I sat up, cringing from the bruises and soreness. We didn’t just fuck hard; we kicked the shit out of each other.
“Looks like you were nailed in a fight, Kovacs.” Warwick smirked, motioning to the bruises on my face, moving the sheet away from my figure, tapping at the clear fingerprints marking my hips. “Or just nailed.”
Amused, I peered down at the blood still dried around his nose, his swollen lip, and healing cuts covering him. We loved it. It was foreplay to us. Pushing the barriers. Walking the line of sensuality and torture.
“Looks like you got your ass kicked by a girl, Farkas.”
“And, fuck, it was fun.” He shoved his arms behind his head, his gaze intently on me. Invisible fingers rubbed over my core, teeth biting at my neck.
My legs instantly opened, a guttural pant escaping from me.
“Stop.” I ground my teeth, glaring at him. “We have to go.”
His brows lifted.
“I have to talk to this guy. He might not stay conscious long.”
Warwick sighed, relenting with a nod, rubbing at his face. The moment he did, my body wanted to punch me in the face for impeding what could have been another mythical orgasm. I was a fucking idiot.
Grumbling to myself, I reached for an item of clothing lying on the ground, hoping it was something I could wear. I needed a shower more than anything, my skin sticky with dirt, sweat, sex, and blood, but the hostage was the priority. Everything might rest on getting back the journal.
Swiping up a pair of knickers, two huge dark eyes peered up at me.
“Holy shit!” I jumped, my hand clamping over my mouth as recognition hit me. “Oh gods, Bitzy!”
Chiiiiirp.A dark blue bandana knotted around her neck, coveringher like a muumuu. She munched on something, her huge ears lowered, her head rolling as if she were swaying to music.
“I’m so glad you are okay.” My arm dropped, relief spilling out of me. “Where’s Opie?” I glanced around for him.
She cocked her head, a cooing sound escaping her.
No middle finger, no chirping profanity at me.
“Aw, fuck . . . you’re high again.”
Chirrrrrp. She continued to chew on something.
“What’s in your mouth?” My hands went to my hips. “Spit it out.”
She shook her head.
“Spit it out.” I lowered in a squat to hold out my hand, but she already opened her mouth, letting the black substance splat onto the floor.
That wasn’t mushrooms.
“What the hell is that?”
“Looks like someone found a box of snuff.” Warwick snorted, pulling on a pair of pants he had in the dresser.
“Bit-zy.” I pinched my nose. Snuff was straight tobacco, launching a straight shot of nicotine through your veins. A nice buzz, dimming the sharpness of reality a little. For the rich and poor, it had returned to fashion in the last ten-plus years. It was a cheap, easy high. And for something as tiny as her? The high must have been triple.
She plunked down on her butt, starting to pick the snuff back up again.
“Eww. No.” I wiggled my finger at her.
Her forehead wrinkled. Ignoring me, she shoved it back in her mouth again.
“Gross.” I sighed. “Where’s Opie?”
