Wrong Series: Wrong Part 15

"I'm Big Ole' Boy--"

I shake my head and glower at him. "Don't ever use your handle like that, dips.h.i.+t."

His eyes widen and he quickly nods. "Yeah, sorry."

I clasp my hand over his shoulder and squeeze harder than I should. "You got my money?"

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an envelope. I sit on a barstool and drag the envelope across the bartop. I pull the flap open and dump the cash onto the counter. The man's eyes nearly bulge out of his head as he nervously glances around the bar like he expects a SWAT team to swarm in at any second.

"Relax," I groan as I spread out the cash and count it. I lock my eyes on him, glaring. "You f.u.c.k around like that again and make me wait on my money and I'll cut your f.u.c.king b.a.l.l.s off. Got it?"

He nods, cautiously backing away from the bar.

"And don't run late to another appointment with me," I continue to hold his stare as I pull a cigarette from my pocket and light it. "It's f.u.c.king rude," I snarl, smoke billowing from my lips. The guy's just standing here frozen in place looking at me like I'm the f.u.c.king Wizard of Oz. "f.u.c.king go!" I shoo him with my hand and he quickly turns to leave.

Pinching the cigarette between my lips, I mumble, "Dumba.s.s," as I stack the bills together, I glance up to the stage and watch one of the girls swing around the pole as I pull my wallet from my pocket. I take another puff and cram the money inside as I make my way back to the dressing room.

I have the cigarette halfway to my lips when I open the door, and I freeze in place. Tor's sprawled out on the sofa, legs draped over the arm, with a near empty bottle of tequila clutched in her hand, and a drunk grin plastered to her face. She glances up at me and rolls her eyes as she waves her hands through the air. "Dum, dum, duuum!"

I pull in a long drag and arch a brow at her. "Really?" I ask stepping toward her and s.n.a.t.c.hing the bottle. "Who the f.u.c.k gave her liquor?" I look accusingly around the room at the girls who are all giggling. I drop my smoke into an empty gla.s.s and shake my head.

One of them shrugs. "Coco thought it'd be fun to see a British chick drunk."

Slapping my palm over my forehead, I groan. "For f.u.c.k's sake."

"You need to improve your vocabulary." Tor slurs. "It's always f.u.c.k this, f.u.c.k that. So angry." She shakes her head.

Coco walks past me, swaying her hips and smiling. "She's funny. I like her, she's got some s.p.u.n.k," she says as she leaves the room.

Tor grins. This is going to be a f.u.c.king ball ache for sure. "All right. Come on. Time to go."

She staggers to her feet and stumbles away from me. "Nooo!"

Is she trying to f.u.c.king run? f.u.c.king h.e.l.l I exhale, preparing to throw her over my shoulder and cart her drunk-a.s.s out, when the announcer comes over the speakers. "And please welcome the lovely Miss Coco Chanel to the stage."

Tor jumps up, squealing. "Oh, I promised Coco I'd watch her dance. I need some money to put in her panties." She darts to the door, her shoulder slamming into the frame as she runs out.

"What the..." I walk out after her, shaking my head.

She makes a beeline for the stage and plops down in an empty seat. Tor glares at me, looking around before her eyes fall back on mine. A guy near us turns and drags his eyes over her body before winking at her. He's blatantly undressing her with his eyes. She scowls at him.

"All right, let's go." I reach down to grab her hand and she s.n.a.t.c.hes it away from me.

She rolls her eyes. "I can't believe that I am having to try and convince you to drink and watch strippers."

"Fine." I shrug and take a seat in the chair next to her.

The guy gawking at her whistles. "Hey, sweet thing, you gonna crawl up there and show them girls how it's done?" he slurs, swaying in his chair.

Tor nervously laughs and scoots her chair closer to me, and the guy keeps staring. He stands and she immediately hops up and drops in my lap. I frown and tilt my head to look at her. "Excuse me?"

She leans in close to me, her hands flat against my chest. The smell of tequila nearly knocks me out of my chair. "That guy is creepy," she whispers, her breath blowing over my neck. The fact that I am now her safety is beyond f.u.c.ked up. I s.h.i.+ft her weight in my lap.

I place my hand on her leg and glare at the guy. His eyes immediately redirect to the stage. Her eyes drop to my hand. "Would you get your hand off of me?"

"Relax, Tor." I lean in to her ear. "You put yourself here, don't blame a guy for taking advantage. I promise I won't bite." I whisper teasingly as I place my hand on her thigh. "Try to relax, maybe even enjoy yourself."

She eyes my hand on her leg. "I'm pretty b.l.o.o.d.y sure that's something the devil says to you when he welcomes you to h.e.l.l." She huffs then glances back over to the guy still eyeing her. "And just so you know, I'm only sitting on you so I don't get raped."

Smiling, I sweep her hair to the side. "Well, at least you think I won't do that." I hold my gaze with hers, watching her. A giddy squeal comes from behind me. "JP!" I turn, coming eye level with a pair nipples at attention.

"You don't come around as much as you used to. It makes all us girls sad." Tara leans over and presses a kiss to my cheek as her eyes fix on Tor. "Is this your new girl?"

"Not exactly." I angle my head to look at Tor and catch her roll her eyes.

"Oh, Crystal's gonna be so mad at you!" Tara bats her fake eyelashes. "Want some drinks?"

Tor hiccups, and I pull in a breath. She's f.u.c.king drunk as p.i.s.s, and I'm going to need a drink to handle her for the thirty minute drive back home. "Get me a whiskey, would you?"

Tara nods and trots over to the bar. Tor glares at me, crossing her arms over her chest. "Where's my drink?"

I c.o.c.k a brow at her. "You already had your bottle. You don't need another drink. You'll just throw up."

"I haven't had nearly enough," she grumbles. "At least not enough to deal with this h.e.l.l hole."

Just as Tor mumbles that, Tara leans in with a tray of drinks. She looks Tara over from head to toe. "Tell Caleb to call me, would you?" Tara says.

"Yeah, sure."

She struts off, shaking her a.s.s as she makes her way over to a man holding out a fistful of cash. "Oh, b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l no! Not Caleb." Tor shakes her head. "Please tell me he's not sticking his d.i.c.k in that nasty s.h.i.+t."

I laugh and squeeze her thigh, allowing my eyes to drift up to the girl on the stage. "Oh, come on, now. All men f.u.c.k strippers."

"Gambling, murder, and wh.o.r.es. Might as well complete the repertoire, I guess."

I direct my attention back to her. "Would you expect any less of me?"

She shrugs, slowly moving my hand from her leg and placing it on the arm of the chair. "My expectations of you are extremely low, Jude."

Ain't that the f.u.c.king truth?

"So"-I arch a brow at her-"how's h.e.l.l treating you?"

"h.e.l.l has tequila. It could be worse." She shrugs and pets my cheek like a d.a.m.n dog "You're an a.r.s.ehole, but you're a really pretty a.r.s.ehole," she slurs, the scent of tequila blows across my face.

f.u.c.king h.e.l.l. She's soused.

"You're drunk."

I toss my head back, laughing. "s.h.i.+t, I need to be drunk around you. h.e.l.l, someone just hook me up to a f.u.c.king drip. Make this s.h.i.+t permanent."

He slumps back against the chair, running his fingers through his short hair and sighing. "f.u.c.k. I have a feeling you're gonna be even more annoying drunk than sober."

"Nope." I pop the 'p' at the end of the word, and that causes him to narrow his eyes on me, almost condescending. "Drunk Ria is finding you much more tolerable."

I try to focus on what I know will be a scowl on his face, but my vision is still blurred. f.u.c.k, I'm more p.i.s.sed than an owl in socks. Not my brightest idea.

"Let's see how long it takes drunk Tor to throw up." The b.a.s.t.a.r.d is smirking over his gla.s.s at me.

A waitress, if you could call her that, prances over, stopping behind us. She tosses her bleached-blonde hair behind her shoulder and wiggles her hips. I can't help but watch her b.o.o.bs. They're bigger than my b.l.o.o.d.y head. I place a hand each side of my head and try to compare it. Jude c.o.c.ks an eyebrow at me. What? I mouth at him.

"Would you like some more drinks, JP?" she asks.

"Yes!" I shout, at the same time as Jude growls no. I shove my erect middle finger in his face as I smile at the waitress. "Tequila!"

Another annoyed groan rumbles out of him, and he's rubbing both his hands down his face. I swear to G.o.d, he sounds like an animal, like an actual growling, snarling animal. The waitress scurries away, fake b.o.o.bs bouncing as she goes. I don't blame her. Cheery here isn't exactly the best company.

He points at me. "You don't need another f.u.c.king drink, woman. Your f.u.c.king eyes are crossing already!"

"I can still see and hear you, which means I haven't had nearly enough to drink." I smile and turn up my empty gla.s.s.

"Oh," he nods, one brow arching, and I can't tell if he's angry or challenging me. "You want to get drunk? I'll get your a.s.s drunk." He grabs a waitress pa.s.sing by. "Six shots of tequila."

I watch the waitress nod and prance off. "Fina-f.u.c.king-lly," I drawl. "You're so....gnarly all the time."

I catch a slight grin flicker over his lips. "Hmm," he laughs. "Don't really know any other way to be, doll."

Two hours and f.u.c.k knows how many tequila shots later, and I'm so p.i.s.sed that even a.r.s.ehole extraordinaire over here isn't seeming that bad. In fact, he's looking pretty f.u.c.king hot. I squint and focus on his bulging biceps, the ink of his tattoos bringing a whole new level of s.e.xy bada.s.s to the table.

"You're really hench," I slur as I hang off Jude's arm. We're leaving apparently, but it's slow progress. I can't feel my legs...or my face...or anything, really. I'm beautifully numb, and everything just seems so much better.

"Hench?" He glares at me, dragging me toward the door. "Would you speak f.u.c.king English?"

"Muscley. Pretty." I grope at his arm. "You're really pretty."

He's so pretty. I want to touch him. I reach out and stroke his face.

"Okay." He jerks his head away. "I'm not a f.u.c.king dog," he says, and then proceeds to stumble into the wall.

I laugh, and point at him. "You are definitely a dog...and a rat. A drunk rat." What am I even talking about?

He slumps against the wall, mumbling as he pulls his phone from his pocket. "f.u.c.k, I can't drive." He fumbles with his phone and drops it onto the lobby floor. "s.h.i.+t."

I bend down and pick it up, dropping onto my a.r.s.e. I squint at the bright screen, trying to get my eyes to focus. "I can't see! f.u.c.k!"

He eyes me, his gaze narrowing. "That voice of yours..." he groans, taking the phone from my hands and placing it to his ear.

"Hey, I need you to come get me." There's a brief pause. "Just come get me. I'm at the t.i.tty bar." He groans and shoves his phone back in his pocket. He shakes his head and looks around. "You can't be all sprawled out on the floor of my club." Bending over, he picks me up and slings me over his shoulder. "You need fresh air anyway." He carts me out of the doors and into the parking lot.

"Jude." I try to struggle, but I can barely lift my own arm. The air is cold, but I can't feel it. I have my alco-jacket. I have to close one eye to see straight. The club gets farther away as we move deeper into the shadows. His breathing is ragged and with each step his grip on my thigh tightens. He stops under the shadow of a tree. I can't see anything and I have to squint in the dim light from the club. We're far enough away that no one can hear us. No one can see us.

He puts me down, my body sliding over every inch of his on the way down. I wobble slightly and his arms tighten around me, pulling me against him. He says nothing for what feels like forever. His eyes are locked on mine, a dim green in the fading lights of the car park. His hand moves, his fingers inching under the hem of my top to brush the skin at the small of my back. My skin p.r.i.c.kles under his warm touch. I'm drawn to him like a moth to a very sparkly, very pretty flame. What the f.u.c.k? I frown as I try to work through my tequila-induced fog. What am I doing here? How did this happen? s.h.i.+t. How much did I drink? You know it's too f.u.c.king much when the murderous psychopath is starting to look appealing. Well, technically he's my protector now. Does that make it okay? f.u.c.k knows. My drunken mind can't work this out right now.

He bends forward, his lips brus.h.i.+ng my earlobe as he speaks. "I can practically hear you thinking, Tor." Brus.h.i.+ng his index finger across my forehead, he smooths out the frown lines. His breath blows across my face. The scent of tequila and tobacco invade my senses, causing my head to spin. I cling to him, not because I'm drunk, but because I want to, and that right there scares the s.h.i.+t out of me.

He pulls back and his eyes flick down to my mouth. He closes his eyes on a groan as though he's struggling with something.

"What am I thinking?" I blurt, my voice husky, like some kind of b.l.o.o.d.y s.e.x phone hooker.

His lips pull up in a wicked smile. My breath hitches in my lungs. Oh, G.o.d, that smile makes my heart stutter and then break into a sprint.

His hand moves to the nape of my neck, grabbing a fistful of my hair. "I'll tell you what I'm thinking." He slams me against the trunk, the rough bark sc.r.a.ping against my skin. His breath touches my neck and I s.h.i.+ver violently. His teeth skim over my pulse before he bites down.

I groan, and my back bows away from the tree, scrambling to get closer, demanding more.

I can't control myself. I just want him, and I don't care about the complications or the consequences. I gasp as his body presses against mine. He releases my hair and his fingers skim down my neck, gripping it lightly, dominating me with every breath. My pulse skyrockets as my body basks in his dominance. I can feel every hard inch of him, the heat of his body through his s.h.i.+rt, his warm breath touching my lips, his fingers digging into the skin of my throat. He's everywhere. I can't escape him. I should be scared of him, but I'm not. I could blame the tequila, but can't deny that he affects me.

His hand creeps down my chest, skimming over my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, gliding down my stomach. He grips between my legs, squeezing through my jeans. I roll my hips into him, desperate for some pressure. Something! His breath caresses my neck as he kisses over the place he just nipped. My nails dig into his skin, raking over the back of his neck as my skin breaks out in goose b.u.mps.

With a growl, he grabs a handful of my hair, wrenching my head back. He tightens his arm around my waist and pulls me up on my tiptoes, crus.h.i.+ng his lips to mine. My fingers tug at his s.h.i.+rt, in a desperate bid to get closer to him. I want more. I need more. My body feels like it's on fire. I can't breathe properly. His tongue teases my lips, and my lips part.

"f.u.c.k," he growls against my mouth before I feel his teeth bite my bottom lip. He tugs at it gently and pushes his body harder, if that's even possible, against mine.

I moan and claw at him like a b.i.t.c.h in heat. f.u.c.k me. I have no shame right now, and I can't even be embarra.s.sed about that.

He rolls his hips against me, grinding his erection against my stomach. "d.a.m.n it," he hisses over my lips. He grips my waist, lifting me and pinning me to the tree with his hips.

My legs clamp around his waist and his fingers grip my thighs, digging into my skin. He buries his face in my neck, his lips working down my throat, kissing, nipping, and licking as they go. My head falls back as my hands seem to find their way into his hair, pulling him in, wanting more. I can't seem to get close enough to him. His lips continue their journey until he's biting the tops of my b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"Jude, where the h.e.l.l are you?" I hear a deep male voice shouting. "Jude?"

Raising his head from my chest, he glares at me. "I'm not done with you. Do you hear me?" he whispers, slamming his lips to mine one last time before slowly releasing me.

I don't answer him. I can't answer him. s.h.i.+t, I can barely breathe. My heart feels like it's trying to escape from my rib cage, and my knickers are in dire need of replacement.

He takes my hand and pulls me toward the parking lot. I stagger after him on shaky legs. The combination of tequila and Jude's lips have really done a number on my equilibrium. I can see a figure approaching us in the dark, and I instinctively cling to Jude.

"What the h.e.l.l were you doing?" It's Rich.

"None of your f.u.c.king business," Jude says, still pulling me behind him.

I follow him to a truck and he opens the door.

Rich glances at me. "She better not puke in my truck," he groans.

He can go suck a big one. I flick him the bird, feeling very brave with Jude half-sheltering me from his view. I cling to his arm, trying not to sway like the intoxicated mess that I am.

"Just f.u.c.king shut up and drive," Jude demands.