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him. “Okay, man,” he murmured distantly, hanging up.
    “Your sister’s condition has improved,” Dr. Tang announced crisply and without preamble. “She’s out of the coma and in recovery now.”
    Max’s heart soared. Overcome with emotion, he closed his eyes, as if to seal in the most critical moment of his life so far. Sho was okay .
    “I’ve seen cases like this before,” Dr. Tang went on. “There’s not much hope that the toxicology screen will tell us anything about the actual substance and dosage that caused her to end up here.” She paused a beat to level a harsh look. “Club drugs are insidious that way.”
    “I don’t know what she took,” Max said, feeling judged and under attack. “If I did, don’t you think I’d come clean? She’s my sister.”
    “And you’re lucky to be using the present tense when you talk about her,” Dr. Tang admonished.
    “What’s your problem with me?” Max asked hotly. “I realize how serious this is, but I’m not responsible for it.”
    Dr. Tang stared back impassively. “Maybe I’ve just seen too many cases like this—young and smart rich kids playing Russian roulette with drugs they know nothing about. A trip to the emergency room should be a final warning, but for most of you, it’s nothing more than an interruption of the party.”
    “Don’t hold it in, Doc. Tell me how you really feel.”
    “I think I just did,” Dr. Tang shot back. “The plot for teenagers like you is pretty easy to follow.” One beat. “Sort of like your father’s dumb movies. I hope you approach this as a wake-up call.” She started to walk away.
    “When can I see her?” Max called out.
    Dr. Tang halted. “We’re getting her started on fluids for an electrolyte imbalance. It won’t be much longer. One of the nurses will let you know when it’s time.” And then she was gone.
    Max stood there, replaying the exchange, wondering if the bitch doctor might be right. At the end of the day, would he treat this as a real life lesson…or just another dodged bullet?
     
    Pippa sat on the Boeing 737 as it made the descent into Miami, trying to think of just one man in her life who hadn’t—eventually—revealed himself to be a lying, cheating shitbag.
    Drummond Keith, her very own father, with his closeted homosexuality, drug addictions, and incompetent business dealings hardly qualified as an exception.
    The same could be said for Hugh Somerset, father of Annabelle, her best mate back in London. On a weekend sleepover, Pippa once caught him peeking at her while she bathed. And even after she screamed upon discovering him, the bloody perv didn’t stop polishing his knob. Vile!
    Tonight she could add Max Biaggi to the list. And Vinnie Rossetti, too. The manager of Cheetah cozied up to her at the club, calling her his “favorite girl” and his “golden pussy.” Then he turned around and pimped her out on a rape date like some street hooker. Low-rent mobster pig!
    Pippa stewed in a minicauldron of hurt and rage. Men . They thought they could just use her for their own selfish needs. But now maybe it was Pippa’s turn to use them .
    Throughout her life, men had conditioned Pippa to think of herself in second-class terms. She had waited around for any sign that her daddy loved her. She had kept the dirty secret of her best friend’s father. She had followed Vinnie’s instructions to the letter, aiming to please, coveting the favorite-girl slot. And she had allowed Max Biaggi to fool her into thinking that tonight was something more than it was.
    But it was time for a new order. Why be used when she could be the user? Why be the victim when she could be the victor? A plan began to percolate in her mind. It would take balls of steel to pull off, but she had them. Tonight a man had fucked with Pippa Keith for the last time. And she was going to make Max Biaggi pay the symbolic price for every bastard who had ever wronged her.
    He slumped in the leather chair opposite her,