Falling … falling … falling …. thump
Furieux woke when his face connected awkwardly with the floor.
He groaned and pushed himself up onto all fours before unsteadily rising to his feet. His skin was slick with sweat and he wiped at his face with his hands before fully opening his eyes. He swayed gently in the centre of the prime VIP cabin on board the Velvet Presley – a room normally reserved for his most prestigious passengers – and tried to get a handle on his situation.
It wasn’t much of a step to come to the conclusion that he’d fallen out of bed; the sweat soaked sheets offering the biggest and only clue, and he winced as his head began to pound again. Rubbing at his temples, Furieux grimaced as the memories came flooding back...