Page 135 of Made in Love and Blood

That made Frankie panic.

“Nico!” she hissed, grabbing his arm and shaking it.

With his head turned away from her on the bed, he continued snoring. He never snored.

She heard the electronic click of the lock on the hotel door and her panic turned to dread. The same way she’d done in the early hours of the morning when she turned a circle on the rave floor and realized she couldn’t see Nico. He hadn’t gone far, but the crumbs of a pill that he’d allowed her to share made the room swirl and the faces blur whenever she tried to stand still. A guy stepped in and touched her; he wanted to dance.

Punches got thrown. The spinning room became a spinning Uber shorty after. And then a hotel she hadn’t seen because they headed straight for Neon Rage right off the plane.

“Room Service!” came the call into the room as the door opened.

Frankie outright grabbed Nico to pull him over onto his back, determined to get him to wake up. Except as light spilled into the dark room, with paneled walls, mirrors overhead, and dark bedding to match the furniture, she could finally see why he didn’t.

Why he couldn’t. His lips were blue.

“Nico!”

She shook him so hard, but he didn’t blink. He didn’t twitch. Nothing.

“Nico, wake up,” she cried, tears already falling.

“I’ll take it from here, thank you,” came the second voice again.

She barely registered the door closing, or the well-dressed man with dark hair that approached the bed. She was too busy tapping Nico’s cheek and squeezing his bloodied, bruised hand that hadn’t even gotten the chance to heal before he beat it into someone else’s face.

“Sorry for the lack of introduction, kiddo. Could you cover up?”

It was only then that Frankie realized she didn’t have any clothes on. The rest of their first early morning hours in Chicago filtered back to her as the seconds turned into a minute, and the man now slapping Nico and holding his head back so his mouth would stay open rapid-fired question after question at her.

“Where did you go when you arrived?” he asked her.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Do you want him to die?” the man asked.

“I, uh...”

“Where did you go?”

“Neon Rage.”

The man peered down at Nico again, asking, “And what did you take? Or what did he take?”

“Um, he said molly. MDMA? I didn’t have a lot, not like he did.”

“Fuck,” the man snarled. “You’re sure it was Neon Rage?”

Frankie nodded wildly, tears flying everywhere as she sobbed. “Yeah.”

“Where’s his bag?” the man asked.

“I don’t know, I don’t—”

“Find the fucking bag!”

He roared the words at her a second time just before dropping down to blow two breaths of air into Nico’s mouth. Frankie’s legs were Jello, and she still didn’t have any clothes on, as she stumbled around the hotel room. It felt like forever, but it didn’t take her too long to spy the black bookbag Nico hadn’t let out of his sight.

“Inside the bag, check for a goody pack,” he demanded, his head falling to Nico’s chest for a second.