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I shoot a disgusted look in Treat’s direction, his fist concealing a burst of laughter. “Did you snort that first line?” I thunder through narrowed vision. “Treat,” I add, fussing with the dry tickle in my throat. “I swear to all fucking Hell that if you gave this boy even a grain of blow,” my words falter, immediately requiring spit or something wet. “I’m gonna personally see to it that the university renege your admission,” I finish hoarsely.
Treat’s signatureCole Smirkpaints his face. “No, Reid,” he replies, scoffing.
I’ve had just about enough of his attitude, so I relent my clutch on Kragen. After ensuring my boy is stable enough to lean against the bathroom vanity, I take the four steps closer to give Treat a real reason to scoff.Fuck Hunter, he can be mad at me for setting his kid straight.
“Yeah?” I ask, my chin practically sinking into a shoulder. “How can I be so sure?” I continue gruffly berating him.
My palm mangles Treat’s slender neck like a fucking lime wedge. His mouth opens as if to speak, yet he pauses briefly while both eyes narrow. A split-second later, my face is met with red wet splotches of blood protruding from his nose.I guess there’s your answer, Reid. FUCCCKING EWW!
Shouting is heard coming from out in the little asswipe’s bedroom, presumably Hunter himself. “What’s going on in there?” He hollers, stepping in to see me about to snap his kid’s twiggy neck.
I recoil my hand immediately, glowering over at my chosen cousin. “Your fucking boy here was about to give Kragen his first taste of snow.”
Hunter gazes furiously into his kid’s mug. “Is this true?” He asks, almost surprised as if he doesn’t already know his boy’s been abusing drugs.
Treat coddles his neck, surely to welt or bruise from a strength even I didn’t know I had. “Yes, Father,” he replies, wiping the bloody nose with his wrist. “I think I need to go back to Waipi’o Glens for another stay.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
KRAGEN
Judging by the raging headache brewing, it’s apparent that I must have drank an entire sea of alcohol again. I wouldn’t put it past myself to make such a stupid decision, when I’ve practically been fucked senseless by a bona fide beast in the sheets this entire weekend. At least, I think it’s Sunday. At this point, I’m honestly surprised I remember my own name or where I even am. Though, now that I open my eyes, this room doesn’t look familiar at all.
Since my head seems to be reenacting the pounding detriments of Pearl Harbor, I raise a palm to indulge the pain as best I can. All the while shoving down each throng of nausea as it comes and goes in waves—basically every few seconds.What all did I have last night? Fuck! Was I too drunk to enjoy another prodding from my Island Daddy?
Maneuvering over in the bed, Reid’s beautiful face steals my attention when I finally muster the strength to confront a grievous ray of sun. It’s peeking in from a window larger than my whole bedroom back home, obscuring a clear sight of Daddy as I wipe away the exhaustion. He stares ever so gently, while a cavernous yawn falls from my mouth.
“Good morning, Banana Boy,” he mutters low. “Did we have a nice sleep?” He asks, sliding his arm across the pillow to comb each hair over my birthmark.
He’s simply enamored by my splotch of Michigan, and I still don’t know why.I wince, unable to hide my suffering any longer. The fact that I want to urp all over this bed might already be written on my face.
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” I reply, covering my lips.
Reid tenderly clicks his tongue far more solemnly than he ever has before. “You had quite a lot last night,” he says, rubbing a thumb down my cheek. “I bet you hardly remember any part of it.”
My head wavers, uncertain that I do either. “Not really,” I drone. “But I’m sure you’re about to tell me what a fool I made of myself last night anyways.”
“I wouldn’t intentionally do that to you, Kragen,” he affirms. “That’s not in a Daddy’s wheelhouse,” he adds, caressing my sick tummy. “It’s simply part of some unwritten credo that we remain protective and encouraging.”
Another wave of nausea. Fuck, I’m gonna blow chunks.“Where’s the fucking toilet!” I whine, leaping from my side of the bed faster than a kid on Christmas morning.
Reid points away from him on the left side of this room. “Over there, kiddo,” he replies quickly.
I waste zero time running into the bathroom. In a common restroom, the throne would be easily accessible. However, nothing is usual with Reid Fairchild. Wherever we are now, it’s apparent that I need a goddamn map and arrow signs on the wall to point me in its direction. The nausea intensifies as I round a sharp corner from what shared the aesthetic of a swanky sitting room, complete with a trickling water fountain and chaise lounge.
A sour taste of bile rises my pipes, instantly propelling directly into a large, white toilet bowl. And it persists for what feels like an eternity. Time could have suspended, and I’d be left here on my knees sicker than a fucking puppy with parvo virus. However, the touch of Daddy Reid’s smooth hand combing back my locks, proves otherwise.
“Let it all out, boy,” he mutters. “You’ll feel so much better in a few minutes,” he adds, softly patting my back. “Some greasy bacon and pancakes will counter the sickly sensations.”
I raise my head out of the bowl, wiping my mouth with the back of a wrist. Glowering at him with narrowed eyes in the process.How fucking dare you mention food at a time like this?
Instead of talking back to my Island Daddy, I whimper with a grimace. “There’s no way I could eat anything right now,” I affirm. “But you should eat,” I add, insisting that his meal schedule doesn’t get interrupted by my own lack of judgement.
“Too late, little boy,” he says. “Room service will probably arrive before we have you up off this granite floor.”
My mouth gapes open, but from surprise rather than another Linda Blair impression. “Room service?” I ask. “Where the hell are we?”
* * *
