Nothing But Wild (Malibu University 2)

“Shit,” I murmur. So does Brock.

Across the room, standing with some chick I’m sure he was in the middle of hitting on, Cole catches my eye and gives me a what gives look. I answer with a shake of my head.

He never said a word to us. Which makes me wonder if Bailey knew and kept it from us as well. By the look on her face, dark eyes wide and quickly filling with tears, her slender hands covering her mouth, I would have to guess that she didn’t.

“He won’t be embarrassing you anymore,” Rea continues, backing out of the room slowly. “And the one that’s still alive…” He stops, nostrils flaring, anger dying out. “I never want to see either of you again.”

“Anybody see which direction Rea went?” I ask fifteen minutes later while standing in the hotel parking lot looking for any sign of him.

“I don’t see his Jeep,” Cole remarks. “Was I the only one that didn’t know about the sneakers?”

“Nope.”

“I didn’t.”

“I don’t think anyone did,” the rest of us answer in one way or another.

“His parents are gross,” Zoe mentions. More murmured agreements.

Dora looks up at me, her eyes packed with concern. “We’ll find him,” I reassure her.

Shortly after the scene, everyone started leaving because nothing says the funeral celebration is over like the family in mourning yelling at each other.

“Alice went after him,” Blake announces. “Let’s give them some space.”

Something in her voice grabs my attention. I glance her way in time to see her face go as pale as a sheet and her eyes roll into the back of her head.

“Blake! She’s having a seizure!” Zoe shouts, as Blake’s knees give way and her body folds over.

Luckily, Cole is there in time to save her from hitting the cement sidewalk. Gently cradling her body, he lowers her to the ground and turns her sideway, his hands cupping her head as she convulses. “Somebody check the time,” he barks, and Zoe holds up her phone for him. Peterman’s basic EMT training has come in handy on more than one occasion during the water polo season. Nothing like this, though. Fuck, I’m not a religious man, but I’m thanking God right now.

“It’s okay, princess,” we all listen to him coo. “I got you. You’re gonna be fine.”

Meanwhile, Zoe dials 911 and Brock runs inside to get some help. Some of the remaining assholes in the room have to be doctors. There’s your glass half-full at this shitshow of a funeral.

A douchebag in a five thousand dollar suit casually strolls up like this isn’t an emergency. At the same time a siren tells us the ambulance is quickly approaching.

“Tonic-Clonic,” Cole tells him.

The suit nods, gives Cole the obligatory I’m searching my extensive education for evidence of my usefulness look. Which convinces no one. “Looks like you guys have everything under control. Did you time it?”

“Just past two minutes.”

As soon as the ambulance pulls up, the the crew jumps into action. Everyone steps away, giving the EMTs room to work. Everyone but Cole who refuses to let go of his patient.

The seizure finally breaks and Blake’s body goes limp. They load her onto the gurney, then they load the gurney into the ambulance. Cole jumps in the back of the ambulance with her.

“What are you doing!” Zoe yells at him, totally coming apart. Brock whispers something in her ear and she makes a pained face. Other than that, she keeps her mouth shut and the ambulance doors close.

“I’m driving her to the hospital,” Brock tells me as he gestures to Zoe who’s wiping away tears. “You got a ride home?”

“I-I’ll drive him,” Dora says in a quiet voice. “Please tell Blake that I’ll come to the hospital as soon I can.”

Brock nods, then grabs a distraught Zoe by the wrist and leads her to the AMG black-on-black Mercedes G Wagon at the far end of the parking lot.

Glancing to my left, I take stock of Dora’s mood. She’s more quiet than usual. “You okay?”

She nods at first. Then shakes her head, her lower lip trembling. “No.”

Chapter Thirteen

Dora

“This club is dope as fuck!”

That’s Zoe screaming at the top of her voice. Not surprised, right? She walks right past the bouncer, a man the size of the Titanic, and blows him a kiss. The rest of us dutifully fall in line behind her.

“Bar––” Blake says, pointing, “that way.” Her legs in the high-heeled Azzedine Alaïa booties look endless, her brown skin rich against the pale beige silk dress she’s wearing. I’ve never been tempted by fashion, but if I looked anything like Blake maybe I would be.

We cut through a well-dressed crowd, one person more beautiful and glamorous than the next. I even spot a few famous faces. And the decor is just as fancy. The booths decorated in jewel-toned velvet, the back of the bar is a mosaic of colored glass, and the ornate chandeliers overhead made of crystal.