I can’t believe we fucking fought.
In front of everyone.
I don’t deserve them. They’d do so much better with a more responsible front man. One who isn’t so fucked in the head. One who doesn’t hate himself and the life he’s graciously been given.
My mind drifts to Asshole Cop, otherwise known as Blaine. He gets under my skin like Ronan does. But where Ronan flips his shit and wants to explode on me, Blaine acts like he wants to possess me. His dark brown eyes don’t just look at me, they look into me. Through me. Inspect every cell inside me. It’s intrusive as fuck. I hate that he has that ability.
I don’t want to be seen.
Yes, you do.
What I hate more is the way my body lights up like the flame from my Zippo. Instead of scarring my flesh and grounding me, he burns me from the inside out, incinerating my very being. It’s fucking maddening.
I can’t help but remember the way he grabbed my throat and pushed me against the wall. If I were smart, I would’ve been intimidated by his sheer strength and size. The dude could break me with a snap of his wrist.
But he didn’t break me.
He held me in place, his body heating mine and eyes penetrating me. They made promises—promises I had no hope of interpreting. Threats and warnings. If I kept my shit up, he’d make me behave. My dick jolts in my jeans and anger surges through me.
Fuck him.
He’s not my dad.
He doesn’t sign my checks.
The guy’s a fuckin’ cop with an attitude. Probably goes home each night and jerks off to videos of me singing. He doesn’t get to touch me or mold me or fucking tell me what to do. I’m not his, nor will I ever be. His eyes told a story—one that said he’d love nothing more than to bend me over and take my ass. Gay was written all over the way he pinned me in a dominating way. Well, motherfucker, too damn bad. I bat for the other team. I’m into chicks with fat tits, slick cunts, and tight leather molded to their round asses. I like hair I can grab onto and a perfumed neck I can suck on.
I don’t want muscles and scruff.
I don’t fucking need a cock. Already got one.
And still…I can’t get it out of my head—the way he pinned me—the control that radiated from him—his desire to possess and own me.
He had the power to do it too.
“Let’s get this shit over with,” I bark out. “I’m ready to get drunk, and you assholes are coming with me.”
We’re at some swanky as shit bar our dumb asses don’t belong in. Stirring up trouble. It’s what we do. These fuckers are rich as hell. Like us. But they don’t think we belong here.
Their wives fucking do.
I wink at a blonde with huge tits spilling out of her expensive red dress. She has her hand around her wimpy husband’s bicep, but her cheeks redden when our eyes lock. I make sure to eye-fuck her tits so she doesn’t misinterpret my intentions.
Yeah, sweetheart. If you want a good time, follow us to the VIP lounge.
She bites on her plump red lip, considering my silent offer, but her husband drags her in the opposite direction, spoiling my fucking fun. Too bad. I’d have let her suck my dick. I’d have let her husband watch too. He looks like the cuckold type. Fucking pansy.
By the time we reach the roped-off VIP section, both Owen and Seth have collected women along the way. Riley hangs back with me, shrugging off the advances of a few women. It makes me wonder if he’s gay. He doesn’t get with women a lot. I’ve never seen him with a man, though.
Why do I care if he’s gay?
I don’t.
He can be whatever the fuck he wants to be as long as I don’t have to watch him dick it to some dude. What would Owen say?
As soon as we make it into the private space, I head for the bar. The bartender is a guy close to my age. He grins when he sees me.
“Berlin Scandal,” he says. “No way. You guys are my fucking idols.”
I smile back. “Oh yeah? What’s your favorite song?”
His green eyes drop to my lips for a moment and he leans forward. “‘Into the Fire.’ The lyrics are amazing.”
“Into the Fire” is one of my favorites. It’s a tribute to Lex.
“Good choice,” I agree. “Get me the good shit. I’m getting fucked up tonight.”
His smile goes wider. “I’m Devon. Whatever you want, I can get it. Anything.” A knowing smirk plays at his lips. “All you have to do is ask, Xavi.”
I like this guy already.
“Let’s start with a round for my band. And then you can show me the top shelf stuff a little later.” I nod, dropping a credit card on the bar and sliding it toward him. “Have one yourself, yeah? Or two.” I wink, knowing full well if I worked here with the rich bastards flashing their credit cards I’d be skimming a nice tip off the top.