Page 6 of The Bloodfeather Promise
Now, I’m pissed.
I shove Brandi, or maybe it’s Gina, who the fuck knows, away from my lap with such force she tumbles out from under the table. The other girl rolls out as well, creating a comical tangle of legs, arms, and ass. The other girls in our booth erupt with laughter.
That does it.
After screwing blondes exclusively for the past year, I’m done with them. Dylan is welcome to every single blonde whore he comes across. All of them. Because you see, I’ve got a sudden taste for brunettes, and I’ve just zeroed in on my next victim. I’m gonna enjoy erasing that look of pity she just gave me. Gonna love seeing the dazed look of unsatisfied longing that will replace it. I’m gonna have her screaming my name over and over while I pound her so hard, she will still feel me inside her days after I’m done with her. She’ll be so desperate to come, she’ll beg and plead with me to make it happen. When she does, sobbing for the release I won’t ever allow, I’ll bite the lovely curve of her neck until she wails from the pain. I’ll whisper in her pretty ear how happy I am to discover she’s no different from the other whores I’ve fucked. And once I’ve taken all the pleasure I can get from her body and her mouth, I’ll kick her sweet little ass right out of my hotel suite.
* * *
Brandi and Ginastumble to their feet, unsteady as baby foals on ridiculous four-inch stiletto heels. Tugging tiny skirts down, adjusting sheer, barely-there tops, and grumbling over my rudeness, they maneuver into positions my favored groupies usually occupy. One on the edge of the seat nestled under my arm, the other in my lap where my now soft dick doesn’t even take notice.
“Get the fuck off me.” I push them both away, fumbling with the button fly of my jeans. Waves of unadulterated meanness roll off me. “Can’t you see my friend needs some attention over there? Don’t bother wiping your mouth. He’s never minded my sloppy seconds. Isn’t that right, Dylan?”
“Oh shit. Bro… that’s just wrong. Totally wrong,” Jett groans, dropping his head back to gaze heavenward. Searching for divine intervention, I suppose.
“Go to hell, Grey. You fucking asshole.”
Over the cacophony of music and chatter, I hear Dylan’s barely audible words. Behind the indifference of my intoxication, I’m actually shocked. Because Dylan never reacts, no matter how cruel I am. No matter how hurtful my actions, he never lashes back. Never snaps a response. He silently takes my abuse. Abuse I willingly dole out. He absorbs it—with a mouth drawn tight. Like he’s fighting to keep from lashing at me in return.
Until now.
Our eyes connect. Shared pain and rage over the deaths of Alex and Jessica flare dangerously bright between us. Dylan considered Alex his brother as well and a thought strikes me, one I’ve never entertained before. The guilt he carries must be a terrible thing to bear. Terrible, heartbreaking, and heavy.
Goddamn, I hate what has become of our friendship. I hate that my brother is not alive. I hate that I no longer have him. Or Dylan…
It isn’t fair life turned out this way. We had everything going for us, the world bowing at our feet. We relished the luck of the young, the beautiful, and the talented before tragedy struck everything down with full force. If there is a reason for ruining our golden fame, a purpose or meaning behind it all, someone needs to clue me in. Even if there is one, I don’t think I care. There’s a fury howling inside me. Silent. Deadly. Like the tides ruled by the moon, there’s no stopping this force of nature. It will have its way.
“Take it easy, guys,” Brant murmurs, always playing the peacemaker, although it does little good. The twin blondes shift their feet, unsure where they should go. The full brunt of their resentful glares migrates, landing on the brunette who watches me closely. She occupies the seat one of the blondes had earlier, but the threat now directed her way doesn’t make her nervous.
Always irreverent, Jett taps out the Death March. It’s an ominous drumroll, a hint at what’s coming.
“Easy, my ass,” Dylan snorts in contempt, his grip on the quiet brunette remaining steady while I’m pinned by his bright, blue gaze. “Nothing is easy with Mister Dark and Tortured Greyson Finch. When he’s not shoving coke up his nose, or swallowing those fucking pills like candy, he’s focused on being the biggest self-absorbed, self-destructive, goddamn dick on the planet.”
“Now I’ve got the biggest dick?” I smirk, hoping my smart-ass remark will eat away the ring of truth in his comments. “About time we cleared that up. The girls all love it, though. Even if they end up hating my guts, they still love my cock. They scream for more. Jessica always did. Never screamed that loud for you, did she, Dylan? Did she beg you for it like she begged me?”
I sigh heavily, as if making the greatest of sacrifices, then gesture toward the girl sitting so still and quiet beside him. “Tell you what…send that one down here to me. We’ll handle things like we’ve always done. Come on. You remember our game, don’t you?” I give the brunette a lascivious wink and I’ll be damned if her pink, little tongue doesn’t dart out. That nervous lick of her upper lip solidifies my plan.
And transforms my dick into something resembling a steel rod.
“Sweetheart, here’s what’s going to happen.” Am I the only one who can hear the excited tremor in my voice? “I gonna fuck you. Right here on this table. Then Dylan will have his turn. Everyone else, they just lay down bets on who makes you come the quickest. You leave here tonight with the winner. My money is on my own ass, of course.”
What happens next is a scene straight out of a goddamn movie.
I show no reaction as the brunette stands. She smooths her hands down the front of a black miniskirt. Gathers up her purse. Takes a deep breath. Glances around the table, then straight back at me, her head tilted.
Looks like she’s gonna bail. Walk out. Scurry away like a frightened little mouse. I suppose the games we play are too rough for her and that’s a damn shame. I’d have bet every last penny of my fortune that hiding beneath that shy exterior was a girl who would fuck like a wild creature. Guess I was wrong about that.
Well, maybe not. Maybe I’ve pegged her wrong after all, because instead of high-tailing it for the bar’s exit, she’s walking toward me. Confused and fascinated, my eyes are glued to her figure as she comes closer, all that dark hair floating around her shoulders like rainclouds. It’s impossible not to stare. She’s an angel touching down on this earth, landing in this grungy bar by accident.
Reaching my end of the booth, she brushes past the twin blondes, easily forcing them into secondary positions a few steps behind her. They scowl fiercely at her back, but the move does not result in retaliation. They are too surprised, because this bold, beautiful girl has no fear. She’s exposed herself to a full-blown, double attack, should the blondes decide they’ll take things that far.
Remember when I said we’ve seen our fair share of brawls? Nothing is improbable at this point.
Shifting uneasily on the booth seat, I know if the blondes attack, I will leap into the middle of that shit and save this girl. The very thought rattles me.
It’s impossible to look into her eyes; the shadows here are too deep, and the dim light does not give up secrets so easily. I can admire her body, however. Her clothes make that easy enough.
My mouth probably lands in the vicinity of my lap when she leans toward me. The neckline of her blouse gapes open and my eyes narrow. What the hellisshe doing?
