Page 59 of Wicked Beautiful (Wicked Games 1)
“Why don’t you try some of those feminine wiles I see you practicing in front of the mirror all the time?”
Deliberating, I chew my lip. “Or maybe you could get me some roofies. Or mollies, whatever they’re called. Something to knock him out while I search for a key.”
Luciano turns to me with wide eyes. I smile at him, pat his hand, and whisper, “Not you, darling.”
His answering smile is grateful, if a little frightened. He goes back to being slumped against the door.
Tabby says haughtily, “I don’t do drugs, Victoria.”
“But you must know people! From like, the underground. Your Electric Daisy Carnival friends!”
“If you think the EDC is the underground, we’ve got way more serious problems than breaking into a safe.”
“Fine, Burning Man. Whatever.”
Tabby says, “I’m hanging up on you now.”
“Wait!”
Once again she sighs. “What?”
I look at Luciano. “Do you know anything about stopping relentless blood flow?”
I can almost hear her eyes bug out of her head. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that. And do not bring a corpse back to this house, Victoria. I signed up to help you hide figurative skeletons, not literal ones. And by the way, dead bodies tend to stink after a few days. The scent of decomposing flesh will clash with your Chanel No. Five.”
With that, she hangs up on me.
“Ingrate,” I mutter, shoving the phone back in my clutch.
Luciano whimpers. “Belíssima, I must go to the hospitals. I am having very much pain in my face. I think my nose is broken.”
I certainly hope so. “Driver?” I lean forward, raising my voice so the driver can hear me through the lowered glass partition. I direct him to take me home and then take Lucky to the hospital.
Lucky bristles. “I am needing the medical help before he drives you home, belíssima!”
I smile sweetly at him. “I think the hospital’s on the way.”
His watery-eyed glare is clearly disbelieving. I could care less, but decide to try to smooth his feathers in case I ever need him ag
ain. I take his handkerchief, dunk it in the champagne’s ice bucket, and then carefully wipe away the blood from his chin and upper lip.
“Here, pinch your nostrils. I think that might help stop the bleeding.”
Lucky takes the handkerchief, holds it to his nose and applies pressure, wincing and moaning like the giant wuss he is. I fell off my horse and broke my nose when I was twelve and didn’t whine half as much.
“And don’t worry. I have an excellent attorney for you. She’s a client of mine, a real bulldog.”
Confused, he blinks.
“You’re pressing charges, of course.”
He blinks again. “Charges?”
I do my best impression of someone who’s righteously indignant. “Against that beast, Parker Maxwell! What he did to you was clearly assault!”
It wasn’t anywhere near assault. But at the very least, a lawsuit against Parker will raise some interesting questions from his soon-to-be constituents. The fact that he didn’t lay a finger on Luciano is unimportant. The fact that he’s had two public altercations in the past month isn’t. Far better men than he have had political careers derailed for less.
Lucky frowns and lowers the handkerchief. “But I am thinking I don’t really want to have people knowing about this. It is an embarrassment to me, no? Everyone laughed.” His face darkens. “I don’t like it when people laugh at me.”
