Free Diva (Ironclad Bodyguards Book 2) by Annabel Joseph, Molly Joseph Page B

cock.
    “I love you. I want you to fuck me.”
    “I know you want me to fuck you, but I didn’t give you permission to touch me that way.”
    She didn’t seem to care. He patted her down at the same time she groped his body. He found what he was searching for in her left zippered pocket. He removed the bag of ecstasy tablets and held it out of her reach when she started grabbing for it. She climbed him like a junkie and he let her fall when she lost her grip on him. Greg laughed while Lola wailed, and then she laughed too. “Oh, fuck,” she giggled, clutching her chest. “My heart. Jesus.” Her features tensed, then she burst into laughter again.
    Ransom stood over her, watching her. “What do you mean, your heart?”
    “I love you,” she said. “I love you, bodyguard.”
    He knelt beside her and tried to take her pulse, but she squirmed and reached for him again. “Stay down,” he ordered, in a voice harsh enough to subdue her even though she was high.
    She lay back and watched him, winding her fingers through her wrecked hair. Her pulse rate was alarmingly high. He put a hand over her chest, over her skimpy bikini top, and felt her heart pumping faster than any of the beats she’d played.
    “How do you feel?” he asked.
    She gazed up at him through dilated eyes. “I love you.”
    “Besides loving me, how do you feel? Lola, this is serious. Answer me.”
    She put her hand on top of his. “My chest hurts. It burns.”
    “Stay there, okay? Don’t move.” He turned to Greg. “Help me out, man. Keep her still.”
    Greg got down on the floor beside her, his eyes as dark and dilated as Lola’s. Ransom muttered a curse and dug an ecstasy test kit out of the first aid bag. The tests were as ubiquitous as the drugs at these festivals. They helped identify if the tablets exchanging hands were pure and safe, or adulterated with hazardous shit like meth, BZP, or fentanyl. While Lola and Greg stared at each other and made fucked up conversation, Ransom crushed one of the tablets and added the reagents.
    Shit, shit, shit. The test lit up hard for mCPP and amphetamines. He looked over at his client. Greg was still talking but Lola had gone silent.
    “You okay?” he asked. She looked so fragile. She reached out to him with trembling fingers.
    He knelt next to her and propped her against his side. Greg was still talking to himself, soft, gentle babbling as he caressed his own face.
    “How’s your breathing?” Ransom asked.
    She tried to lick him again. “You’re beautiful.”
    “Fuck. Come down. Come the fuck down. How much did you fucking take?” He tapped her face as she zoned out. “How many tablets did you take, Lola?”
    Her eyes darted around, seeing nothing. She wasn’t there anymore. She was somewhere else, probably thanks to the mCPP, which caused hallucinatory trips. The meth was wreaking havoc with her heart rate, and she was too small to metabolize it the way an adult male might.
    “Lola Mae,” he said, shaking her. “Stay here. Come back to me.”
    “Don’t.” She trembled in his grip. “I’m tired. It burns.”
    He put a finger on her neck and started counting. 180 beats per minute. 200. 220. She was too small. The veins stood out in her neck as she sucked in air.
    “Greg.” He kicked her useless tour manager. “Greg, go get the medics.”
    He giggled and turned over. Useless.
    “Greg. Fucker. Wake the fuck up.” He kicked him harder. Nothing. He picked up Lola and carried her to the door. The bus driver stood outside, smoking a cigarette.
    “Are you high?” he asked.
    He was an older man. He had a kind face. “I’m not high,” he said, flicking down his cigarette. He glanced at Lola. “Need something?”
    “I need medical help, as quickly as possible.”
    “The medical station’s right over there,” he said, gesturing to a tent about five hundred yards away.
    “Help me get there. Please. Help me make my way through this crowd. It’s an emergency.”
    The man nodded