Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Sometimes, you gotta piss on someone’s parade. Or on their pathetic phone call in the bathroom, whatever happens first.
I take a hit from my joint and hold it until I feel like I can’t breathe.
Bathroom Boy is one of the most stunning men I’ve ever seen. He has shaggy dark hair that falls over his piercing blue eyes, a strong jaw, and soft, kissable lips, with a slender yet muscular form. He looks like a goddamn emo wet dream.
Unfortunately, he’s just as emotional as his appearance would suggest. Although that could be fun. There’s no high like making someone else lose control alongside you.
“Ky,” someone says, interrupting the rush of tingles moving through my veins. Only people who really know me call me Ky. I look down. It’s Adam.
Adam doesn’t really know me. He can fuck off with the Ky stuff.
He jerks his head toward the back offices. “I got our stuff.”
Well, in that case…Ky, it is. Adam always brings his own Molly, which he offers in exchange for passionate fucking. I’d do the passionate fucking for free, but I don’t supply my own drugs. I may work for the criminal underbelly of the city, but even I know better than to take from our own supply.
I stare at Adam, who’s much shorter than the bathroom guy. His eyes are grayer, and his face has less definition. Still, I know he has my ticket to a good time. At least, for thirty minutes.
I give one more look at the bar.
Adam makes a sound, like a huff, bottom lip jutted out in a small pout. He’s trying to manipulate me into getting what he wants, which is my dick up his ass and a handjob to make him see stars.
I raise an eyebrow. The tingling from the weed is already gone, and in its place, I feel…nothing. The heavy beat from the DJ that used to raise my heart rate and boost my adrenaline just sounds hollow.
Adam stills, watching me closely. I act like I’m going to keep him waiting, but I won’t.
I’ve been feeling off all day. There’s some nasty feeling crawling under my skin, and I need it gone.
If I’m not careful, that nasty feeling hijacks my body, making me feel things I don’t want to feel.
I become a weak, pathetic mess. I become…
not myself. The only way to keep that back is to force my body to feel the feelings I want it to feel, not the feelings it wants to feel. I need what Adam has to offer.
As soon as I start moving to the offices, he follows. When we’re there, I slam the door behind him. Adam jumps, but I don’t even twitch.
“On your knees,” I demand, licking my lips as he goes for his pocket. He tries to shove his hand in his pocket, but his fingers slide over the outside. As he tries to push them back in, a curl of disgust and anxiety hits me. Hurry the fuck up.
Finally, finally, Adam pulls out a pill and pops it in his mouth before smashing his lips to mine.
He’s trembling as he grips my upper arms. Snaking my hand up, I snatch Adam’s throat, jerking his face closer to mine, making our teeth gnash together.
His lips are already open, and I sweep my tongue inside, searching for the pill.
He’s already gnashed it between his teeth, and the bitter taste sucks the saliva out of my mouth.
And for a second, I feel my heart rate pick up.
I lean into him, embracing the nasty taste, enjoying the way my heart thumps in my chest. I feel it every time I take a breath, my lungs expanding, the grip Adam has on my shoulders.
Shaking him off, I dig my tingling fingers into his throat more, seeking out the thump thump of his heart.
There’s a crash, and this time, I jerk my head up to see.
It’s the desk. I’ve shoved Adam back into it, knocking the papers and organizers on the right side all over the floor.
The mess distracts me from the nasty feeling in my chest, and I laugh, enjoying the way my brain buzzes.
Real feelings are dangerous. Synthetic ones? Those are safe. More than safe, they’re comforting. Like getting wrapped in a hug by someone who would never hurt you. They keep all the bad feelings out.
It feels like the weight has lifted off my shoulders, and I laugh more, sinking into a state of euphoria.
Adam drops to his knees in front of me, shuffling with my zipper.
I let him, leaning my head back and groaning when he palms my dick.
My soft dick. It’s always hard to get it up on this stuff.
But it doesn’t matter, because the world is softening and Adam’s skin is so fucking silky.
I rub the skin on his neck, closing my eyes and getting lost in the togetherness of it.
I want Adam to get closer, to rub all over me, but he’s just obsessed with my dick—my half-hard dick.
I want to just exist here forever. No longer looking over my shoulder.
No longer on guard for anyone who wants to undermine this organization.
No longer running from whatever feelings want to overwhelm me.
For a second, I let myself believe that could be possible.
It must be longer than a second, because when I blink my eyes open again, I’m in the chair behind the desk. Adam is gone, but my dick is still out, my pants halfway down my thighs. I wonder if he got me off? Multiple times? Sometimes when I’m on Molly, I lose track of time.
Pulling my pants up, I grab my phone, and instead of turning it on, I just stare at it. I wonder if Bathroom Boy has ever tried Molly? He would look so pretty under me with his mouth full of my dick.
I’m startled by a knock at the door. It’s Bella, the bartender. Or Barb? I can’t remember. She slides a few papers my way.
Fuck, is it closing time already? That means it’s five in the morning.
“Thanks,” I say.
Bertha doesn’t even glance at the mess in my office. She just turns and leaves.
I sigh, staring at the papers. It looks like an application. Are we hiring more bartenders?
My gaze swims, and I pinch the space between my eyebrows as my gut clenches.
Why in the fuck do I ever allow myself to believe that I can stop being on guard?
It will always be my job to protect the club.
To be the invisible guard keeping the bad things out, while everyone else runs things in the front.
To be the perpetual mood stabilizer. Nothing bad ever gets in. Nothing.
I sign both papers and put them in my outgoing folder. Congrats to The Hunter’s Club’s newest bartenders, or whatever the fuck they are.