He looks down at the cash with utter confusion, probably wondering why I’m thanking him when I’m here to help him, before he quickly tucks it away. “Let me show you.” Jeeves motions toward the elevator. “Please, I beg you, can we keep it clean?”
“I can’t promise that, Jeeves,” I say to myself, though I know he hears because he breathes out his despair.
As we ride up, Jeeves’s concern only grows as he takes in my gang of misfits, and when I pull my gun from the back of my trousers, he pushes his back against the elevator wall, his despair real, as I check the magazine. The doors open and Jeeves remains inside where it’s safe. “We can take it from here,” I say, taking the key card from his grasp. “Thanks, Jeeves.” The elevator doors close, and I face the corridor. “Just when I thought today couldn’t give any more.” I pace toward the room, armed with my key card and my Glock, making sure my steps are light, unheard, and when I’m before the wood, I ensure I don’t stand in front of the door viewer, keeping my back against the wall, checking the others are ready. They all nod, hands on their backs as I slip the card into the slot. The light flashes green, and I gently push the door open.
The smell hits me like a brick to the face.
Alcohol, nicotine, and sex.
I walk quietly through the suite, taking in the empty bottles on the table, a few stray lines of cocaine, cigarette butts overflowing in a few tumblers. And then grunts. Grunts and pathetic screams. Lame screams from a woman who’s pretending to enjoy herself.
I push the door open with the end of my gun and find the woman in question straddling a waist, riding hard. Releasing the safety, I aim and clear my throat, breaking through the sounds of her embellished pleasure, and she flies round, her long black hair fanning the radius of the bed. The moment she spots me filling the doorway, she screams.
“Now,that’sa proper scream,” I say as she jumps up, terrified, her massive tits bouncing all over the place.
“Please don’t kill me,” she begs, her hands moving to hide various parts of her as I walk to a chair and pull off a towel, throwing it at her. “Notice where my gun is pointing,” I say, jiggling it. “Now get out.”
She’s gone like a rocket, and I return my attention to the bed.
Just as Brad lifts his head.
“Evening,” I say, walking over, pushing the gun into his temple. “How’s your shoulder?”
“Sore.”
“How’s your dick?”
“Sore.”
I drag my eyes down his torso to his waist, where his semi-erect cock twitches, mourning the loss of its most recent pussy. I’m sure she wasn’t the first. “I’m feeling all reminiscent,” I muse.
“Fuck off.” He slams his head on the pillow. “Are you going to fucking shoot me or bottle it like your pops did?”
Oh, he didn’t.I move my gun a fraction and pull the trigger, putting a bullet in the pillow beneath his head, around about an inch away from his temple, sending goose feathers billowing up into the room and Brad shooting up from the bed on a pained cry.
He clenches his shoulder, his face a map of agony. “What the fuck, Danny?”
“Shame. I expect it was a top-quality pillow.” I ram the gun in his forehead, my patience lost. “What the fucking hell are you playing at?”
Brad smacks the gun away and drops back to the bed. “I needed a timeout.”
“Nolan’s alive.”
His startled face swings my way as the man himself bowls through the door into the bedroom of Brad’s suite. “Brad?” Nolan gasps.
Brad looks at him like he’s seen a ghost. “You’re not dead?”
“He wasn’t at your place like he said when it blew up,” I explain. “But that’s a story for another day.” I take a seat in the cozy chair in the corner and cross one leg over the other, resting my gun on my knee. “What a lovely reunion.”
Brad’s face. It’s an awkward mix of pain, relief, and plain fucking fury. He gets up, stalks over to Nolan and swings at him, delivering a punch that knocks the poor kid back a few paces. But he takes it on the chin. Literally. The alternative is me shooting the fucker for causing all this unnecessary stress.
Brad yelps, Nolan rubs his chin, and then pouts. “Sorry,” he murmurs, and Brad hauls him into his chest and hugs him. I smile on the inside. Not on the out.
“Now.” I stand, waving my gun around the room that looks like a load of frat boys have had a cocaine and alcohol fueled orgy. “You’ve upset Jeeves and some other guests with all the noise you’ve been making.”
“Well, they should have put me in the Presidential Suite. Do you know this suite is eight grand a night?”
I sniff my surprise, looking around at the one-bedroom space. “Really?” The Presidential is only another two grand? And considerably larger.