A fucking turn?
“Voodoo, I’m tellin’ you. She has all the best plays—I mean, where the fuck does she get her stuff from?”
“Instinct,” Dipesh says. “She pays attention to the little things.”
“And Brandon’s gotta little thing for her,” someone else quips.
“Fuck you,” Brandon retorts. “You don’t understand. Pete wouldn’t be where he is without her.”
“Pete got promoted because he’s marrying in. He fucked Ryan over!”
“Yeah, but she made it so he got noticed. Pussy voodoo, I’m telling you.”
I’ve heard enough.
I pass an empty table and swipe up a half-filled glass, then theatrically trip over an invisible chair leg.Oops.
“What the fuck!” Brandon jumps up, wearing his last drink of the evening.
“¡Disculpe!”I announce, throwing up my hands, my language a full-body experience now. “So sorry.” I point a finger. “Bryce, no?”
He glowers and mutters, “It’s Brandon,” as he presses a stray napkin to his soiled pants.
Atskof teeth and tongue. “You look like you ’ave pissed yourself.” I give a chuckle, then move on.
I hit the jacks, the bathroom, as intended. Thankfully, there isn’t an attendant on duty. There is a condom machine, and while I really don’t have condoms on me, I do have them back at my hotel.
As I begin to rinse the spilled cola from my hands, the door swings open.
“This is a fucking Brioni fucking suit,” Brandon begins, giving it the big man, throwing shapes—his chest puffed out and his arms positioned like he’s holding a rolled carpet under each.Fucking eejit.
Water drips from my fingertips as I turn from the sink.
“Listen man, you’re gonna—”
I flick the droplets in his face.
“What the fuck?” Stunned, he reaches up to wipe his face, and before he can utter another word, it’s on. Two steps, and I grab him by the balls. A little unorthodox, I’ll grant you, a little familiar, but there’s method in this madness as I manhandle him until his back hits the wall. “What the fuck,” he repeats ... not in the same tone, obviously. A few octaves higher.
“I thought this is the way you like it,” I mutter, keeping up the accent as I basically crush his bollocks between my fingers until he squeals. “Is this not the way you like it?” Without giving him time to answer, I knock the wind out of him some more with a right to his guts. Then I thrust my forearm across his neck for good measure. “It’s not such a good feeling when it is happening to you, no?”
Men like him are the lowest. Men who claim space that doesn’t belong to them are fucking abusers and violators, every one. They’re nothing but scum.
“Hey, man,” he stutters, tears clouding his eyes. “Stay cool.”
“I am ice cool,” I snarl, straining to keep my accent from straying Irish. “But I want to know what it is about my woman. Why you have such a fascination.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he bleats, his breath liquor-foul as I plant my fist in his kidney.
“Tell me!”
“She just ... she just ... knows, man. Everything she touches turns to gold.”
“And you think she might rub your pathetic little lamp?” I long to smash my forehead into his nose ... but I’m not about to leave evidence of this little chat. “She is mine.¡Hijo de puta! ¡Malnacido!” A jab to the guts.“¡Cabronazo!”Then another. Motherfucker. Son of a bitch. Bastard. Take your pick. “There is no place and no time on this planet when you will be anything to her, do you hear?”
When he doesn’t answer, I jam my arm against his windpipe.
“Yeah, yes.” A pained swallow. Tears and snot.
