Page 64 of The Vigilante's Lover

The corridors are a fun house of people, colors, and walls that don’t want to stay still.

I push through the crowd, my breathing labored, trying to focus, vainly hoping to keep my heart rate low, slow the poison down.

The halls get quieter as I near the exit, grateful I have managed to stumble the right way.

Then a voice, menacing and low. “I’ve been looking for you.”

It’s the security guard I dropped earlier. He’s rubbing his shoulder. He looks wary as I approach. He unclips his radio from his belt and says into it, “Found the perp. Come and get him.”

Whatever. I hold my arm out menacingly and he backs away. I walk past him. I’ve almost made it.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” the guard says. He comes up behind me and cracks me on the head with something.

I turn to drop him again, but he has a friend with him now. The two of them reach out with their arms, both holding their radios like they’re going to whack me again. With radios.

“You know, you’re going to break those,” I say. “They’ll probably dock your pay.”

The new guy looks up at the radio, as if realizing what I say is true. “My job isn’t worth this,” he says.

“You guys seem like professionals,” I say. “I’m in the business myself.”

“What business?” the first guy asks.

“Security,” I say.

“Who for?” he demands.

I wave my arm around. I feel drunk. Which poison feels like this? The one Mia had? I’ll have to tell her which antidote to use.

The new guard steps forward, and I swing around, arms out. Their outlines are fuzzy, but I’m not out yet. “Colt McClure,” I say.

“The fighter?” one asks.

“Yes, check with him. I’m fetching his car.” I stab at Colt’s backstage pass still hanging from my neck. “Heading out. You won’t be seeing me again.” I’m definitely slurring my words.

The two men look at each other.

“He has a damn pass,” the new one says.

“He didn’t have it before,” the other argues.

I don’t have time for this. “Pardon me, gentlemen,” I say.

“I don’t think you’re up for driving,” one says.

I can’t distinguish them anymore. Their voices sound like they’re passing through water.

I turn away and stride toward the door. “No time for chitchat,” I say. They don’t follow, but watch me. Their silly radios are still in the air.

I push through the exit and into the night, praying Mia is ready with the car.

The blue Acura is still in its spot and a wave of relief crosses over me. I try to run, to signal her to drive up for me before the guards come out and slow me down. But instead I’m falling, the ground rising up to meet my face.