“Gentlemen,” I say, guiding Saylor down the final steps with my hand at the small of her back. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”
“Not at all,” Victor replies, but he carries less of the confidence he showed at dinner. “Though I have to say, your hospitality has taken quite the turn since the soup course.”
Jack snorts. “Hospitality? Your psychotic girlfriend stabbed Leroy through the fucking hand. Where is he, anyway?”
I can feel Saylor’s posture straighten beside me, but when I glance at her profile, there’s no trace of the earlier nausea. If anything, she looks... eager.
“Leroy’s indisposed at the moment,” I say pleasantly. “But don’t worry—you’ll be joining him soon enough.”
“Hans,” I call, and the big German emerges from the shadows near the wine storage. “Would you mind opening the champagne? I think tonight calls for a celebration.”
“What exactly are we celebrating?” Jack asks, testing his restraints with casual interest. “Your girlfriend’s impressive stabbing technique? Because I have to say, the follow-through was shit.”
Saylor moves toward the champagne setup with fluid grace, pulling a small velvet bag from her purse. “We’re celebrating progress,” she says, her voice carrying a confidence that wasn’t there when we first met at dinner. “Personal growth. Learning new skills.”
Hans pops the first cork like he’s done it a thousand times before, the sound echoing off the stone walls like a small gunshot. Victor flinches despite himself, while Jack just watches Saylor with growing unease.
“You know what your problem is, sweetheart?” Jack says with less swagger now. “You think one lucky stab makes you dangerous.”
Saylor extracts a bottle filled with tiny blue spheres from the velvet bag. “Actually, Jack, I think my problem was trying to be something I’m not.” She unscrews the cap with steady hands. “All that dramatic knife work. Very messy. Not really my style.”
My pulse quickens as I watch her tap not one, but two blue orbs into her palm. Christ, she’s learning fast.
“What are those?” Victor asks, his earlier composure finally cracking.
“Medicine,” Saylor says sweetly, studying the blue spheres in her palm. “For your nerves. You both seem so tense.”
“Two?” I can’t keep the admiration out of my voice. “Feeling efficient tonight?”
She glances at me, and the heat in her gaze makes my blood sing. “It’s been a long day. I don’t feel like waiting around.” She drops both orbs into the first champagne flute, watching them dissolve with scientific interest. “Plus, Duffy said I should experiment with dosages. Test different approaches.”
Hans pours the second glass, the bubbles rising in perfect streams. Saylor drops two more blue spheres into this flute as well, her movements becoming more confident with each repetition.
“Duffy?” Victor’s voice cracks slightly. “You got poison from that witch?”
“Witch? I thought you men burned all the witches at the stake years ago,” Saylor says, accepting both glasses from Hans. She holdsthem up to the light, watching the last traces of blue fade completely. “But call her whatever you want.”
Jack laughs, but there’s no humor in it—just the desperate bravado of a man who knows he’s fucked. “You really think we’re just going to drink whatever you hand us?”
“Oh, you absolutely are.” Saylor moves to stand directly in front of his chair, champagne flute extended like an offering. “Hans is going to help you remember your manners if needed.”
Hans flexes his fingers like a pianist preparing for a concert.
“This is fucking ridiculous,” Victor says, yanking at his bonds. “Blue, what happened to professional courtesy? Just put a bullet in our heads and be done with it.”
“Now where’s the fun in that?” I lean back in my chair, thoroughly entertained. “Saylor’s been practicing. I’d hate to deny her the opportunity to show off her new skills.”
Saylor kneels gracefully beside Jack’s chair, holding the champagne flute like a communion chalice. “Come on, Jack. One little sip. It’s excellent champagne—Wren doesn’t stock anything cheap.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“Hans, could you help Jack open his mouth? I think he’s forgotten how to be polite.”
Hans moves behind Jack’s chair with predatory grace, placing one massive hand on the man’s forehead while using the other to grip his jaw. Jack tries to keep his mouth clamped shut, but Hans knows exactly how much pressure to apply until his lips part.
Saylor tilts the glass, pouring a small amount between his teeth. “Just swallow, Jack. Fighting it only makes things take longer.”
Jack spits, spraying champagne across the stone floor with defiant fury. Hans immediately pinches his nose while keeping his jaw forced open, cutting off his air supply.
