Page 44 of Gluttony
“You’re not fine, Tony. You have a fever. You’re sick.”
Bailey’s call connected.
“Haze,” came Max’s gruff voice. “I told you to wait until you speak with Tony. I’m really sorry, but it’s not my place to—”
“That’s just it,” she blurted. “I’m with Tony now and something’s wrong. He passed out.”
A pause. “From booze?”
“No! His veins glowed, and then he just passed out.”
“Shit. Stay there. Wait. Where are you?”
“I’m in the Lazarus House lobby.”
“Don’t wait there. Get inside an elevator, ask AIMI to take you down to the basement. I’ll get everyone to meet you down there.”
Then the line went dead.
Goddammit!
“Who the hell is Amy?”
“I’m AIMI. Your artificial intelligence management interface.”A computerized feminine voice came over a lobby speaker.
Bailey jolted. “Um. I need to get Tony to the basement. Can you help me?”
“Please lift your face to the camera so I can confirm your identity and security access.”
Camera. Camera. Bailey searched the ceiling. She couldn’t see the camera and was about to explain when AIMI spoke.
“Identity confirmed. Bailey Haze, Tony Lazarus’s mate and security specialist for Nightingale Securities. You may enter the elevator.”
What the fuck? It knew her. The doors to the elevator opened, and she heaved Tony inside. Getting his legs inside was a feat, and she had to rest him against the mirrored walls, but she did it. She retrieved her phone, and then the moment they were both securely inside, the elevator door closed, and the car descended.
“It will be okay, Tony,” she said and touched him again. He seemed to like it. The truth was, she had no idea if it was going to be okay, but she had to trust Max knew what to do.
She’d yet to meet the entire Lazarus brood, and had mainly been assigned to watch the wives and girlfriends when she hadn’t been on external security assignments, so when the elevator pinged and two tall, built men were waiting, she took a moment to recognize their faces from the pictures in their files. One was covered in tattoos and wore a dark shirt and gray sweatpants. That would be Evan Lazarus, the artist. The other was unmistakably Wyatt. Tall, dark and brooding, he often accompanied them on outings with his girlfriend, Misha.
“What happened?” Wyatt growled. He indicated for Evan to help him pick up Tony and carry him between them.
“He just started glowing blue. All over his hands and arms.” God, that sounded insane. She rushed after them down a long, concrete hallway. It was scorched near the elevator, but cleared the further they went. “He said he didn’t want me to see him like that and then passed out.”
Tony started to convulse again, moan and fight against his brother’s hold. They passed a few shut doors. As they came to a wide opening of the hall, Bailey glimpsed a big operations room beyond. Televisions on a wall, glass cabinets with Deadly Seven suits on mannequins. Tools. Benches. Two faces peeked out from the room, watching as Bailey rushed by with the men. One was Misha, another was a solemn woman in her fifties with her long dark hair in a braid.
“Is he okay?” Misha asked.
“Stay there, Misha,” Wyatt ordered. “Don’t you dare come out. In fact, Mama, take her upstairs. Neither of you can be here if he goes off.”
Goes off?
Wyatt and Evan barged into a room filled with dim lights and medical equipment. They placed Tony down on a gurney in the center of the room, beneath operating theater lights. Evan switched on a lamp that illuminated Tony. He fought against the two men restraining him, but he was no match for their combined strength. While Evan held him down, Wyatt tore Tony’s shirt down the middle as though it were made of paper.
Bailey gasped at what was beneath. Sparkling light pulsed as though on an electrical circuit, and the wires were his veins. Wyatt wheeled over a heart monitor and switched the machine on. He attached two electrodes to Tony’s sweaty chest.
“Can you get Grace on the phone?” Wyatt asked.
“She’s in surgery,” Evan replied.
