Page 28 of Whiskey's Redemption

I know the designer. I saw it at the spring show, and her wardrobe consultant needs to be fucking fired for dressing her like that. For her skin and hair color, it looks like something the monkey shit out.

Two more hours of this and you’ll find me curled up in a corner, peeling peanuts for the fucking monkeys. This is the downside of my job—stupid moments, and appearances that I have zero bloody interest in. I’m actually hoping the monkey shits in her rat’s nest of a hairdo.

Looking down at my cell, trying not to be caught doing it, I flick through Plenty of Fish, Twitter feeds, Instagram and Facebook. Not mine, though. I’m looking for pictures of Chris with his varied indiscretions. Kurt, Kyle, or rubber ducky—whatever the fuck his name was—ran out pretty pissed this morning. That screams nasty posts. So far, nothing has shown up. Color me surprised.

Stopping on a Twitter post, there’s a Crown notation.

Doll under house arrest. #IdHandCuffHer

Is Casper and Marca Crown alive? #CrumblingKingdom

Why so long without seeing any of the family? #FurtherDeath

Over and over, feed after feed, likes, retweets and reposts of concerns for the family stack up. Then one in particular catches my attention. It’s associated with the Crowns’, but not a name I know.

Outcast Son tweeted,#NoSnow #ToFuckingHot

Well, not hard to figure out who that is. Checking out his previous posts, there are boards, girls, trees covered with snow, and two short posts from a few days ago. I catch myself before I laugh out loud.

#IAteVegan

#BirdFood

Our impromptu lunch was nothing exciting, but I enjoyed it more than I’ll admit. I think I might have even fallen inlikewith Jamieson. At the least, I don’t have such a scathing disregard for him. I might actually tolerate his presence if he happens to be around when I—if I—visit Circe again. Remembering how pissed she was that I ‘attacked’ China, I feel just a little bit interested in how she’s doing. I’d never wish anyone jail time or house arrest, but it must be awful when you’re unable to even visit your brother in the hospital without a chaperone. Hopefully, he’s at least sexy.

Jamieson is.

Fuck, I’m thinking about him again.

Shit!

I’ve even stopped flipping through posts about my boss and I’m solely flicking through Jamieson’s feed. Looking at each, the current feel of the posts are so different than the previous. The trees, snowcapped mountains, pictures of boards, girls lacking in clothing are gone. After Jax’s death, the feed changes to darker, stronger images of sadness, notations of heat, a crassness that seems heartfelt, and one that has me staring at it a few moments longer than I should.

Sass and fire. Dark sarcasm. Give and take. I want more. #WhyADragonTattoo?

Nudging my shoulder, Chris tries to gain my attention. “Anything I need to worry about from Mondo?”

“Mondo?” I ask.

“From last night?” Ican’tbelieve he can even get a date.

“It started with a K, Chris.”

He rolls his eyes, giving me his ‘I’m bored’look. I know what he’s expecting me to do. He wants me to break us out of here.

“You’ll owe me,” I mutter.

Under his breath, he asks, “What will it cost?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

Fuck. Why do I do this for him?

Opening the timer in my phone, I select a minute, then start the countdown. Closing the phone, I turn on the ringer and pocket it. Acting fully interested in the woman’s diatribe, I swear it feels like I’m watching a tennis match.

Waiting for the blessed thing to go off is like watching a kettle boil.

Hurry up and ring, dammit.

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