Paul was dragged to consciousness by a burning of light into his eyes and an uncomfortable chill in the air, punctuated by something poking into his left shoulder blade every time he breathed. He let out a groan as he squinted his eyes open, only to find two women curled up with him. For a moment he thought he’d fallen asleep to the Playboy Channel again and was enjoying a kinky dream, but then remembered it was only Gina and Fenny and their communal bed space.

Gina rested her head on his chest, one leg wrapped around his, arms around his waist as he wrapped one arm around her. Fenny had her chin resting against the top of his shoulder, breathing against his neck and one hand on his collarbone, probably dreaming about Brad. Anything was better than waking up drowning in her hair like he had the first time he’d shared a bed with Fenny.

“Genie,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. “Genie wake up.”

“No,” she declared resolutely into his shirt, nuzzling deeper into him and refusing to open her eyes.

“Come on, I’m hungry and the bed’s trying to kill me.”

“Don’t care.”

“Fen’s groping me.”

“Good, saves me the effort,” Gina said, but couldn’t keep from smiling.

“I’m doing no such thing,” Fenny murmured sleepily, opening one eye to glare accusingly at Paul. She lifted her arm to check her watch, and it took her a moment for her sleep-addled brain to wrap around the numbers. “It’s after ten,” she declared, but Gina and Paul were lost in a good morning kiss. She dropped her head back on the pillow, debating whether to stay in the warmth of the bed and witness a swapping of bodily fluids, or brave the cold of the house to get breakfast started. “Paul, that’s not Gina’s thigh.”

“I know,” he perked as he pulled away from Gina, giving Fenny’s thigh a deliberate squeeze and pat before she rolled away from him. She swatted his shoulder playfully.

“I don’t know what to think about you groping other women while kissing me,” Gina pouted.

“Means you married a sick puppy,” Fenny declared.

“I knew that Troy was the only one that appreciated me,” Paul sulked.

“Troy?” Gina asked.

“My mongoose.”

“And to think it’s Greg that’s in therapy,” Fenny mused.

“My voice is shot,” Gina declared, clearing her throat in an attempt to alleviate the hoarseness.

“Not the first time you’ve woken up with a sore throat,” Paul grinned suggestively, just as hoarse.

“Oh, you two must spend a lot of time singing bad pop songs late at night in the cold weather then?” Fenny asked with a smile.

“Hey, just ‘cause Braddles doesn’t make you scream doesn’t mean you have to be mean to us,” Paul declared.

“He does, I’ve heard them,” Gina corrected.

“I’m gonna go see what’s edible,” Fenny declared and slid out from under the covers, ignoring the cold and trying not to shiver.

Brad woke to the sound of a shower running and rolled over, pulling the pillow over his head to drown out the noise and instantly regretted it. The throbbing of battered muscles, a myriad of scratches, and a severely damaged nose instantly reminded him of the rather embarrassing events of the day before. He let out a groan and tumbled out of bed as the shower turned off. Brad wasn’t in the mood for another of Beven’s lectures, and decided that going down to get a head start on breakfast would be a good idea.

“I’m going downstairs to find some food,” he called towards the door as he pulled on his shoes and ran his fingers through his hair. Beven gave an affirmative grunt and Brad wandered, stiff and sore, down to the small hotel restaurant where Greg and Danny had already adopted a table. With a sigh, he wandered over.

“Hey,” Greg chirped as Brad sat across from him.

“Morning,” he grumbled.

“Morning,” Danny mumbled into his tea. Brad was startled to see his black eye and guiltily pushed down the bit of pride that rose in him. Danny shot a sideways glance at Brad and he suspected Danny was feeling much the same.

It was time to swallow their pride. “Look, sorry,” Brad mumbled, “about before. I know we don’t get along, but maybe we should wait until after we’re done saving our asses to beat the shit out of each other.”

Greg could see the myriad of clever remarks going through Danny’s mind and was secretly glad that he opted not to use any of them, not wanting to witness another outburst between the two, not when Beven wasn’t around to calm them down. “Whatever you say,” he sighed. “Sorry about the popcorn, and the game. And the whole window thing. Fen probably wouldn’t approve of the violent outbursts.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Brad murmured, thinking back to some of Fenny’s own violent outbursts.

“For Christ’s sake, can you not contradict everything I say,” Danny grumbled.

Brad opened his mouth to contradict that statement, but Greg piped up first. “Can’t we focus on something else, like what we all have in common?” he suggested.

“Like what, we’ve all fucked Fenny?” Brad hissed.

Danny’s head snapped up towards Greg, who flushed. “Uh, no, actually, I was thinking more along the lines of we’re all trying to get Don off our backs for the sake of us and our mutual friends, and that maybe having a common goal could facilitate us working past whatever petty problems we might have so we can band together against evil forces.”

Brad and Danny stared at Greg for a moment. “I don’t know if I should blame your psychotherapy or your penchant for late night movies for that load of bullshit,” Brad wondered aloud.

“Fine, don’t act like rational adults then,” Greg huffed. “Just play nicely, because Beven’s coming, and if you don’t behave you’ll get a time out,” he ordered, jerking his head in the direction of the entrance where Beven had spotted them and was approaching. Danny crossed his arms across his chest and Brad tapped a finger on the faux wood tabletop.

“Morning men,” Beven chimed as he took the last seat at the table. “Good to see you’re all looking a little better and haven’t got each other in headlocks yet.”

“ ‘Yet’ being the operative term,” Greg mumbled.

“Well let’s all order a big breakfast, we’ve got another game this afternoon.”

Brad whimpered internally, wishing the whole ordeal would just finish, as Danny buried himself in the menu. Greg wondered how many more games they would have to play, and Beven wondered how he could break the news to Fenny that Danny and Brad had died, either at the hands of angered poker players, themselves or, most likely, Beven himself.

Ritza had gotten very little sleep as she lay as far from Don on the bed as possible, only managing a short, light nap in the early hours. She rolled over as she heard Don shifting in bed, stretching and groaning as he woke. “Morning tiger,” she purred.

“Good morning,” he smiled, eyes searching her form, trying to remember the events of the previous night and why she was dressed in one of his shirts.

“Thanks for last night,” she mumbled, moving towards him under the covers. “That bullet wound is so sexy. I’ve always loved the dangerous men, always knew they were beasts in bed. You were great.” She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips, almost wishing there was a video camera around so she could nominate herself for an Academy Award; this bit of acting was better than anything Halle Berry ever did.

“You’d better believe it darling,” Don cooed, reaching out to grope her. Gina and Fenny had warned her about this man’s breast fetish, and he’d certainly lived up to his reputation.

“What are you up to today?” Ritza asked playfully.

“I’m heading home,” he declared, turning his head to glance at the clock on the bedside table which read 10:28. “Later this afternoon.”

“Oh? Where’s home?”

“I’ve got a place in Scotland, you’d like it.”

“Would I?” Ritza asked coyly.

“Why don’t you come with me?”

“Could I really?” she gushed. “I’d love that, I’ve never been to Scotland before, that would be wonderful.”

“Anything you want, baby,” Don declared, leaning in for a heavy kiss.

Ritza pulled away hastily. “I should get ready, grab my things, it won’t take more than a minute.”

“Let me take you to get it,” Don said, getting up off the bed and pausing as his hungover head spun. “Or I’ll have one of my colleagues take you…”

“No, that’s okay, I’m just down the hall,” she perked. “Wouldn’t you believe it, it must be fate or something.” She slid out of bed and pulled on her skirt under the shirt she’d pulled from Don’s drawer to make it look like they’d been up to something.

“Must be,” he grinned as he leered at her.

“Come on woman, move it,” Paul commanded as he and Gina followed Fenny up the stairs.

“If I hurry up I’ll trip and spill tea and jam, probably on you,” she countered, trying to balance the tray of the quick breakfast they’d rounded up from what little Don had around the kitchen.

“I don’t mind, then Gina can lick it off. Move your butt,” he giggled, giving her an encouraging pat on the rear as she reached the landing.

“If I hear one more of your ‘buns of steel’ comments after your recent behavior, I’ll be shoving something unpleasant right between them,” Fenny laughed.

“She’s full of spunk this morning, isn’t she?” Gina teased as they wandered into Don’s office and she picked up a stack of documents she’d left on the desk the night before.

“I’m adding Paul to the list of men I’ve slept with,” Fenny declared as he took a piece of toast and turned on the computer.

“What, like the list isn’t long enough?” he teased.

Fenny glared at him threateningly for a moment as she spread some jam on her toast, then took to wishing Don hadn’t rid his refrigerator of eggs and milk before fleeing the country.

“Well Fen, you did get felt up and then had to put up with his snoring,” Gina mused, “you didn’t miss out on much.”

“Genie,” Paul gasped, crestfallen, as Gina smiled innocently at him and typed in the proper passwords for Fenny to access the internet. All munching on their breakfast, the three snoops went back to the previous day’s stations: Fenny searching for interesting ways to screw Don over by reading email and scouring files, Gina poring over archived paperwork, and Paul talking to the mongoose and searching the bookcases.

Fenny looked up to see him feeding bits of jammy toast to the mongoose, which only leaked a few more bits of sawdust and sand in protest. “So, Paul, apart from your unhealthy mongoose fascination, how’re you feeling?”

“Well breathing doesn’t hurt anymore,” he shrugged.

“Good to hear it. Then you can look around, see if you can find some invoices, bank statements, things like that. It looks like he’s been flubbing them.”

“I’ve got ‘em,” Gina declared, pushing a handful of papers towards Paul as he sat next to her on the floor in a clear spot amongst her stacks of paper. Fenny clicked away on the computer to print out the documents for Paul to compare against the others.

“Oh for Pete’s…if you keep that up I’m not above getting the hose,” Fenny grumbled as Gina and Paul ignored her and continued their passionate embrace on the floor.

“I’d like to see you get the hose all the way up here,” Gina countered against Paul’s lips before returning to the kiss.

“Need I remind you that Brad, Greg and Danny are counting on us to do something productive,” Fenny pointed out, moving to the printer.

“And how is checking invoices helpful?” Paul queried, looking up at Fenny as she dropped a stack of paper in his lap.

“Just do it.”

“That’s what we were trying to do,” he countered, eyes wide and innocent.

“Check the invoices or I’ll put Troy down the garbage disposal,” she said with a lopsided smile.

“You wouldn’t,” he gasped. She raised an eyebrow. “Fine.”

“So, have you boys kissed and made up yet, ‘cause I don’t want a repeat of last night’s performance,” Beven warned as they piled out of the car after an oddly silent drive to the afternoon’s poker game.

“Yes sir,” Brad and Danny sighed together, then paused to look at each other.

“If you guys go through another window, I’m driving off without you,” Greg warned, “and telling Gina on you.”

“Let’s just play the game and get out of here,” Danny huffed, pushing his way into the club. Brad followed, making childish mocking faces.

“If you hear gunshots, grab the plastic bags from the trunk and help me deal with their bodies, would you?” Beven asked Greg, stomping in after the unruly pair.

Greg let out a weak chuckle and, once the others were inside, had to check the trunk for bags before being completely sure that Beven was joking. He wasn’t.

Just as Greg was beginning to panic at that realization, he noticed a group of other drivers not far glaring at him, and he scurried to the front seat to hide behind the tinted windows.

Beven leaned back in his chair, idly taking in his surroundings. The game had been going well for an hour or so, Danny had won quite a few games with a stoic demeanor while Brad had begun to look reflective and had to be reminded to bet, his mind obviously not on the game anymore. Beven found that to be disappointing, for while Danny could beat the pants off the other players, Brad was great at bluffing and keeping his poker face, and could generally win a bigger pot when he had the chance. They wouldn’t get anywhere if they weren’t all giving their all.

Brad folded halfway through the hand and Beven beckoned him out into the corridor, and though he didn’t look pleased, Brad followed.

“Look, I haven’t said anything nasty to Dan, alright,” he huffed, leaning against the wall. “I’m being good.”

“But you’re not concentrating on the game. Could you be civil and win a couple hands at the same time?” Beven asked with a smile.

“Y’know, he didn’t even want me to teach him and now look at him win,” Brad huffed, gesturing towards the door where Danny had probably raked in another hefty pot.

“This isn’t about him,” Beven declared pointedly. “If it was, you’d be in there, balls to the wall, trying to beat him.”

Brad ran a hand over his face. “He’s wrong, the prick doesn’t know what he’s talking about, I do love her. I miss Fen, I’m worried about her, I don’t know if this is going to work or if we’re all gonna end up in a mass grave somewhere out in the middle of nowhere next to one of those stupid rocks that Fen likes so much, and all I want to do is get out of here with Fenny and get back to LA where I have a little bit more control over my life.”

“Don isn’t into mass graves,” Beven pointed out.

“Yeah, that’s a big fucking help, thanks.”

“Look mate, this is gonna work out, so long as you don’t screw things up by getting all wishy-washy and losing games and getting the shit kicked out of you.”

“Oh let the dickhead do it, Dan’s everyone’s golden boy, he can save the day, all I’m good for is screwing things up anyway.”

“I’m trying to keep you from screwing up too much, when have things gone wrong so far?”

“You mean apart from me getting beaten, Paul nearly being killed, Fen being used as a fucking whore—”

One of Don’s men wandered into the hallway with a platter of drinks, eyeing the pair suspiciously.

“If you don’t get your act together and win a fucking game, I promise you I’ll do more than smash up your nose,” Beven growled menacingly.

Brad blanched as he realized that while the threat had been made mostly for the benefit of Don’s heavy, there was a certain amount of truth to that threat. “Right,” he breathed, his face throbbing again now that his attention had been brought to it.

“Now get in there and play a decent hand before you get me really angry, ‘cause the Boss isn’t gonna be happy, and if the Boss isn’t happy, you’re gonna find yourself in a world of shit.”

“Better than another one of your fucking vans,” Brad hissed as he was grabbed by the collar and guided into the room by Beven, followed closely by Don’s heavy with the drinks. The players at the table looked up at them as Brad was dumped in his chair just in time to see Danny lay out a winning nine-high full house, smiling smugly in Brad’s direction.

Brad was the first to ante, anxious to wipe that self-satisfied look off the arrogant bastard’s face, win enough games to get out of the country and take Fenny home and make her forget she’d ever so much as met Danny Brannigan.

Ritza smiled at Don as she munched away on her salad, listening to him describe his home and the glory of the trip over and how beautiful the Scottish landscape was, which she was all too familiar with. At least the worst situation she’d found herself in so far that day was watching the man eat, dribbling marinara sauce down his chin and chewing like some hoofed beast. She hoped she was serving as a sufficient distraction and that’s why he hadn’t had any business dealings to attend to, as opposed to him having some detrimental plan already in action that was so well-worked that he needn’t be consulted. She blinked at herself, reasoning that there was no way he could have a reasonable plan of action.

His cell phone went off and she nodded politely as he answered it, Ritza leaning on one elbow to get that little bit closer to eavesdrop over the quiet murmur of the restaurant.

“Yes, any news?” Don asked sternly.

“Sir, we don’t know where the hell the women are, still no lead on the Australian, but one of our men at the game said that Beven and the American were—”

Ritza acted out of reflex, knowing she needed a killer distraction before the goon on the phone spilled the beans about Beven. She slid a hand onto his uninjured thigh, stroking upwards until she was dangerously close to his groin. He let a soft grunt into the phone as she smiled a bit wickedly at him.

“I’m sorry sir?” the man on the other end asked.

“I’m sure whatever it is, Beven can handle it,” Don said shakily, Ritza giving him a little squeeze to send her point home.

“But sir, you don’t und—”

“I said he can deal with it. I don’t want to be interrupted with any more trivialities for the rest of the day, I’m heading home, we can discuss things at a later time.”

“Yes sir,” the heavy huffed and Don snapped his phone closed.

“Sorry darling,” he apologized, “sometimes the people I work with just can’t handle the simplest things. Where were we?” He mimicked her actions and slid a hand onto her thigh, trying to work it up her skirt. A waiter approached and Ritza demurely pulled away from Don’s eager fingers to ask for a refill on her drink, repressing a sigh of relief that he really was as clueless and incompetent as she’d assumed.

The computer chimed that it had received another email, and Fenny promptly opened it, noticing that it was another request for drugs. She looked up to ask Gina if she wanted to do another reply, only to see her pinned to the bookshelf, fingers snaking through Paul’s hair.

Fenny got up from the desk with her glass and flicked drops of water on the couple. They jumped apart and Fenny glared at them.

“Email, right,” Gina grinned and sauntered over to the desk.

“Oh, look what I’ve found,” Paul declared, grabbing a book that had been supporting Gina’s head, and smiled hopefully at Fenny. She rolled her eyes and went back to the pile of disks she’d been going through earlier. “Oh hey, I’ve really found something here,” Paul perked, flipping through the pages of a thick leatherette book. He stopped at one particular page and held it up, a blank book filled with scrawled handwriting and fidgety doodles. He raised his eyebrows and said softly, “Don’s journal.”