Diva (Ironclad Bodyguards Book 2) by Annabel Joseph, Molly Joseph

and set off with him toward the tent, nudging a path through the sparkling, flashing festival goers who pointed and squealed as Lady Paradise went by. Hurry, hurry, hurry.
    Ransom pressed Lola to his chest to make sure she was still breathing. “It’s going to be okay,” he told her. “You have bad stuff in your system, but it’s only temporary.”
    “I can’t… I can’t…”
    “Don’t panic. Slow breaths.”
    She rested her head on his shoulder, shuddering, panting against his neck. She was probably on a scary trip above and beyond the physical suffering. Part of him thought, well, she deserves it. Part of him thought, don’t die. He pulled her closer, rubbing her back as they neared the red and white tent.
    “Breathe with me, Lola Mae.” He moved his hand up and down her spine like that might stop her heart’s dangerous acceleration. “Take deep breaths, in and out.”
    “I can’t,” she gasped, a broken whisper. “I can’t feel my brain. I took—I took three.”
    “When?”
    “And a half.”
    “Jesus Christ. When?”
    “Just—Before—Help.”
    He closed his eyes and rested his head against her soft pink hair, and prayed. Three and a half shitty, amphetamine-laced pills. She was a brat, but he didn’t want her to die. He knew CPR. He could keep her alive if her heart stopped, but what if they couldn’t start it again?
    When he jostled her to keep her awake, she started babbling about drowning, flailing at the slack mouthed ravers they passed. He tried to keep her from hurting anyone. Whatever she’d ingested had sent her into chemical, mental breakdown.
    “Breathe,” he said. “Breathe with me. You’re gonna be okay.”
    The medics looked up as they barged into the tent. The bus driver explained the situation as Ransom soothed Lola through another flailing panic. They waved him through the back, to a waiting ambulance with open doors.
    “I can’t breathe,” she sobbed as the medics climbed in behind them. “Can’t… Drowning… Scared… Stay…”
    “I’m here.”
    They had to strap her down on the gurney, and even then she kept trying to reach for him.
    “H-help m-me.”
    I’m trying. I’m trying to help but you fucked up this time. He told the EMTs what he knew about the drugs, and when she’d taken them. In the back of his mind, he kept thinking, I threw away the tablets Marty got her. Marty was an asshole, but he would have known enough to test the drugs he bought for her. Lola, on the other hand, must have bought from the first dealer she could find, and taken the shit without testing it first. His fault for letting her out of his sight. His fault for underestimating her craziness.
    His fault for taking away her safe pills.
    “Deep breaths,” he said as they struggled to start an IV in her jerking arm. He kept repeating it, like he could fix what was wrong with her. “Deep breaths, kid. Come on. Please.”
    “Can’t…”
    “You have to. Stay calm. Breathe in, breathe out.”
    “Just wanted…fun…”
    She went limp and passed out, panting even in unconsciousness. The medics said something to each other in Dutch, and Ransom didn’t ask for a translation. You could tell, in just about any language, when something wasn’t good.

CHAPTER SIX
    The Money
    “I llegal drugs,” said Mr. Fuckhead, CEO of MadDance Fucking Incorporated. “This is exactly what we were afraid of.”
    Ransom bit his tongue rather than point out that their entire rave business was built on the backs of illegal drugs.
    The MadDance contingent consisted of Mr. Fuckhead and Mr. Asshole, both of them gray-haired businessmen who cared more about money than the human being they discussed. It made Ransom furious.
    His boss at Ironclad, Liam Wilder, leaned forward to address Fuckhead and Asshole in a polite but firm voice.
    “I’d like to reiterate that it was your tour manager who enabled Miss Reynolds this time. My agent left her under Greg Plume’s supervision, and that was when she procured