22BollocksBilly woke up in an ambulance charging through the streets of Vegas, sirens wailing. Hooked up to a bag of blood and another of clear liquid, he had an oxygen mask clinging to his face, and was strapped down to a gurney. For a moment, his vision lurched between blinding white to a deep red and back. He closed his eyes and turned his head—all he could move—and the colors transformed to jagged waves of pain. For a moment, he believed Jegudiel’s fashionable heel was still firmly wedged in his skull.
Gagging, he waited for the throbbing to subside just enough to risk opening his eyes again and take a peek at his surroundings.
Soren lay on the other side of the vehicle. The big man was also on oxygen and still appeared to be out cold, eyes sealed shut and one hand hanging limply off
