Page 39 of My Instant Karma

I dump the contents of the small vial into his cup and lace Ted’s drink. Sitting down on the edge of my chair, I grab my drink before Ted can turn around.

“Thanks,” I say as I set my purse on the side table with his drink. I offer another toast, and he takes the opportunity to make me drink more. I pretend to be drunk and close my eyes, but I actually am feeling off.

Ted downs his drink and says, “You look like you need to rest your eyes for a second.” He guides me back to lie down on the lounger, then he sways. “What the—”

He collapses on top of me, and within a second, Dante is pulling Ted off me. He throws him over a retaining wall that comes up to hip height.

When I look over again, I see Ted’s ass in the air and something sticking out of his backside.

Dante returns to me, and I ask, “What did you do?”

“Let him know what it’s like to wake up with something he didn’t consent to.”

“Jeezus, unholy mother of butt stuff…” I say then shrug. Ted probably deserves worse.

“Whoa!” someone yells. “Ted just got plumbed in the rear.”

Dante merges with the growing crowd and says loudly, “Looks like he tried to roofie the wrong person. Hashtag instant karma!”

There are a series of snapshots of the scene, and I hear someone ask, “Heroofies?”

“There was that one girl, but no one believed her,” a woman says.

“Karma,” someone else says.

“Instantkarma,” Dante corrects.

The crowd murmurs their agreement and disperses. Not one person goes to his aid.

Dante returns, kneeling down at my side. “You don’t have to play roofied anymore.”

“I’m not.” I pat his chiseled, stupidly handsome jaw.

“What happened?” His fingers brush my hair away from my face.

“I think he did something to myfirstdrink.”

I feel a buzzing energy on my forehead from Dante’s healing touch, and my mind clears, but I’m still inebriated when it stops.

“How are you feeling?” Dante fusses with my hair, and I realize he’s still pouring healing energy into me.

Idly, I ask, “Is that the same hand you used on him?”

“No.” He grimaces. “Ugh. Let’s wash up, then I’ll take you back to the barracks.”

I’m feeling much better—better in the way where two drinks is good, but five, not so much. Fortunately, or miraculously, there isn’t a line for the bathroom. Instead of leaving me in the hallway, Dante brings me in with him and washes his hands.

“That wassogross,” I say, absently leaning against the wall for support.

“Yeah, but it isn’t as gross as what he does to his victims,” Dante says angrily.

“I know.” I want to reach out and ease whatever is upsetting him, but I don’t feel comfortable touching him like that.

His shoulders tense, and I can see every one of his muscles flex.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. “This feels like more than a job.”

“It happened to my ex.”

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