The neon signage of The Mint pulsed in the dark street. I had exactly one move left.
I had to play the only card I had: Caspian’s ego.
I pushed past the velvet ropes. The bouncers recognized me, the "Princess" who had started a riot a week ago. I moved through the crowd of sound and sweat; my eyes fixed on the VIP section.
There he was.
Caspian sat in a semi-circle of white leather, surrounded by two models who looked like they were made of plastic. When he saw me, he waved the girls away with a dismissive flick of his wrist.
"Eloise," he called out, his voice barely audible over the bass.
I didn't answer until I was sitting directly across from him. I signaled the waitress.
"A bottle of your best tequila. And a chaser of whatever beer you have on tap. Make it a pitcher."
The bot
