“I can show you what good I am,” Greg slurs, shrugging off his jacket. “Maybe next year I’ll hunt on the island myself. Would you like that?”

“That sounds hot,” she replies.

Lila giggles as he struggles out of his jacket, taking too long to get rid of it, but she happily waits until he gets out of the jacket before she pulls him in for a sloppy drunken kiss. It’s all tongue and spit and somehow, that makes my stomach turn more than the blood I’ve had splattered all over me.

“Gross,” Creed grunts as we hover just under the edge. “Let’s go before we have to watch them fuck in slow motion.”

Jiro moves first, knocking Greg over the head until he slumps. Lila groans under his weight, shoving at him.

“God dammit, Greg, you useless idiot! Get off!”

She doesn’t even have a chance to scream when Jiro appears above her. He knocks her over the head with the butt of his pistol, cutting off any noise she might have made. The two slump to the ground that’s somehow still pristine enough they don’t even get dirty.

“That’s clothes for Billie,” Achilles says, looking over the thin guy. “And I’d say Jiro. He’s too thin for any of us.”

We get to work pulling the clothes off of them. Lila isn’t wearing a bra, so she unfortunately has to leave her tits out. She’ll wake up tomorrow in just her thong and pasties and think she had a wild night, I’m sure. Greg gets to keep his underwear while Jiro shrugs on the fancy suit that probably cost more than I make each month.

“A little tight in the crouch, but it’ll do,” he mumbles as he pulls at the lapels and makes his hair presentable.

Meanwhile, I pull off my own wet clothes and toss them into a bush. Deciding it’s better to go without anything underneath that would threaten to leave little wet spots on the dress, I finally take off my dance outfit and shove it in the bush with the shirt. Four sets of eyes stare at me as I strip and step into the copper dress. It’s thin, more nightgown than dress, but it probably cost a fortune. For good measure, I take the earrings the woman is wearing and thread them through my ears while Achilles moves behind me to finish up the dress.

“The hair,” Row murmurs. “You’ll have to do something about the hair.”

I unbraid it and shake it out, trying to get as much water from it as possible before running my fingers through it in the hopes it looks like I’m going for a beachy look.

“Very surfer chick,” Creed nods. But he looks over at Row for approval.

“The rich are eccentric. They’ll think you’re making a statement,” he says, shrugging.