Roulette Page 3

  He apologized to Henrietta and she had waved her hand then decided I needed out of my urine soaked clothes. I don’t know how she did it but within hours I had a shower and was wearing the prettiest dress I ever owned.

  Jack was sentenced to rehab, al-anon, and then the worst punishment of all: he had to rebuild his car with Dad. And somewhere amongst all that Dad and Henrietta had fallen in love, gotten married and I became Cinderella. Moving from the car to the castle.

  As fast as they had come into our lives, Jack and Rie, as Dad had called her, were gone. Snatched away from us as if fate was punishing us for getting everything we’d ever wanted. Both of them were killed instantly by a drunk driver almost two years ago, blocks away from where Jack had almost killed me. Destiny completing the original cycle but with more loss. Much more loss.

  Yes, I had been older when he had come into my life, but he had truly been the brother of my heart. I adored him and now he was gone.

  Both Dad and I now had more money than we knew what to do with, but both of us still felt like we were back under that bridge.

  When I was seventeen, Jack told me I was his heir. When I asked why, he said he never wanted me to wind up under a bridge again, my fate held hostage by some drunk asshole in a car and no brains in his head.

  I don’t know how long I sat on the floor, mourning Jack. A part of me wanted to stay down here forever. Rubbing my hand over my sore heart, I gave myself one more minute. One more minute to get myself together, to miss him. Closing my eyes, I breathed through the hot clench around heart.

  I hated when I was asked how a twenty-three year old university student was able to afford everything. I wasn’t a rich trust fund baby like Lash and crew. I had received everything that was Jack’s because I had been the sister of his heart.

  Chapter 3

  I don’t know why I went to Aluminum. The Dog Pound wasn’t hard to find. Alexandria Karr and Patrice Darling were on the dance floor, putting on a show for everyone with the way they were grinding against each other. They were an odd pair.

  Alexandria, or as she was known – X, was tall and slender like a model; beautiful with dramatic features and her wavy black hair and deep blue eyes. She was smart as hell but seemed to have no desire to use her brains. Patrice, her best friend, was fair and short. While she was excessively pretty, she wasn’t overly smart. She was only twenty-eight and she’d made some bad choices in her life. If a guy was an abusive asshole, she’d fall in love with him. If a guy was after her money, she’d happily give it to him. Not just spend it, but give it to him. And if she didn’t have a jerk guy, she was with X.

  Apparently their weird sexual relationship was on again with the way they rubbed together while eating each other’s mouths like they were going to hit the floor right there. X was openly gay and it caused a lot of friction between the pair because Patrice’s bisexuality was firmly entrenched in the closet except for moments like this.

  I didn’t know if Patrice was in love with X or if it was just a co-dependency, but her bad choices usually happened when the two weren’t lovers. As if she couldn’t function without X.

  I was pretty sure they were amused by me and kept me around out of some warped loyalty to Jack. Or maybe I had kept them around after he died. They had been his friends and I had been the stray puppy who had chased after them. I inherited them after Jack’s death. I wasn’t entirely sure if they considered me one of them, I just knew I felt like the odd one out in the group.

  Scanning the crowd, I spotted Lash. He wasn’t hard to miss. He held court on the raised section by the dance floor; one foot rested on the railing, the other braced on the floor like this morning. It was such a blatantly sexual position that it was no wonder girls flocked to him. One was perched on his thigh and was tracing his tattoo sleeve, while he watched the antics of Patrice and X on the dance floor with cynical amusement.

  I guess two girls making out, even if you’d known them for years, was something that all guys watched. God knew where the bitch of a fiancé of his was. She didn’t care if he fucked around because she often joined in on the debauchery. They were a strange couple. Very, very strange.

  Torrell Marks was draped over a chair, flirting with a girl with massive boobs. I was ninety-five percent sure that his arm dangling over the back of his chair was up her skirt. He was the only one besides me who was in school. Not out of choice though. It was a requirement for him to one day inherit the family empire. Once a month, he flew here from Harvard. Not so much because he missed us but because he didn’t want to lose his position in the group. There was a wolf-pack like structure to the group. The top of the food chain was Wellsley Darling. After all these years I still didn’t know how they determined who was where in the pecking order. However, I was pretty sure I was at the bottom.

  I wondered what bullshit story he was feeding her: that he was a dethroned African Prince who had sought asylum as a child or he was an African slave who had murdered his slaver and run for freedom. If Torr had been to Africa, I’d be surprised. In truth he was the third son of a cut-throat lawyer and mega-successful businessman. He had zero ambition, a shit ton of charm and the need to fuck his way from sea to shining sea.

  Mason Henderson the fifth, or Five as we called him, already looked trashed. He and Patrice were our messy ones. While Patrice’s weakness was asshole men, Five’s was whatever made him high.

  Once upon a time, Five had been beautiful. Before his demons began to slip to the surface with all his addictions, Five had looked like those classical marble statues. Half Japanese, he had a timeless male beauty that made everyone stop and stare , both men and women. Now his slender body was terrifyingly skinny, his dark eyes almost faded as if the light was dying within him. His black hair clearly hadn’t seen shampoo in a couple of days and the longish strands hung in his eyes. Jere had predicted he’d be dead by thirty. Even though Five had passed thirty a couple of years ago, he was spiralling down hard and fast with the way he consumed drugs.

  Jesus, I really hoped last night hadn’t been him. The thought of sex with him terrified me. Sure he was pretty, but God knew what he did for his hits so anything could be swirling around in his blood with all the drugs. It didn’t matter that Lash required written evidence no one at his roulette nights was packing an STI but shit happened. Yes, there had been condoms but still...anything could be living in him and that was a little terrifying.

  The last in our dysfunctional group was Patrice’s older brother, Wells. He was everything his sister wasn’t. He sought approval from nobody, so naturally girls puddled at his feet. He was hard and cruel like Lash and Jere. The man was entirely too good looking despite the fact that he wasn’t a physically beautiful man. He was captivating. His body was lean beneath his expensive suit. His face was all hard angles and sharp edges. His eyes held a hint of cruelty that made people uncomfortable to maintain eye contact. Even with the edge to him that let a person know he was not a nice man. He wasn’t even a good man. When I first came into their world, a naïve ten year old from the wrong side of the tracks, I had crushed on him.

  Hard.

  Blatantly.

  Thanks to the idiotic name of the Dog Pound I was the puppy who followed Wells everywhere. I hadn’t just crushed on him, I had worshipped him. He had known and he had exploited my foolish feelings until he turned them to ash.

  Again I hoped it hadn’t been Wells. I couldn’t handle another emotional beat down from him.

  Would they notice if I melted into the crowd and disappeared? These weren’t friends of mine. I inherited them when Jack died. I was nothing to them. Nobody.

  Wells spotted me first and that direct gaze locked onto me, daring me to do exactly what I wanted to do. He was the alpha wolf and you showed no weakness. Was it you? I walked up the stairs that were clear and made me feel light-headed. The floor was also the same so you could see those below and they could see you. I always feared that I was going to topple through the floor so I never wore heels here. The vertigo
alone had me shaking and sweating. The walls were what gave the club its name. They were sheets of brushed chrome that made me feel like I was falling down the rabbit hole when lights and lasers bounced off it.

  Wells kicked the chair Five was in. He abandoned it immediately, fetching one from somewhere else. I sat, wishing I hadn’t come. Wells flicked his fingers and a waitress appeared instantly. I didn’t even need to open my mouth as he ordered a lemon drop martini.

  As I looked around the table of gorgeous male specimens, I realized that searching BDSM before coming here had to be one of the worst ideas ever. Information and images buzzed through my brain and tiny endorphins of “me likey” pinged through my body. Reaching for the martini glass before me, I fought the urge to squirm in my chair.

  I needed to stop obsessing about last night. I needed to let it go. Learning who had brought me to a screaming orgasm, more than once, wasn’t going to do me any favours. Without any hesitation, I tipped the glass back and drained it, shuddering as the combination of vodka, lemon and triple sec raced through my system.

  A quiet and regretful “oh” escaped as I peered into my empty glass. Within minutes a new one appeared and I promised to make this one last. Sipping, definitely sipping the drink, I watched a couple of girls my age approach the table. When we were in clubs, this was a common sight. Women flocked to the guys while guys were constantly hitting on Patrice and X. The men of the Dog Pound were way too good looking, had way too much money and exuded a “fuck you all” attitude that was like some kind of pheromones to vaginas. The two girls were hopelessly outclassed and I wished them all the luck in the world.

  At some point my glass emptied and a fresh one appeared. Bored with this show that I’d seen hundreds of times, I turned my attention elsewhere. Five was slumped in his chair, his long legs stretched before him as he contemplated whatever or nothing. The first time I had tried one of his pills had been around Christmas. He always had some kind of shit on him from marijuana to ecstasy to crack to stuff I didn’t even know what it was. My knowledge of Five was pretty limited so I didn’t know the reason behind his addiction. In the past two years, it had been seriously skidding out of control though to the point it felt like Death was hanging out with him, waiting for that moment when it all went to hell.

  We had been in this very club, and as usual I was watching the group, when Patrice dipped her hand into Five’s pocket and came out with a rainbow collection of pills. Catching me observing, she leaned forward and held a pink one against my lips: “Be the joy, Amy,” she’d said, and so tired of hurting, I had. That night none of it had mattered. Everything disappeared: the hollow feeling in my chest when I thought about my brother, the guilt that I had all this shit because he was gone. Suddenly life was good. Life was amazing. And Merry fucking Christmas to everyone!!

  Sensing my eyes on him, Five blinked and looked at me. At me. Not the air behind me or the space above me, but at me. While his eyes, devoid of life and joy that nothing chemical could provide for him now, stared at me, my phone buzzed in my back pocket. I always brought three things with me: lipstick, credit card and my phone. A purse was such a hassle in a dance club. If I dressed like Patrice and X, I’d have to remember my purse at the end of the night or trust someone else to. Jeans had pockets for a reason.

  Shifting in my chair, I drew it out to stare at the message on the screen.

  No.

  Frowning, I opened it up, not recognizing the number. Sorry. Wrong number. I shoved it away and settled back, my attention returning to Five and his pockets of forgetfulness.

  I wondered where he got them. How did the wealthy son of one of the city’s imminent citizens get that much narcotics? Did he sell them or horde them for himself, doling out a couple for Patrice?

  My phone wiggled and vibrated once more and I pulled it out to see another message from the same number. No.

  Frowning, I opened up the conversation. Wrong. Number.

  Almost instantly there was a return. Do you want to know what happens if you say yes to Five’s fleeting moment of happiness, Amy?

  My head snapped up and I looked around. One of the girl’s from earlier was straddling Lash’s lap, her cheeks flushed because his hands were up under her dress, hiked up from her position. Whatever he was doing under there was making her feel really good; he was watching her like I imaged a shark eyed dinner. I stared blankly for a moment as she shivered and gasped, my own sex remembering last night. There was a responding tingle between my legs as I watched Lash work the girl over him. Christ, last night was messing with me if I was getting turned on by his antics. Shaking my head, I looked away. He was too busy to text anyway.

  Her friend was flirting heavily and blatantly with Wells who managed to look bored and amused, as if this was both the funniest and dullest shit he had ever experienced. Maybe it was. These guys didn’t play around. They were like predators. They toyed with their prey and before they were done fucking them, they had already moved on from the moment.

  Torr’s tongue was buried in the mouth of the girl he had been flirting with when I arrived. She too straddled his lap, both of them moving like he was balls deep in her.

  No one held a phone. No one was paying any attention to me, not even Five who had moved on to sipping his drink and ignoring the world. I looked back down at my phone that was silent. I typed Who is this? with shaking fingers because I knew the answer to that. I knew.

  Four.

  If you take that pill, I will not put cuffs on you that will make your cunt melt for me. I will not use my rope on you in a way you can’t imagine. I will not introduce your ass to my hand. I will not make you beg. I will not fill that wet, eager cunt with my cock. I will not flood you with my cum even as I deny you your orgasm until I’m good and ready.

  Decide.

  Now.

  My thighs were squeezed together by the time he put in the last word, my panties soaked and my nipples tingling. My hands barely functioned as I asked who this was again. Nothing. No response.

  Wiping my damp hand on my jeans, I cleared my throat and tapped Tonight? to the number I didn’t know. I waited, anticipation moving through me so that I swore I felt my blood moving. I peeked up, scanning the guys for any hint. The air felt alive and I swore I felt the music vibrating in my clit. I returned to my phone, needing to know the answer. Needing to know who he was.

  The response came and made me pause: EVER.

  Jesus. I drained my third lemon drop, shaking. Desperate to not explode, I went over to the railing that surrounded where the Dog Pound reigned. Sitting down, I grabbed the lower rung and slid under, letting gravity take me down the short distance to the dance floor where I lost myself for a while in the steady bass.

  There was enough alcohol in me that I didn’t care that I was dancing alone, the text threat moving through me. Or was it promise? Both? What did I want?

  A guy came up to me with even more booze in his body. He was cute, but more importantly he knew how to dance and he wasn’t with the Dog Pound. “I’m Lee,” he shouted over the acidic beats of the music.

  “Kelly,” I lied. He grinned and drew me close, grinding against me. I loved dancing. Any kind, anywhere, it was a joy that had been indulged once Dad and I didn’t have to worry about money when he married Jack’s mother. I didn’t have the figure to do more than enjoy every dance class I could take. I was never going to be a professional dancer: I had neither the body nor the desire. For me, it was simply a love of movement. From ballet to modern to ballroom to belly to tap and beyond, I loved it all. I moved with him, throwing aside all the shit. I’d worry about everything later. Right now it was me, the music and a guy named Lee.

  “Damn, you dance sexy for a chubby girl,” he said in my ear, grinding his dick into my ass.

  I turned to face him and hooked my hand around his neck. His lids lowered and he worked me over his erection as if he thought this was a sure thing. I was tipsy, I wasn’t drunk. Last night confused the hell out of me, but that didn�
�t mean I was going to bone the first guy whose face I saw. “Bye, loser Lee.” I wiggled my fingers at him and left him standing there, dick hard and easy lay not so easy. Chubby? Fucking dick.

  Fingers curled around my wrist, and I was yanked to a stop. Lee didn’t look so cute and preppy now as he sneered at me. “Listen, you cock tease, you don’t get to walk away from me.”

  “Listen to me, you self-indulgent, douchebag prick, if you don’t let go, all holy hell will rain down on you.”

  “By who?”

  I stepped into him and without hesitating slammed my knee up into his groin. “Me, asshole. And this is me walking away.”

  Adrenalin had me shaking out my hands as I left Lee grabbing his nuts and sinking to his knees. I despised guys like that. Guys who assumed a girl paying attention to them were sending out “fuck me” vibes. Guys who assumed girls like me who weren’t designer knock offs would fuck anyone. Guys who had zero respect for women. Period.

  Okay. So yes, last night I had anonymous sex but that had been because of me. And that letter. That god damn letter of how one of the guys wanted me.

  Me.

  Not because it was pity or a dare to shake shit up. Jesus. I hoped that wasn’t the case.

  I frowned and shook my head as I pushed and body checked my way to the bar. I was not going to let my insecurities taint last night. Yeah, I was mildly freaked out but the sex had been a-freaking-mazing. And now there was the text.

  It surprised me how much I wanted what was in that text. While I waited, I absently rubbed my left wrist remembering the weight of the cuff. It wasn’t the anonymity that haunted my body. From the minute I had consented to Four’s letter, he had absolute control over the night, even when he hadn’t been there. That had been insanely erotic. Submitting to him sight unseen had hit sexy buttons I didn’t even know existed within me.