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Shit.
She actually looks fucking concerned.
“Three big black cars just pulled up outside, and a bunch of dudes with guns just got out of it. So, uh.”
My heart drops into my stomach.
I grab Becky by the arm.
“We need to move away from the door.”
So, Becky, Liam, Mysti May, a dozen white lilies, two dozen black roses, three delivery boys and I rush down the hall to join Percy, Ladyboy Celine Dion, and a joint-smoking monkey in the living room…
Just in time to narrowly avoid the Bangkok mafia kicking down the door.
Men with guns pour into the room, and for once, it’s not my dumb ass on the line for a change.
Instead, we all move protectively around Percy, whose pink hair is starting to look less like a big dumb mistake and more like a half-assed attempt to conceal her identity…
Or a target.
Because if she thought changing her hair color would change the heart of the mafia don…
It didn’t fucking work.
I open my mouth to tell him,You know what? Fuck off.Forcing his way into a private hotel room with all these gun-wielding mafiosos might be how things work in his world, but we’reAmericans, dammit. Even if hedidsuccessfully kidnap, murder or—god forbid—marry Percy—we have one of the most rabid, sensationalized medias in the goddamn world.
He might not care about dealing with the police or the legal system or the government, but the second a major news organization gets hold ofthisparticular story, his ass is grass—and not the kind that the monkey dangling from the chandelier is smoking, either.
At the same time, he openshismouth. Probably to continue his monologue from earlier—that if he can’t have Percy, no one can. Lots of guns, much shoot, yadda yadda, et cetera,marry me or else.
It’s so fucking predictable that not even the fear of being riddled with bullets is gonna stop me from rolling my eyes at it all right now.
But before either of us says anything, something funny happens.
The monkey—this damn fucking monkey upon whom I’ve low-key been placing the blame for all my fucking problems—the Weed Monkey makes the strangest happy little chattering noise and swings down from the chandelier…
Right into the mafia don’s arms.
And into the mafia don’s open mouth…
The monkey places its joint.
So, we’re staring at the mafia don with baited breath, feeling prettywhat the fuckand wondering what the hell he’s going to do next.
And the mafia don is staring back at us…with pretty much the same expression on his face.
At some point, one of the mafiosos has the bright idea to whip out a lighter and set the joint aflame…
And just like that, the tension dissipates.
“You found my monkey!” the mafia don exclaims.
And damned if he doesn’t take that fucking monkey into his arms and hug the little bastard tight.
I’ll be honest…at that point, I’m out.
I head out to the balcony—the same balcony where Lock and I fucked last night. The last twenty-four hours have been so fucking insane that I’m having trouble taking it all in.
