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“Why?”
These fucking escorts are for my best guys, and Marlow, of all people, is suspiciously at home by himself.
Marlow is silent for a moment before he speaks. “Listen, Arch, I don’t feel like partying.”
That’s new. I smirk. “Got a different entertainment going on?” I am fishing for more info. Shit.
“No. Just need some time alone.”
Since when?
I cut the call and down the second drink in one go.
I don’t feel like partying or having all these people in my villa either.
“Axavier! Get everyone out of here.”
He turns his head to me, gaping. “What do you mean?” He is staring at me like a fucking donkey.
“Dude! Which part do you not understand?” I say overly loud, then exhale. “Take them to you villa. Or somewhere else. I don’t care. Everyone!”
I know he is rolling his eyes. But he knows better than to argue. So he picks up his brunette and walks out onto the back terrace.
I drink slowly, pacing my sips as well as my breathing. In five minutes, the terrace and the pool are cleared, the absence of voices eerie in the disco setting of the pool lights and the screechy female vocal that blurts through the speakers.
My ribs are hurting, and so is my face. I take a pain killer, then make a line and snort it.
Fuck everyone.
“Corlo, music off,” I order as I walk to the couch. “Pool lights off.” I take a seat and sag against the couch. “Dim the lights.”
Perfect.
The voices in my head are too loud. Too many of them. Thoughts. Lists. Agendas. Faces. Katura. Droga. The blondie.
I either need to sober up or get drunk to sedate the motherfucking fun-fair in my head.
Today, it’s unbearable.
And then the voices in my head change into screams. There are flickers of flames. A bonfire higher than me.
“You don’t fucking care about people! Me or anyone!” Droga roars.
“She is a slut! And you are a fucking backstabber!” I roar back.
And then it’s a fistfight.
And Droga trips.
His body is engulfed by flames.
Sparks fly.
Collective gasps.
And a roar of a different kind…
My eyes snap open.
