Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
“Get. Up,” I snapped. “I don’t have the time or patience for this bullshit, Micah. Move your ass now.” I’d run out of patience about three hours ago. I was tired, furious, and worried about my own son.
He made no effort to move into a standing position. Sooooo…that was how it was going to be. I could do rough. I’d even been known to enjoy rough now and again. “Last chance, Micah. Let’s go.” He didn’t budge…so rough it was.
Lightening quick, I reached down and grabbed his upper arm in a grip tight enough that would keep him from escaping, and he’d probably have a bruise by morning. Since his bruising was the least of my worries at the moment, I gripped even harder when he tried to pull away. Without a lot of effort on my part, I pulled him to his feet and drug him around the coffee table to where he was standing in front of me.
“Hey, Lando, how’s it hanging?” he asked and then burst out laughing. “Damn, I feel fabulous. Who would have ever thought sucking fake cock could make me fly?” He laughed again.
Another guy in the group asked, “Hey, Jinx…do we need to call the cops or something? You don’t have to go with him if you don’t want to. I’m almost sure of it.”
Almost? Fuck, they were nothing more than unmanaged kids playing at adulthood.
“Actually, he does have to come with me. I’m his bodyguard and he wasn’t authorized to be at this party.” A funny thought occurred to me. “Anyway, I called the paparazzi and told them who all was here. You kids might want to find the nearest back door and try to slink away before pics surface on the internet.” I looked around the room. “To be honest, none of you look much like supermodels right now—more like street urchins. The media would eat that shit up, wouldn’t they?”
“You stupid son of a bitch!” one of them snarled while the rest of the group scattered like a bomb had just exploded in the room. After only a few minutes, I realized I’d found what their superpower was—they could pull a disappearing act quicker than any superhero I’d ever watched on the big screen. Or Netflix. Or whatever the hell people watched movies on these days.
Before I knew it, it was just me, Micah, the cocaine remnants, and the fake dildo left in the room. One of those things did not belong and it was me.
“Let’s go,” I snarled.
He dug his heels in. “Did you really call the paparazzi? This is gonna be righteous. Tito and Kitten will shit their pants if a bad picture of them hits the streets right before the catwalk.” He laughed. “Literally. Shit. Their. Pants.”
There were so many things wrong with what surrounded me, but the best I could counter with was, “What about you, Jinx? Aren’t you worried about bad publicity, too? Wait, maybe you think I’ll rescue you from the cameras? No, I bet Mommy and Daddy can save the day, can’t they? Is that how this works in your life? You get to do whatever the fuck you want because Mommy and Daddy will rescue their little boy if he scrapes his knee and needs a bandage?”
He might not weigh much, but he was tall—almost my height. On his tiptoes, which was currently where he was, he met me eye to eye.
“Don’t ever fucking call me that name!” he growled.
Wow. Okay. Not the retort I expected from him.
“No? Last I checked, that’s the name that the modeling world loves. Am I not good enough to call you Jinx? Is that it?”
The funny thing was that I was actually smirking at him, basking in my own smart-assery, when he landed a right hook to my cheek…not hurting too badly but definitely left a ringing in my ears. What. The. Fuck?
Yeah, whatever it was, I’d had enough of his fuckery. Done. Over.
Without another word, I tossed him over my shoulder and headed out the door. I didn’t care who saw us, who took pictures, or if a policeman tried to arrest me for abducting him. No, I hadn’t called the paparazzi but would have if I had to do it over again. He bitched me out and pounded my back with every step I took. I tried to ignore his squawking, but when he added kicking into the mix, barely missing the family jewels with the first blow, I landed a hard open-palmed blow to his bubble ass—probably too hard, but I didn’t care. Maybe I would tomorrow but not tonight.
His stupid cocaine buzz would probably last hours. I knew the drug made someone feel euphoric; I didn’t know it would make them act foolish enough to punch someone twice their size in the face. Dumbass. Well, at least the smack to his ass had calmed him down some—no more screeching, kicking, or clawing. He still muttered quietly, calling me every dirty word he knew, but I could live with that.