Free 0.5 One Wilde Night by Jenn Stark

of overheated smoke came boiling up behind us in the narrow tunnel, seeking all the fresh air. The force of it catapulted us forward into the guards at the top of the stairs. I pointed back down the passage and screamed, “Princesa!”
    “Socorro , ” Nigel muttered.
    Didn’t know what it meant, didn’t care. “Socorro, Socorro!”
    The men bounded down after their princess. The smoke was already clearing—I had dynamite sticks, not C-4—but they’d served their purpose. Nigel and I careened out of the cave and down the mountain into a full-fledged jungle. We were nowhere near the mansion, which meant I was nowhere near my pack. Which meant I was nowhere near my clothes.
    “You do end up in the most interesting of positions.”
    “A little help here!” I wasn’t proud. I had the amulet around my neck, and it bounced in frantic counterpoint to my mad dash through the trees.
    “Keep heading down. When you reach a street, a car will be waiting.”
    “With clothes?”
    “What?” demanded Nigel behind me, not at all winded. Blasted Brits and their training.
    “With clothes, Miss Wilde. It will forever be my pleasure to dress you.”

Chapter Twelve
    Sunrise always came too early the first morning after Carnival.
    Hunched in my chair, I studied the menu at the Sofitel Copacabana Hotel like it contained the mysteries of the universe. I had a table facing the ocean. There were already a few couples slumped over tables around me, as bleary-eyed as I was, as if we’d all gone through the apocalypse together.
    My client had seemed surprised I’d texted him. He’d seemed less surprised that my price had gone up.
    Way up.
    Nevertheless, agreeing to meet me here was a bonus I appreciated. It was the most public spot imaginable in Nuva Sol, and it afforded a straight drop down onto a nicely landscaped lawn. If I had to make a run for it, I could. It would hurt, but I could do it.
    It was the little things one really appreciated in a breakfast spot.
    I nudged the small wrapped gift box I’d laid on the table in front of me, in plain view of the world.
    Carl Fellowes was no more nervous than any of my clients, but they all had that in common. They wanted to see the merchandise before they stepped into the open.
    I was on my fourth cup of coffee in ten minutes when a disturbance at the hostess stand door caught my attention. I readjusted the supple leather Versace jacket that was so far out of my league, it was in another stratosphere, then slid my hands down jeans that were of a brand I’d never heard of, Earnest Sewn. They sure felt like they’d been sewn in earnest—they fit me better than my own skin.
    The Magician hadn’t been kidding when he’d told me he’d send clothes.
    The mad dash through the jungle had ended up with us on a narrow access road to the top of the mountain. Down had seemed like the best direction, and it wasn’t five minutes later that a black SUV had cruised along, its lights on low, its illuminated license plate reading MGK MN.
    I’d rolled my eyes but declared the vehicle safe. Nigel and I had clambered inside. The back of the SUV had been set up more like a limo, the Magician apparently taking pride in his transportation. After the vehicle had navigated a tight turnaround, we’d hurtled down the mountain. Nigel and I had struggled into leggings and tech tops, then I’d discovered a second duffel for my own use. With its own set of weaponry.
    Including a loaded tranq gun.
    I’d shot Nigel twice for good measure. He’d stared at me, dumbfounded, and had dared to ask why. He’d passed out before I could explain the finer points of my reasoning, but I’d send him a text later. With that amount of drugs in his system, he wouldn’t be caring about anything for the next twenty-four hours or so.
    More than enough time to get me out of Rio.
    And with any luck, I would soon have a couple of additional fistfuls of money to show for my trouble.
    “Ms. Wilde?”
    As if on cue, Carl Fellowes