“Sal …” Theo growls.
“Hang on,” I say tightly, hitting the mute button and setting the phone down on my nightstand. I stalk into my bathroom, grabbing a hand towel from the neat pile my maid has arranged for me. Returning to the bedroom, I avoid Scarlett’s stare as I reach between Katya’s legs and pull out the vibrator. It makes a wet slurping noise as it comes out, and I grimace as I use another part of the towel to switch the thing off, tossing it in the trash basket in my bathroom.
Katya pants heavily, looking at me through far too much mascara and smudged eyeliner. Her red lipstick is smeared across her face, and I thank Christ that I had a good long shower this morning and scrubbed the bright red rings off my cock.
Colorstay lipstick is hot, but not when it won’t wash off your balls.
I clear my throat awkwardly as I start undoing the ropes that secure Katya to my massive bed. She’s been spread-eagled for at least two hours, maybe more. I mean, I left her here, went to the restaurant, got the car sorted with Theo, picked up those Irish bitches, totalled the car (thanks Theo), lost the girls, found Scarlett, and carjacked a cab driver.
And all the while, Katya was having orgasms tied to my bed. Poor thing, I think sarcastically. Wish I could switch my fucking morning with hers. Multiple orgasms doesn’t sound too shoddy right now, faced with the very real possibility that I might be dead by nightfall.
I think of last night, of coming down Katya’s throat and all over her face, my dick a little sad that it might not never fuck again. Since, you know, I’ll be buried in Bleecker Gardens in a couple hours at the rate things are going.
“I can’t believe you left me here,” Katya says.
I raise my eyebrows at her. “You told me to leave you here.”
“I thought you were running to Starbucks!” she repeats.
“You should really get her a latte or something,” Scarlett pipes up from her spot in the corner. “Caffeine withdrawal is a bitch.”
“Yeah,” I say, undoing the last knot on Katya’s ankle. “Almost as bad as alcohol withdrawal, right?”
Her mouth forms a tight line, and I can tell I’ve pissed her off.
Good.
Dun dun dundundundun dundundun …
Fuck! Theo’s hung up and re-dialled. I snatch the phone up, answering it again. “I’m dealing with a fucking situation here!” I yell.
“You leave the phone now?” Theo screeches, so loud I have to pull the phone away from my ear. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Katya pulling her clothes on. I suppose she doesn’t want to stick around and shower, since I’ve just tied a chick up and shot a TV screen in front of her.
I can’t say I blame her.
“I’m a little busy!” I say to my brother.
“Have you got Kaitlin?” he asks impatiently.
“No,” I reply. “But I have someone who knows where she is.” I look at Scarlett, who appears bored, annoyed and amused all at the same time. One thing she doesn’t appear is scared, and that unsettles me greatly. She’s cool as a motherfucking cucumber.
“Who?” Theo demands. I hear a loud crash.
“Some chick who’s hiding her,” I explain. “Bro, have you got the bodyguard under control?”
“Yeah,” Theo huffs. I hear another crash.
“I gotta go,” Theo says breathlessly. “Answer your fucking phone next time.”
He ends the call, and I stare at the screen for a moment, debating whether I should shoot it or not. Taking a deep breath, I shove the phone in my pocket. It can live, for now.
“Are you going to fuck her?” Katya says, her eyes narrowed. The phone call forgotten, I snap to my senses just in time to see Katya dressed and looming over Scarlett. Who, to her credit, looks entirely unperturbed by the tall, blonde Russian chick with murder in her eyes.
I rush over, push her away from Scarlett and hand her her shoes. “I’m going to torture her, and then I’m probably going to shoot her and bury her out back. If you’re jealous, Katya, pull up a fucking seat and I’ll do the same to you.”
She swallows thickly, glances at Scarlett one last time, and backs slowly out of the room. A few moments later, I hear my front door slam.
“You said you weren’t going to shoot me,” Scarlett says.
I ball my fists up. “I’m not.”
She’s quiet for a beat. Then, “I think that chick pissed the bed.”
I’m gonna smash something. Scarlett’s face is too pretty, and if I wasn’t so wound up I’d probably be crying my Italian ass off laughing at her inane comments, but right now? I need to smash something.
“It could be worse,” Scarlett says, clearly goading me. “At least she didn’t shit the bed.”
TEN
THEO