Page 22 of Five
Uri is holding a gun in each hand and nods at me with understanding, making his long dreads wave with the movement. He exits the room, followed by Rague, who quickly comes back with a blanket in his hand.
“We need to go. They’ll soon realize there’s no fire,” Rague states. Which means my brothers pulled the fire alarm lever to give us enough time to leave.
“They took our phones at the entrance. Call Rami, he needs to get a hold of the video they took of me and Lori,” I tell Rague, taking the blanket from his hand.
“Video?” Uri asks, remaining at the threshold with his guns ready.
“The owner, Philip Bailey, wanted to blackmail me with a sex tape after he spiked our drinks.”
“Fuck!” Rague cusses, stroking his bearded chin while he holds his phone near his ear.
Ollie helps me wrap the blanket around Lori’s limp body. “Rague, you need to carry Lori,” he tells his husband.
Nobody will touch him.The thought forms quickly inside my head as the words come out of my mouth before I can even formthem in my head. “I’ll do it.” I hand Ollie my blade and slide both arms under Lori’s body, lifting him easily into my hold. He nuzzles his face against my chest while taking a long, contented breath, but doesn’t open his eyes. Ollie looks quizzically at his friend and then me, but doesn’t say anything.
Rague is still on the phone with Rami, explaining to him what he needs to do; Uri is covering the door. My holding Lori is just a practical decision since we need to get moving.
Riiiight.I ignoreBez’s sarcastic drawl.
After a few more seconds, with Uri in the lead and Ollie and Rague in the back, we walk out. I look through the open door inside the next room. I can see the other side of the two-way mirror displaying the red bed covered in mine and Lori’s cum. A long sofa, three chairs—one tipped over on the floor—are facing the glass wall, and a table filled with lube and self-pleasure toys—some clearly used—is in the corner near a bar.
“There’s no recording device in here. They must have it in another room,” Uri states. “A gallery room is normal in a sex club.”
“What the fuck?” I hear Rague growl as he understands the meaning of Uri’s words.
“Bailey chose the room for us,” I say. “He wanted to give some other clients a show.”
“He’s a dead man walking! When Lori wakes up, he’ll cut his balls off and give them to Wednesday for lunch!” Ollie adds with a fury in his voice I’ve never heard before.
Wednesday?
My Little Wasp couldn’t have a friend without fire,Bez chuckles.
YourLittle Wasp?I’m confused by his possessive tone.
“Who’s Wednesday?” Uri asks. But an angry shout coming from not so far away mutes my inner and the outer conversations.
Uri signals me with a wave of his hand, and I start following him again.
“Rami sent me the blueprint of the place. This way,” my brother whispers. We enter a messy kitchen, passing by the multiple stainless steel stoves and the counters filled with half-cooked dishes and dirty pots. We cross a deserted staff-only locker room and exit through the back door.
The fresh air of the night welcomes us outside. Two waitresses are standing twenty feet away on the opposite sidewalk, too busy talking among themselves as we hurriedly walk away.
Uri takes two steps away from us when Rague asks him where he’s going. “Phones,” is Uri’s short reply, before he rounds the building.
“Hunter and Rami will be here soon to take care of the recording in case Serena can’t hack their security. Michael is driving toward our place. He needs to check out both of you,” Rague says as we reach his pickup.
“Lori needs to go to the hospital,” I argue.
“No. Lori hates hospitals.” Ollie opens the rear passenger door, and I slide inside, still holding Lori in my arms. Ollie opens his mouth with a frown on his face, but I cut off whatever he’s about to say. “Keep Rague in check.” My brother doesn’tlook particularly angry, but Ollie knows what happens when his husband loses it.
He gives me a long, studying stare with those green eyes, but then does what I say and climbs into the front passenger seat.
“Here.” He hands me a sport drink after placing our knives in a black duffle bag. “You need to hydrate.” I don’t but I grab it and place it in the cup holder in case Lori wakes up thirsty.
“I didn’t use my Molotov cocktail,” I hear Rague grumble. He loves fire, so much that he wants to add a crematorium to the base to burn the donors’ corpses instead of melting them inside acid as we usually do.
“Not using your cocktail is a good thing, Beastie, not a bad one,” Ollie reminds his husband.
