Chapter 17

Acrid smoke filled the room, stinging the eyes, but Mikhail didn't hit the floor in a gangly heap, not like his brother, who succumbed with an ignoble splat on the floor. It seemed the armor he'd quickly activated did more than protect him from physical blows. Despite the drug tickling his nostrils, inhaled with every shallow breath, Mikhail did not feel in the slightest bit sleepy. Neither did the guards, wearing protective masks on the lower halves of their faces. They remained standing, as did a bare-faced JD, wearing the most obnoxious smirk.

Let my fist talk to it. Please, his mischievous side couldn't help but plead. Yet, even he, with the wish to cause mischief - which he blamed on the blessing of a certain troublemaking god - knew when to keep his hands to himself.

"I see someone isn't in the mood to nap." JD cocked a brow.

"Disappointed?"