Blood Kiss by J.R. Ward

enthused.
    I need to go on a date, he thought.
    â€œWhere are we going?” V asked in his ear.
    Shit, he’d said that out loud. “Not you.”
    â€œHurt. Seriously hurt over here,” came the tinny reply.
    â€œMarissa and I need. . . .”
    â€œIf it’s sex ed, I could have sworn you two figured that out. Unless all those sounds are just the pair of you thumb-wrestling.”
    â€œReally.”
    â€œYou’re saying that shit is origami? Jesus Christ, the paper cuts . . . can’t fucking imagine, true?”
    â€œStop it.”
    â€œSays Marissa never.”
    â€œNot been the case recently,” Butch retorted.
    â€œYou got problems?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    There was a long period of silence. “I have an idea.”
    â€œI’m open to anything—”
    â€œThat’s what she said!” Lassiter cut in.
    â€œV, I thought you took that away from—” The sounds of the two males wrestling on the up-close had him popping his earpiece out and grimacing.
    Lassiter was clearly getting the beat-down he’d been begging for, and under any other circumstance, Butch would have found the pair, and not to play referee. But he had more important things to worry about.
    Especially as he had two new visitors to welcome to this liquid-ish round of the party.
    And when V came back on, maybe Butch would get some good advice. Provided his best friend could think outside of the spiked-collar/black-candlewax/nipple-clamp world.
    Shit.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    Paradise thrashed against the hold on her ankles, fishtailing her torso back and forth on the floor she was being dragged over, clawing with her hands. Inside the sack around her head, her hot breath suffocated her—or maybe she had just sucked all the oxygen out.
    In response, panic gasolined her entire body, spasming up her muscles and turning her brain into a super-highway of thoughts that did absolutely nothing to calm her down or help her out. Part of her wanted to call out to Peyton, but he wasn’t going to save her. They’d gotten him, too. The other half was extrapolating all kinds of bad outcomes.
    What next! What next! What next what nextwhatnext—
    â€œNext” arrived with the same lack of warning that everything else had: the forward momentum stopped, asecond person stepped up and grabbed her shoulders, and she was flipped off the ground.
    Paradise screamed again in the bag, and tried to break herself out of the holds. Not possible. The grips were so strong, she might as well have had vises biting into her skin and bones—
    Swinging.
    She was being swung left and right, momentum growing, as if she were about to be thrown.
    â€œNo!”
    Just as she was released at the top of the left arc, the bag was ripped free of her head. She had two incredible gulps of air—and then she was falling, falling, falling, through a darkness marked with strange sounds—
    Splaaaaaaash!
    Water everywhere—getting into her nose, her mouth, encapsulating her body. Instinct took over, her senses immediately calibrating that “up” was the opposite way she was sinking. Spidering her arms and legs out, she found that the binding on her ankles had been freed.
    She broke the surface with such force her torso popped free like a cork, and she coughed so violently she nearly lost consciousness. In between the racking, though, she was able to get air down . . . and then she was sucking in great hauls of oxygen, the simple luxury of being able to breathe preoccupying her with a gratitude that brought tears to her eyes. That didn’t last long. All around, she could hear people struggling in the water, sounds of them coughing, breathing, paddling to stay afloat.
    How many?
    Was this the second part?
    Treading water, she wanted to call for Peyton, but wasn’t sure that drawing attention to herself was a good idea. For all