out, but holy crap, why is she almost naked? And where is Saxon?”

Lizette found that she could not care where Saxon was, as she had suddenly become aware by their forward shuffling that there was a man wearing leather pants that had no back to them so that his entire posterior was exposed. He turned around to face them. Nor was there a front.

Oh my.

She swallowed and averted her gaze, suddenly wishing she had resisted the urge to tell Johnny Malone exactly what she thought of his defiance and had waited until after the wedding to speak with him. She had heard tales of wild partying in New Orleans, and clearly here was her evidence. There were far too many people in this room in various states of undress, and a glance over to the right revealed an entire wall of sex toys and props. She couldn’t look at them.

But she couldn’t look at the naked man either.

Or the woman sprawled out on her back in nothing but a bra and sheer panties.

Which left her nowhere to look but at her feet, which were bare. Those were expensive pumps she’d been wearing, and she glanced back to where they had been sitting, suddenly frantic at the realization that her purse wasn’t on her shoulder. She went nowhere without her handbag. It was a third arm, and she would be profoundly unnerved if it was missing, given its contents. Her passport was in there. She gave a sigh of relief when she saw it was lying on the floor. That was a start. And at least Johnny was fully dressed. She had checked. It was slightly reassuring, but honestly she’d feel much better with her panties on and her hair back up in a bun. Why would she have taken her hair down?

That was probably a stupid question. During dancing or whatever had come after that.

“Drake! Dude, how many times do I have to tell you to put some clothes on? Damn.” Johnny looked pained himself as he shielded his eyes from the view. “And where the hell is Saxon?”

“I have no idea, man. You know about as much as I do, which is nothing. Your foot on my ass woke me up, then Cupcake got me down out of the sex swing. Saxon is gone. Zelda is passed out. You’re handcuffed to a chick I’ve never seen before in my life, and none of us remember what happened last night.” He looked at Lizette hopefully. “Unless you do?”

“No, sorry.” She wasn’t sure if that was a curse or a blessing. She suspected it might be better to be lacking in details of the events of the night. “I’m Lizette Chastain, by the way. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She stuck out her free hand, realizing it was a bit ridiculous under the circumstances, but feeling that manners should never be abandoned, especially in times of crisis.

He gave her a grin and shook her hand enthusiastically. “Drake Hanover, at your service.”

He gave her a leg, eighteenth-century style, which would have been significantly more charming if he weren’t fully naked from hip to hip. His wrist wasn’t the only thing that gave a flourish.

“I take it you’re French? I spent time on the Continent in my youth,” he told her. “My father was British, my mother Spanish, but I spent time in Paris.”

“Oh, indeed?” Under normal circumstances, she would have loved to discuss his youth, which she suspected was of a similar time to her own, but the girl in the blouse was clearly mortal. Lizette could hear her heartbeat and smell the blood pumping through her veins. She turned to her. “I’m Lizette, it’s a pleasure. And you are?”

The girl didn’t look particularly scared. She looked angry. Very, very angry. “I’m Josie Lynn.”

“Enchanté,” Lizette added, because there just wasn’t an English equivalent that sounded as pleasing to her French ear.

“I’m Cajun but I don’t speak French,” Josie Lynn said. “And I want to know who the hell drugged me last night!”

That startled Lizette. “We were drugged?” she asked Johnny.

“It certainly seems like a reasonable explanation,” he said. “Which means we should probably be a little concerned about Zelda. She is out cold, and I would cover her up with my shirt but I can’t get my shirt off with this handcuff on. Is there a blanket or something around here? Maybe we should call for backup from Stella and Katie.”

Lizette knew Stella was of course Johnny’s sister and that Katie was married to Berto Cortez. She realized that Johnny was concerned about Zelda, and it did touch her just a tiny bit. Not wanting to reveal anything vampiric to Josie Lynn, she spoke French to Johnny. “So you think Zelda may be in danger, given that she is a mortal? If a drug could affect us as vampires that dramatically, what could it do to her, yes?”

“Exactly,” he said, nodding.

The truth was, Johnny had no clue what the hell Lizette was saying. He didn’t speak French. He barely spoke English with any sort of rhyme or reason, and certainly without any regard for proper grammar. But for some reason, Lizette thought he was worldly enough to speak her language, and he wasn’t about to disabuse her of that notion right now. It must have been his counting to three in French, but that was all he knew how to speak in about six languages. Along with the obvious yes and no. But he just didn’t want to admit that. Maybe it was because they might have had sex with each other, but Johnny felt compelled to impress Lizette. He knew she thought he was a jackass, and normally, that wouldn’t bother him. He also thought she was perhaps the most irritating woman he’d ever met, with her clipboard and her lists and her rules. But she had danced like a French hooker the night before, and with her hair down now . . . looking luscious and carefree, well, he didn’t find her quite as annoying.

He hoped the sex had been good. Even if she never remembered it, he’d like to think that he’d kept it up for a good long haul, and that she had screamed his name in violent orgasm at least three times. That was the way he was going to remember it. If they’d actually had sex. He wasn’t exactly sure. Did women have a secret way of knowing that? They always seemed to have a longer post-sex satisfaction. Ten minutes after he pulled out, it was like he’d never had sex in the first place, but women were wired different. So if they had, chances were Lizette would know in some mysterious female way.

Maybe he would ask her later.

“Okay, I’m calling Stella,” he said. “I think Zelda should be checked out by a doctor, just in case.” He turned to Josie Lynn. “How are you feeling? Do you feel okay?”

“I have a splitting headache and I’m wearing the stupidest shirt I’ve ever seen in my life, but other than that, I’ll live.”

“Good.” Johnny shot a glance at Drake, wondering what exactly had gone down between him and this girl. He didn’t even remember seeing her at the wedding, though admittedly, his memories didn’t extend much past the first bridal dance. “So what did we all drink in common, the punch?”

“I had one sip,” Josie Lynn said. “One lousy sip.”

“Lizette and I had like three glasses each.”

“I had about six,” Drake said. “Dude, I was thirsty.”

Johnny pulled his phone out of his pocket and called his sister while Drake went in search of better pants. Any pants would be better than those. Tighty whities would be better than those.

It took ten rings for Stella to answer. “Hey, Stella, have you seen Saxon? And did you drink that punch last night? Because I’m here with Drake and we’re hungover and can’t remember a damn thing. It’s like my wake all over again, only I’m not dead and this time I’m one of the victims, so actually, it’s much less fun.” Especially considering what he’d most like to remember was who had done the unbuttoning on Lizette’s blouse. Him or her?

“Same thing here,” Stella said, her voice gravely. “Wyatt and I don’t even remember going home. That is so damn scary, I hate it. Anything could have happened! You think it was the punch?”

“Pretty sure. And Zelda is here but she’s out stone cold. I was wondering if you could come over and get her dressed and take her to the ER. I think maybe she should be checked out, maybe given some fluids.”

“Oh, geez, sure, of course. Give us ten minutes. Wyatt’s in the shower. Have you talked to Cort or Katie?”

“No. Can you call them and have them meet us?”

“Where are you, by the way?”

“Zelda’s apartment, in the domme room. You know, her special little dungeon.”

Stella gave a startled laugh. “What the hell are you doing there?”

“I would tell you, but I have no idea.” Johnny tried to move away from Lizette, feeling the conversation was more than a little private, when he realized he couldn’t get more than two feet from her without dragging her like a poodle on a leash. “Bring metal cutters, by the way.”

“Metal cutters? Do I even want to know?”

“No. Just hurry please.”

He hung up the phone and tried to call Saxon, but it went to voice mail. Then he asked Lizette, “Any word on who Josie Lynn is?”

“The caterer. Apparently she and Drake met last night in the kitchen and she was unimpressed.”

“I guess at some point she got impressed.”

“Like me?” Lizette shot him a look.

“Um, yeah, about that.” Johnny leaned his head down so they weren’t overheard. “Maybe we should talk about that. Alone. Would you mind going upstairs with me? We have to let Stella in anyway.”

“Shouldn’t we be looking for the key to these handcuffs?”

“Sure, in a minute, but I doubt we’re going to be able to find them. This room is full of objects if you noticed.”

Lizette sighed. Johnny felt kind of bad. It was one thing for her to catalog every crappy ashtray in his apartment, it was another thing for her to have to deal with Zelda and Saxon’s getting-their-freak-on equipment. Which reminded him. “By the way, the VA can keep my ashtray collection. I quit smoking five weeks ago. It was starting to stain my fangs.” He was pretty proud of that fact. It wasn’t easy to give up the nicotine or the oral fixation.

“Congratulations. We will dispose of them regardless of the findings.”

So they were back to that. He’d probably showed the woman a helluva time last night and she still couldn’t cut him any slack.

Johnny yanked open the soundproof door to the room and stepped out. Lizette’s shriek stopped him cold. “What? What the hell is the matter?”

She pointed behind him. “Alligator.”

“What?” Her accent was particularly thick, and he couldn’t figure out what she was saying.

She pointed again. “Alligator!”

Johnny turned. “Holy shit! There’s an alligator in the hallway!”

“That’s what I said! Get back before he . . .” Lizette made a snapping motion with her left hand. “Chomp, chomp!”

Johnny almost laughed. Almost.

Instead he jumped back into the room and slammed the door. Then he laughed. “Oh my God, there’s an alligator in the hallway.”

“That’s insane!” Lizette said.

“Very.” Johnny looked back to Drake for assistance, but he and Josie Lynn seemed to be arguing. “I guess we can bum-rush him. Otherwise we’re trapped here.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Well, we are vampires. We’ll live.”

“Shh!” Lizette covered his mouth with her free hand. “You cannot speak of such things!”

Johnny pursed his lips and again fought the urge to laugh. She was so damn earnest. Slowly, he stuck the tip of his tongue out and licked her fingers.

She let out a yelp and yanked her hand back, eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

Now he did laugh. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

Her eyes narrowed in anger. “We need to remove these handcuffs immediately. It will make it easier for us to rush past the alligator.”

“I could probably try to yank them. I do have supernatural strength. It might tear our flesh, but it will heal.”

His suggestion got the exact response he’d expected from Lizette. “We can’t do that in front of Josie Lynn. It won’t look normal.”

“Then let’s get out of here and do it in the other room. Then we can go our separate ways.” He would continue to look for Saxon, and she could go write a list detailing the ways they should look normal.

“Fine. Let me get my purse.” The haughty Frenchwoman was back in place, her delicate nose in the air as she marched over to the spot where they’d been sleeping, or more accurately, where they’d been passed out cold. It took them a second to get their walking coordinated, because she strode and he ambled, but they only needed to make it a few feet across the room.

When she bent over, Johnny had to admit he eyeballed her ass. It was a good ass, what could he say? He adjusted his pants a little. What a shame to make the ice princess thaw and not even be able to remember it. It was an actual tragedy.

“Hey, Drake,” he said. “There’s an alligator in the hallway, so be careful. We’re going to head out and look for Saxon and the key to these handcuffs.” He gave the cuffs a more thorough inspection. “They look like titanium to me, which will make this more of a challenge. Stella and Katie are on their way to get Zelda dressed and off to the ER.”

Drake just nodded, like none of that was particularly strange.

“An alligator?” Josie Lynn asked. “Are you freaking kidding me? What kind of a weirdo fun house is this?”

“If this is a fun house, it’s a terrible one,” Lizette said, sounding put out. “I think it’s time to leave. Has anyone seen my shoes?”

Johnny gave a cursory glance around the room. There were a few whips and ball gags strewn about, and the sex swing dominated the center of the room, but he didn’t see any clothes or shoes. He had a hard time picturing Saxon spending hours of pleasure in here with Zelda, who was actually much smarter than Saxon. The woman ran her own business and had raised two kids, so she clearly had more than cotton between her ears. Saxon, on the other hand? He wasn’t so sure.

Johnny had to admit he was ready for some fresh air. This was all just a little too much togetherness and more of a glimpse into his friends’ private lives than he needed. “I don’t see your shoes. We can see if Zelda has flip-flops. You shouldn’t be walking around the quarter barefoot.”

“Oh, heavens, no.” Lizette gave a delicate shudder. Her fingers fluttered over her chest.

It was then that he realized she was in fact far too classy for him. Here she had woken up in a strange place surrounded by sex paraphernalia and people she didn’t know in various states of undress, and she was completely holding it together. In fact, she was buttoning her blouse one-handed, and despite their being attached at the wrist, she was assessing him coolly, like nothing was out of the ordinary whatsoever. Johnny did not have that kind of self-control. He’d never had that. Most likely he never would, given that he was damn near a century old and it hadn’t happened yet. Which meant Lizette was out of his league.

Which suddenly pissed him off.