Desire?
He went still as he thought about the bottles of wine. They’d been unopened, but . . .
Ohhhh, fuuuuccck.
The “desire” drug. It was all coming back to him. Did the scientist use them as test subjects to show the cartel the effects of his formula? Had the bottles of wine been drugged before being corked?
He felt like he was inside a nightmare. Surely this wasn’t how an “Ecstasy on steroids” drug would feel.
“You okay?” Jorge studied him as his grin stretched. And in Beckett’s mind, he was transforming into that freaky cat from Alice in Wonderland. His daughter had good taste. She wasn’t a fan of that movie. He officially hated it now too.
When Sydney reached for Beckett like she might fall, he secured his hands around her hips. But the room was spinning again.
Sydney had two glasses of that wine, and if only the one was having such an impact on him, damn it . . .
More imaginary men, now with those Cheshire Cat smiles, appeared. But this time, they were real. Reaching for them. For Sydney. His woman.
And then everything became one big blur.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Beckett startled and pulled his mouth from Sydney’s at the sound of breaking glass echoing throughout the room. It felt as though he was moving underwater as he twisted his torso and found the source of the noise—a large vase lay shattered on the floor, bloodred roses scattered among the debris.
“Roses,” Beckett muttered as he took in their surroundings and worked like hell to rid his mind of the fog clouding his memory. “Where are we?”
Beds and couches were randomly situated in the massive room. High ceilings. No decorations on the walls aside from the . . . chains? What in God’s name was going on?
His attention snapped back to Sydney, pulling her upright when she began wilting in his arms. She was totally out of it, her eyes closed and her hips still swaying to music only she seemed to hear.
We were drugged. He remembered now. Jorge had brought them all back to his estate in one of his SUVs. But when was that? How long had they been there? Hours? Minutes?
“I need you to make love to me. Please,” Sydney begged, grinding against him again like she was catching her second wind.
“Roses,” he repeated, suddenly recalling Elaina’s warning. Ordering himself to snap free from the stupor, he gave Sydney a quick shake, then brought his mouth to her ear. “We need to stop. We can’t do this. We’re drugged,” he said urgently. “Someone may be watching.”
And why was it as hot as a sauna in there?
Strands of Sydney’s hair clung to the rivulets of sweat sliding down her neck and disappearing into her cleavage. Thank fuck she was still wearing her dress.
“What are you talking about?” she murmured, her eyes fluttering open only to fall closed again.
“Gray. Mya. The others,” Beckett said, his memories slowly floating to the surface. Everyone had been in the SUV, so they must be there somewhere.
Maintaining his hold of Sydney, he slowly turned in a circle and searched the . . . sex dungeon? Velvet couches and club chairs, lavish beds, huge potted plants, bondage equipment, and furniture that would have most likely rivaled the high-end clubs he knew existed in LA.
And was that Oliver and Mya leaning against a red leather wall making out?
No sign of Gray and Camila yet, but they could be hidden by one of the many six-foot-high privacy partitions sectioning off the room.
“I need to stop them before they do something they’ll regret.” Drugged or not, he knew Gray and Oliver would never be able to forgive themselves for having sex while under the influence.
“I’m so confused,” Sydney said as she struggled to find her balance, then he lifted her into his arms.
“Baby,” he said, brushing his lips over hers as she hooked her arms behind his neck, “I need you to fight this. Snap out of it. They drugged us at the club. We’re at Jorge’s.”
He carried her to a nearby black leather sectional and set her down before noticing a wall composed of one giant mirror twenty or so feet away.
Test subjects. They’re watching us, aren’t they? Seeing what the drug does to us.
Beckett peeled Sydney’s arms from around his neck and examined her eyes. Her pupils were fully blown.
She was so much smaller than him, and the wine had hit her hard.
“Stay here,” he ordered, even though her eyes were closed and her head lolled to the side.
Beckett hauled ass over to Oliver, every movement causing intense dizziness. Despite the nausea, he had to keep going.
Oliver had Mya pinned to the wall, her arms stretched above her head, and was holding her wrists together with one hand as they kissed.
“Oliver. Snap. The. Fuck. Out. Of. It,” Beckett hissed, his words falling on deaf ears. “Oliver,” he barked, yanking his arm this time, then discreetly looked over at the mirrored wall. Once whoever was observing noticed Beckett was no longer under the influence of the drug, they may come into the room. In which case they’d all be screwed. “Stop.” He pulled Oliver’s arm harder, forcing him to release Mya’s wrists.
“What the fuck?” Oliver asked, and although confused and still slightly drugged, he had the presence of mind to grab on to Mya as she began to slide down the leather wall.
“The wine was drugged,” Beckett explained, hoping he didn’t need to elaborate with possible eyes on them.
“Fuck.” Oliver blinked and looked at Mya as she grabbed his shirt, drew him back to her, and planted her lips on his. Shit. The drug still seemed to have a solid hold on Oliver, who was eagerly kissing her back.
“Damn it.” Beckett cursed while forcing them apart like two teenagers at a high school dance. They both resisted, trying to keep hold of each other. “I don’t have time for this.” He had to find Gray.
Beckett was on the verge of knocking Oliver unconscious to pull him away when Oliver finally “woke up” again and held his palms in surrender between himself and Mya.
“Shit, this stuff is powerful,” Oliver said. “Why are you okay?”
“I only had one glass. You had—”
“More,” Oliver finished for him, then helped Beckett guide Mya to the couch.
“Stay put. I gotta find Gray,” he ordered as Mya snuggled up next to Oliver, and he pulled her tight to his side. “Don’t touch her.”
“I’m not. Just holding her,” Oliver said, dragging his free hand down his face and nodding. But would he fall victim to the drug again? Beckett wasn’t so sure, so he had to hurry. “And don’t touch her.” He pointed to Sydney. “Or I will kill you.”
Oliver tipped his head and closed one eye. “Roger that,” he said with a nod that wasn’t all that convincing.
Beckett raced through what felt like a maze of debauchery to find Gray and Camila. There was another mirrored section of the wall off to his left and still another one farther down. Jorge needed visual access to multiple vantage points during whatever sex shows he must’ve had performed for him while he watched.
Relief pounded through Beckett at the sight of Gray around the next partition, and the fact he was trying to stop Camila already.
“You’re drugged. We can’t. Stop,” Gray said, struggling to pin her against his frame to stop her from stripping.