Chapter Eight


"Julian!"

The voice seemed to come from a very great distance away. Sark opened his eyes to see who was calling to him; this revealed only the slack, unconscious face of a fat man. A security guard. He'd seen that man before, but where?

Oh, yes. When he'd shot him.

"Julian!" He was rolled over on his back, and he realized that the voice belonged to Lauren; she was actually standing above him, shaking him awake. "We must go. Now!"

"Yes. Yes, all right." At the moment, Sark didn't know where he was going or why it was important. Furthermore he had some doubts as to whether or not Lauren should be trusted. But any scenario that involved him lying stunned on the floor while alarm sirens shrieked was a scenario he was better off leaving.

One of his arms was pulled over her shoulder, and he tried to support as much of his own weight as he could. His face hurt, and his legs didn't seem to want to obey his commands, but Sark found that he could at least keep up with Lauren. She steered them into a service elevator - he suspected that was what it was, anyway, with the heavy quilting hung on the walls - and punched the number for the ground floor. "Good job," he managed to say.

"If the guards hadn't discovered the alarms for the other vault - they'd have caught us. They still might." Her body trembled against his; Sark found it inexplicably sexy.

"Relax. We're almost out." Sark forced himself to stand on his own. It got easier after a moment. "We don't have the Waning Moon."

Lauren grimaced. "Sloane will be furious."

"To hell with Arvin Sloane and his power plays. We'll come back for it without the CIA. Without Sloane, if we have to." He fished in the pocket of his jacket and held up the gray pouch. "Besides, it's not as if we made the trip for nothing."

"The diamonds." Her eyes lit up, and even through his pain and disorientation, Sark delighted in her girlish greed.

"All ours." Sark dropped the bag back in his pocket before the elevator opened, and they strolled through the casino slowly, easily, like any other pair of vacationers. As they approached the glass doors leading to the exit, he felt that familiar last-minute tension. This was the moment when people were most likely to betray themselves, just as they began to think they were safe. But Julian Sark never made the mistake of thinking of himself as safe.

In the glass doors, he could see their reflections, his and Lauren's., side by side. He realized that each of them had shoe prints on their faces: the same shoes, different feet. It looked rather as though a woman in spiked heels had stood on their faces.

Nobody else noticed the shoe prints. Nobody else noticed them. Only a few more steps, and they sailed out into the last, pale-gray hour of the night.

**

Olivia Reed stared. "Who the hell are you?"

"Irina Derevko. We've never met." Irina tilted her head, and Jack could see the feral gleam in her eyes. "But I think you've heard of me."

Obviously, Olivia knew who she was dealing with - but instead of looking afraid, she was smiling, settling her hands on her hips. From this, Jack could draw two possible conclusions: Either Olivia hadn't heard nearly enough about Irina Derevko, or he hadn't heard nearly enough about Olivia Reed.

The two women began moving, circling each other - and Jack - slowly. After the first few steps, Irina slipped out of her heels, leaving them behind. Bare feet were often good for one-on-one combat.

"Irina, this is - appreciated, but unnecessary," Jack said, meaning it. While he gave Olivia only slim chances of doing any harm to Irina, he saw no reason for Irina to take any chances at all, not on his account.

Olivia answered, but she spoke to Irina. "Men. They're always telling you what to do."

"We're not allies," Irina said through her smirk. "Spare us both the indignity of your sisterhood lecture."

Jack, realizing he had no other constructive action to take, started looking for the gun. Olivia had to have dropped it when she fell; he couldn't grab it himself, but he could at least warn Irina if Olivia seemed close to regaining it.

"I thought you chewed Jack Bristow up and spit him out a long time ago," Olivia said.

"True, as far as it goes."

"I am still in the room," Jack pointed out. As he'd suspected, neither of the women took any notice.

Olivia was behind him at this point, nothing but a voice. "Then why are you saving him now? Seems like a big risk to take for a mark you played 30 years back."

Irina was in front of him, and their eyes met as she answered Olivia: "Maybe there's more to the story than you know."

Then SMACK - a blur of white was only recognizable as Olivia's leg after it had made contact with Irina's side. Irina half-turned out of the blow, settling into a fighting stance. Her earrings swung back and forth, catching the light.

"If you think Jack Bristow's worth dying for," Olivia said, "be my guest."

**

Taking it nice and easy, Will thought. Improvising. Baby-steps improvising.

"I think I might barf," Marshall confided. He was leaning against one wall, half-walking, half-sliding toward the exit. Against the other wall, Dixon was doing the same.

"Don't barf," Will said. "Well, I mean, barf if you gotta, but keep moving."

"You know the problem with danger?" Dixon said, his tread weary. "It's dangerous."

"A fine semantic point you make there. Too often ignored. Keep walking." Blows to the head, Will thought as he looked at Dixon. They turn good men strange. Then he looked at Marshall and added, They turn strange men stranger.

Despite the slowness and confusion of his companions, Will thought the rescue mission was going well. He'd found Dixon and Marshall easily enough, and they'd already regained consciousness when he arrived. They'd gotten out of the security corridor into an empty hallway without any trouble, and if they could just get up to his hotel room and wait on the VIP passes, they should be home fr -

"Hey! You there!"

Oh, crap.

Will turned to see three security guards jogging toward them. Apparently the distraction caused by the Pagoda of Light explosion had reached the point where it was less distracting. "Who are you? You're not supposed to be in this area!"

"We have to get out of here," Dixon whispered. "I can't fight -"

I'm not gonna panic, Will thought. Except my palms are all sweaty, and I can't think straight, and I want to run away, which means I'm pretty much panicking, already. Oh, this is not good. Not good.

He sucked in a deep breath, tried to calm himself. And other words came to mind:

Improvise. Trust your instincts. Write another story.

"Press!" Will yelled.

The guards stopped running, started staring. The tallest one said, "What?"

"I'm with the press! Will - Munkle for the Kansas City Star. I'm doing an investigative piece on security in casinos. And the Xanadu has fallen short." He folded his arms in front of him, wishing like hell he had a notebook. "Did you know that your HR department waives the background checks on new personnel? This man -" Will thwapped Dixon on the arm, earning a scowl. "-was hired as a dealer. He's not a dealer. He's working with me."

One of the guards groaned, "Goddamn reporters."

The tallest one said, "Your game's over, Geraldo. Come on. You're leaving."

"You can't throw us out of the casino!" Will got up in the guy's face. "This is America, buddy! Home of a free press! You ever hear of a little thing we call the First Amendment? Huh?"

"You ever hear of casino rules?" The tallest guard motioned at the other two. "Escort them out. If they won't walk, THROW them out."

He'd been out of the business for a while, but the essentials hadn't changed. Everyone still hated reporters.

"This is outrageous!" Will shouted as they started towing him, Dixon and Marshall down the hall. "What happened at the Tsunami tonight - what's to stop it from happening here? Your security regulations? I don't think so! Your guests have a right to know!"

"Don't just throw them out," the tallest guard said. "Throw them in a cab, and tell the driver he better not take his foot off the gas until these jokers are at the airport."

Marshall started coughing very hard, no doubt to cover the fact that he was laughing. Even Dixon began to smile. Will thought: Damn, I'm good.

**

Jack breathed in sharply as Irina spun into the bar, its railing catching her beneath her ribcage. In only an instant, she'd recovered, kicking Olivia hard enough to throw her back. Still, Olivia was a far stronger opponent than Jack would have guessed - or, he thought, than Irina had anticipated.

"Makes a nice change," Olivia panted, bracing herself against one of the glass-brick walls. Water flowed behind her, shimmering. "Fighting another woman. It happens too rarely."

"You know what they say about the glass ceiling." Irina seemed to be slumping backward - but then she grabbed something and hurled it at Olivia. Bombay Sapphire, Jack thought in the second it was airborne; Olivia ducked it just in time. The bottle shattered against the bricks, spraying glass through the air. Jack resisted the urge to call to Irina; he could not support her, only distract her.

Olivia's head snapped up, and the smile she'd worn before was now something closer to a snarl. But she spoke calmly: "This is ridiculous, you know. We're on the same side - or we could be. Arvin's always said that he hoped you would join us."

Jack closed his eyes, only for a moment, just long enough for it to sink in.

When he opened them again, Irina was staring at Olivia, her eyes dark. Olivia pressed her momentary advantage: "He knows you're angry. He hasn't told me your reasons; that's private, I'm sure. But I know you're the mother of his child. I don't think you appreciate what that means."

"I know what it means," Irina murmured. The gaslight flames burned brightly behind her, turning her hair from brown to bronze.

"Surely you want your daughter as badly as he does." Olivia stepped forward. "You have the same goals. Why not work together?"

Irina's hand shot out, gripping Olivia's throat. As Olivia gasped, Irina said, "I've made a lot of mistakes. That's not going to be one of them. Not again."

Something in Jack, something that had been binding him tightly for far too long, relaxed, loosened, set him free. He exhaled as it lifted from him.

Olivia choked out the words, "Have it - your way." Then she lunged forward, butting her forehead into Irina's. Irina, stunned, stumbled backward, tripping on the hem of her gown.

"Arvin told me not to kill Jack," Olivia said, holding her temple as she stared down at her opponent. "He didn't say a damn thing about you."

**

The key card to Will's room had been left halfway beneath the door; Sydney was able to smuggle her and Vaughn in without any trouble. Will, she was disappointed to see, wasn't there. Neither was anyone else. But the evening's litter was strewn about, a strange, makeshift collection: empty champagne bottles, a caramel-colored wig, candy wrappers from the minibar. "Some backup disguises should be in Will's luggage," Sydney said. "I don't care what Marshall came up with, as long as it's not this bikini."

"I don't know," Vaughn said. "It has its - qualities."

It wasn't the joke. It wasn't even the half-smile on his face as he said it. It was the expression in his eyes - gentle and humorous and alive - that made Sydney stop and stare at him. This was the man she'd fallen in love with, the man she hadn't seen in years.

After a moment, she said, "Thanks for saving me."

The smile left his face, but his gaze was still locked with hers; it was still Vaughn, her Vaughn, talking. "I nearly didn't. I wanted to take him out - God, Syd, I wanted to blow him away so badly -"

"I know. I saw. But you didn't do it."

"I couldn't do it. Not without risking you." Vaughn sighed and pulled off his security guard's cap. "Even knowing that, I came so close. Too close."

Sydney felt tears pricking at her eyes, but good tears, for the first time in a while. "It doesn't matter how close you came. What matters is that you didn't do it."

"I still want - need - my revenge." Vaughn's hand closed around hers, and for the first time in months his touch made her feel safe, and strong, and loved. "But you matter more. You always have. You always will."

**

Jack kept turning that way and this, grateful for what little motion he had, frustrated at his inability to help Irina. Irina was undoubtedly a better fighter than Olivia - but Olivia was good. Good enough to get in a single killing blow, and one blow like that was all it took.

"You're a fool," Olivia said, ducking one of Irina's punches. She was panting now, strands of her golden hair stuck to her face and neck with sweat. "Arvin would do anything for Nadia. That means he'd do anything for you."

Olivia kicked out, catching Irina in the gut. The black skirt of Irina's dress spun out as Irina tumbled to the floor, revealing her long legs - and a black garter high on one thigh. Jack stared as Irina slipped her fingers into it and pulled out a black bar; with one SNICK, the switchblade opened, gleaming in the light of sunrise.

Irina rose to her feet as Olivia backed away. "Tell Arvin Sloane he can do exactly two things for me." With a slash, Irina lunged at Olivia, who jumped backwards toward the window. "First, he can stay the hell away from my daughters."

One clumsy grab for Irina's blade left Olivia off-balance, and she teetered back as Irina pushed forward again.

"Second?" Irina brought the knife up to Olivia's throat. "He can stay the hell away from my husband."

Irina spun and kicked Olivia in the belly, sending her flying back - smashing through the window, glass cracking and shattering into a thousand pieces. For one instant, Olivia seemed to hang there in the air, her white-clad body brilliant against the dawn sky - but then she plunged downward without a scream.

For a few seconds, Irina just watched her fall. Then she retracted her knife's blade and hurried to Jack. "The gun -"

"Beneath the purple chair." Jack motioned with his foot. "Thank you."

"My pleasure." Gun in hand, she walked behind him. "Let's get rid of these handcuffs."

Jack felt distinctly uneasy about this. "You're shooting them off? Is that wise?"

"We need you mobile as soon as possible, in case we have to leave in a hurry."

"But - at such short range -"

"You sleeping with my sister, I can forgive. But if you insult my aim, we're going to have trouble."

The gunshot was deafening at such close range, and the jolt against his wrists hurt - but the chain was broken, and Jack was finally free. "Olivia Reed," he said, flexing his hands to restore circulation. "Is she dead?"

"No." Irina sounded both annoyed and unwillingly impressed. "See for yourself."

Stepping to the shattered window, Jack looked down at saw Olivia in the martini-shaped pool; slowly, she was making her way to the ladder. Her lean white form looked like the swizzle stick. He raised his eyebrows. "She's tough." When he glanced at Irina next to him, her arms were folded across her chest, one eyebrow raised in mock anger. "You're tougher."

"That's better."

**

Lauren pressed down on a switch, raising the privacy shield between the limo driver and herself and Julian. He was splayed out at the far end, jacket off, green silk shirt halfway unbuttoned. "Must we stay here?"

"Mom's meeting us soon," Lauren reminded him. "Besides, I can think of plenty of fun we can have right here."

He didn't raise his head to look at her, but she could see his smile. "You wicked, wicked thing."

Tinted windows are marvelously convenient, Lauren thought. She pulled off the frightful wig, shook out her own blonde hair. Then she lifted up the sunflower-printed dress, pulling it off her head. That left her, naked but for jewel-green panties, kneeling on the limousine floor.

Julian did sit up then, and his eyes were sharp. "There you are," he whispered. "I hardly knew you."

"You know me." Lauren stretched out on one of the long, cushioned seats that ran the length of the limo. The velveteen was soft against her back, her thighs. "You're the only man who does."

He leaned over her, then grabbed the bag of diamonds and emptied it onto her belly. Lauren laughed in surprise and glee as they twinkled against her pale skin. Who knew diamonds could be so cold?

It's true, she thought, speaking in her mind to the absent Mr. Weiss. What I told you is true. You only get the things you steal.

**

Vaughn had spent most of the last year with Sydney, but somehow it felt as though he'd never been close to her - not like this. This felt different, better, stronger; it was as though she'd never been gone. How often had he wished for the ability to turn back time? Maybe they had, just for a day, or an hour.

She tugged off her wig with one hand, the one he didn't have clasped in his own. Beneath it, her hair was slicked down and sweaty. What did it mean that he found that sexy? Incredibly sexy, come to think of it.

"We should -" Her voice was shaky. "Our disguises -"

"Syd." Vaughn tightened his hand around hers. "I know things between us - it's complicated, and it's not going to stop being complicated -"

"Right. Exactly."

"But the way we feel about each other isn't going to change -"

Her face brightened. "No, it isn't. Not - not ever."

He stepped a little closer; her body was just inches from his now, her lips near his own. "And maybe we still have a long way to go -"

"We do. Absolutely. We do -"

"But Dr. Barnett says one of the things I have to learn to do again is trust my instincts, and Sydney - right now - my instincts -"

"What are they telling you?"

The last sliver of Vaughn's reticence shattered, and he swept her into his arms. "To stop thinking about the damned consequences."

**

Jack sat on one of the plush ottomans of the Pleasure Dome, holding his wrist out to Irina. She'd already used one of her hairpins to pick the lock on the first cuff; the second was nearly free, he thought.

The cool desert breeze ruffled her hair, baring the nape of her neck, the expanse of her forehead, now creased with concentration. Her bare arms showed the bruises Olivia had inflicted, already faint blue beneath her golden skin. Only feet away, broken glass littered the floor in sharp, small points of light. A few feet in the other direction, the gas-jet flames still flickered, painting his skin with stripes of heat. But he and Irina were nested in the middle, amid the soft drapes and long couches in red and purple. He decided he liked the contrast.

"Done," Irina said, pulling the second cuff off.

Jack rubbed his wrists, but it was her hands he looked at, so close to his own. When one of his fingers brushed against hers, she didn't pull away.

Without glancing up, she said, "Are you going to talk to me about Katya?"

Jack answered with his own question. "Are you going to explain?"

Neither of them made any other reply. He'd known they wouldn't.

Perhaps it didn't matter. Explanations and crimes and secrets and forgiveness - all those flowed between them, always, and nothing ever changed, for good or for ill. There was only one real question to ask: "Will I ever see you again?"

She raised her face to his, her eyes inexpressibly sad. "I couldn't say."

Jack gave up trying to understand the past, trying to predict the future. All that mattered was that Irina was here, with him, now. He brushed his fingers against her cheek, then cupped her chin in his palm, lowering her face to his until their lips met.

**

Sark lowered himself over Lauren - still clothed, still aching, still longing for nothing so much as sleep. But there was just something about a near-naked woman covered in diamonds.

Writhing sinuously beneath him, Lauren brushed her breasts against the green silk of his shirt, smiling at the caress of the soft fabric. "That feels delicious," she whispered.

"You like silk, do you?" Sark sat up on his knees and began unbuttoning the shirt. "We can do some interesting things with that."

Lauren wasn't the girl of his dreams - she wasn't Allison, nor even Sydney - but ah, she knew how to play.

**

"I am sick - and tired - of this bikini," Sydney panted against Vaughn's throat.

"I could not agree more." Pulling away from her on the bed, he set about working on the clasp of her bikini top. The hotel bedspread was scratchy against her back, and the lights were on, and Will or somebody could walk in pretty much anytime - no, no, she had the keycard, but still, they could knock - and Sydney didn't care. She just didn't care.

Ever since he'd come to her in Hong Kong, Sydney had longed for Vaughn's touch again. At first she had wanted him for her own comfort, then as revenge against Lauren for taking him away, then as a way of taking care of him, trying to make him whole once more.

But now -

--her heart was pounding, and she could feel her pulse in her fingertips and her neck and her belly, on the soles of her feet and between her legs, and Vaughn was pulling off her top and looking down at her like he'd never seen anything so beautiful, so desirable, so needed in his whole life -

--she just wanted him.  And Vaughn was hers.

**

Irina's fingers deftly loosened his bow tie. Jack's hands found the halter neck's fastening, unclasping it so that the glittering black fabric fell to her waist. They worked together to remove her bra, done in an instant, so that Jack could trail his fingers along her collarbone, across the golden expanse of fragile skin, down to cup her breast in his palm. How could her beauty still stun him, more than thirty years after they'd first made love? How could he still find her body so surprising and overwhelming and new?

Jack kissed her again, then again, deepening their kisses each time. She drew his tongue into her mouth, sucking gently, so that he leaned forward, the better to let her have her way. The studs of his tuxedo shirt snapped as she pulled it open, and he shuddered as her fingers brushed against his chest.

Their lips parted for her to gasp in a breath; Jack took advantage of his freedom to kiss his way down her neck, down to her breasts. As he captured one nipple in his mouth, Irina made a small sound in the back of her throat - a sound he knew well. It meant for him to keep going, and he would, and nothing could stop them, not now.

**

"You can do quite a lot of things with silk," Sark whispered as he traced around the edge of her ear with his tongue. Shivering, Lauren forced herself to lie still on the limousine seat; she could always tell when Julian wanted to take charge, and it was generally a great deal of fun to let him.

He kept talking, in that low, crystal-sharp voice of his, each exhalation creating a warm puff against her bare skin as he slid down the length of her body. "You can use it as a blindfold, for instance. Or you can tie someone's arms behind her back. Take away her ability to resist."

Julian's breath was against her belly now, and Lauren trembled as two of his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her panties and slowly, so slowly, pulled them away.

"However, I have something different in mind today." He slipped the shirt off - oh, Julian's shoulders, Julian's chest, the hard, flat muscles of his abdomen.

"What is it?" she whispered, quivering with the need to know, with the need for Julian to touch her, in any way he wanted to, any way at all.

Grasping the end of the sleeve in one hand and the shoulder with another, Julian brought the band of green silk between her legs, so that the cool-smooth fabric split her in two. Then slowly, so slowly, he began to draw it back and forth, back and forth, sweet friction that set every nerve ending on fire.

"Oh, God," Lauren gasped. "Oh, Julian, yes -"

**

"Vaughn, oh, Vaughn - oh - Michael -"

First name, Vaughn thought with a kick of satisfaction. That's a real, real good sign.

He dipped his face between her thighs, brushing up with his tongue, tasting Sydney's arousal. It was coming back to him now - the way she liked to be touched, the aggressiveness she craved. So he didn't tease her, just went straight after her hot spots - tongue pushing deep inside her, then darting up to circle and suck.

Every moment of hell he'd been through in the last year seemed to have fallen from him, shucked and tossed to the floor like his security-guard uniform. His skin was his own again, drawing warmth from Sydney's hands (on his shoulders), from her feet (against his sides), from her very soul.

She arched up to meet him, angling herself so that he could press in harder. "Michael," Sydney whispered. "Yes, please, yes -"

**

"Yes." It was the only word Jack could speak, could think, as Irina's mouth closed over his cock.

He still had on his tuxedo - it was opened only at the neck and the fly, only where she needed. The skirt of her dress still clung to her hips, but he could at least look down and see the long, sinuous lines of her back, undulating gracefully as she moved.

Then she began sucking, hard, and Jack could no longer see. The world was black and hot, all around him, swirling.

Jack felt her palms against his thighs, broad and strong, and he forced himself to concentrate on them - on any sensation that wasn't just about to make him come. "Irina," he said, pulling at her hands. "Irina, stop."

She stopped, sliding her mouth from around him slowly, so slowly that he knew it for a tease. When at last the heat of her lips was gone, and cool air shivered across his erection, she raised an eyebrow and whispered, "Wasn't I doing it right?"

"You know what you were doing." Jack tugged her up to him, and saw the sardonic smile on her face. Oh, she knew too well. "Come here."

Pausing only to tug her panties away, Irina joined him on the plush couch, straddling him so that her breasts were temptingly near his mouth. Jack dropped one kiss, then another, then looked up into her face at the same moment she reached down, grasping him in her firm grip, angling him just so.

He wanted to tell her that he loved her. But he knew the words could only hurt them both. And Jack was tired of the pain; for now, for this moment, it was behind them.

Irina lowered herself onto him, enfolding him in her heat, and Jack pulled her face to his for a desperate kiss.

**

Sark let Lauren get close - so very, very close - then tossed the shirt aside, delighting in her whimpers. "But - Julian -"

"Hands and knees," he said, scooping the diamonds up from her belly. "Do it. Now."

Lauren obeyed, sliding onto the floor of the limo, palms and thighs spread wide. He loved the way her white skin looked against the black interior; cocking his head, he let the diamonds spill onto her back, brilliant in their varied colors. Perfection, he thought, taking her hips in his hands, looking only at the blue and green glints of light off the jewels' facets. Absolute perfection.

Then he shoved into Lauren, taking her hard, and fast, speeding up and going harder, not listening to her cries of pleasure or pain or both, getting lost in the sheer exhilaration. Every moment, every heartbeat, brought him closer and closer and closer -

**

Tears welled behind Sydney's eyelids, tears of joy and pleasure and pure relief. Vaughn was inside her - inside her - just the way she'd wanted him to be, just the way they should have been so long ago.

He was above her, thrusting slowly, taking his time.  That lazy, sleepy grin on his face - oh, she remembered that, from a hundred nights in bed and one night in a quarantine unit that sort of seemed to count. And the joy bursting forth in her - more than physical, this light that seemed to be shining from her skin - she remembered that too.

It's all still there, Sydney thought, moving with him, breathing in as he breathed out. Everything we were - it's all still there, waiting for us to find it once more.

**

Jack couldn't hold Irina close enough, couldn't kiss her as deeply as he wanted, no matter how he tried. For a few moments, they would move together - hungry, desperate thrusts, as eagerly received as given - but then they would stop to kiss again, to simply rest her cheek against his, or to look into each other's eyes.

His palms slid up and down her bare back, and he imagined the fragility of her -- bones and breath, heart and blood. Even Irina's strength could not last forever. Even his own ingenuity could not hold. Every time they were together now felt like the last time, but Jack had learned what he hadn't known as a young man: Every time had always been the last time. There was never a moment when they were more than a day's bad fortune from being torn apart, and every night they'd spent together, every kiss they'd shared, every time he'd so much as held her hand had been nothing but the purest luck. Even the illusion of a future had been torn from them long ago, and Jack could feel himself trying to sink into her beyond separation.

Stay with me, his body said, as he tried to get deeper, and deeper, and again. Never leave me.

But that was the realm of the impossible, and the heat between them demanded what they could take here and now. Irina arched her spine, changing the angle of their joining, and Jack let his head fall back. The tension built within him, concentrating his entire being into one pinprick of light, and then -

He breathed out, "Oh -"

**

Lauren screamed, "My -"

**

Vaughn clutched Sydney's hips and groaned, "GOD."

**

A jet shuddering through the pale pink sky overhead made Will wince and cover his ears; on one hand, it was good that their cab was getting close to the airport, but damn, that was loud. Dixon looked pained too, but Marshall's good mood at their escape was unquenchable. "I was the card wizard, my friend. I mean, I know it's kinda strange, taking satisfaction in something that's so easy for me, but having all those people clapping and cheering? It's a high." Marshall sighed, then punched Will on the shoulder. "What about you? What did you do after our gaming-floor rendezvous?"

"Went up to the hotel room," Will shrugged. "Watched free porn."

Dixon and Marshall both smiled and nodded. "Ah, yes," Marshall said. "Everybody loves free porn."

**

Read on to the next chapter.
Go back to the last chapter.

Return to the "Bristow's 11" Index Page.
Return to the New Fic Index Page.
Return to Yahtzee's Main Page.