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So no, I would not turn around and ask Misha formore.
Not only that, but he would want to know why I needed the money. The minute he found out about Alonzo, that would beanotherproblem he would try to solve. I’d already given him enough of those as it was, despite what he said.
There was one person I could ask, though. One person who would give me that much money, quickly, without even batting an eye or caring what it was for. It made my other problems disappear too, mainly getting Delirium off of the city’s fucking radar and bringing an end to all of the “official” harassment.
Despite Misha’s many talents, there was no way he’d be able to take down the masterminds behind Nirvana and I dreaded to know what Sergei would do then. Shit going sideways at Delirium didn’t need to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. If I could solve that one problem for Misha, then I would. It’s the least I could fucking do, since I was the one who started it all in the first place.
As much as I hated myself with every breath, it was the only choice I had. The only card I had left to play to save my siblings, protect Misha, and keep Delirium running for Sergei. Besides… It’s not like it was the first time. I was a fucking pro.
The past few months with Misha had been a temporary blip in the resume. It was only a matter of time before Misha got sick of my shit and left—or I did, because that was my MO, leave before you get left. And then what? I’d have to go back to my old life sooner or later. Might as well make it fucking count. Like a warm-up or a practice game.
It’s not like I’d even have to tell Misha.Hewas the one who said there were things we just wouldn’t talk about. At the time, I thought Nirvana was the only thing off the table. Guess there were two things to keep from him. Oh well. He didn’t talk about military or mob shit and I wouldn’t talk about whoring myself out. Simple as that. At least, that’s what I tried to tell myself.
My stomach twisted in knots the closer the limo got to the hotel. Each city block that passed brought me closer and closer to vomiting. I slipped the glass vial out of my pocket and tipped my head back. I couldn’t be bothered with individual drops, so I dispensed the whole dropper in my mouth. The clear, salty liquid flooded my tongue and I almost gagged. It was way more than I’d ever done but I hoped a larger quantity meant it would kick in sooner rather than later.
By the time the limo stopped and the driver opened the door, my hands were shaking. I clenched them into fists and climbed out of the car, staring at the hotel. The world around me blurred and darkened until the only thing I could see was the front door, gleaming like a beacon. That was a good sign.
I focused on following the light, one step at a time. Through the lobby. Up the elevator. Down the hall. To his door. Same as always. Nothing had changed. An old pro doing what had to be fucking done. A job. Survival. Period. Feelings had no place in the animal kingdom, and ultimately that’s what we were. Fucking animals.
Knocking on the door quickly, the sound reverberated in my head. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the rush of dizziness.
Ken opened the door, a wide smile spreading over his face. “There’s my boy. Come home at last.”
“Hi, Ken.” My stomach roiled. I gripped the doorframe for support, unsure if I was going to tip over or throw up on his hand-stitched Italian loafers.
“Come here.” He reached out and grabbed my lapel, pulling me into the room and up against him. Then his lips were on mine.
He slammed the door shut behind me and shoved me up against it, his cock already hard and ramming against me.
“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”
I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes as his mouth moved over my skin, his hands groping and tearing at my clothes in his rush to get them off. It was too fucking soon. I was still too fucking sober for this. I needed time.
“Hey, hey,” I said, pushing against his chest. “Slow down. We’ve got all night. How about a drink first?”
He smiled and nodded. “Sure. Whatever you want.”
I didn’t believe that for one fucking second. Hewasn’tMisha. The only “want” Ken cared about was his own.
Heading for the dry bar immediately, I poured two drinks—scotch for him and vodka for me. At least with vodka, I could pretend Misha was there. I threw back two shots in rapid succession and poured a third before carrying Ken’s drink to the couch.
He pulled me down into his lap, right onto his fucking hard-on. I grimaced, scotch sloshing all over my hand. “Easy. I don’t want to rack up a dry cleaning bill while I’m here.”
“I’ll buy you a new one,” he said, taking the glass and setting it on the side table before resuming his attack on me, biting my neck and ripping open the buttons on my shirt.
Since I knew I wouldn’t get the time I needed for the drugs to kick in, because the universe was a bitch like that, I tossed back the third shot and flung the glass over my shoulder, hoping the burning buzz spreading through me would make me spontaneously combust. That was one way to get out of this fucking life since I was too much of a weakling to do it myself.
Ken mistook my disregard for hotel property as a sign I was as eager for him as he was for me. Slamming me onto my back, he ran his hands up my stomach to my chest, raking his nails against my skin on the way back down.
I hissed at the sensation, shuddering under his touch. I’d all but forgotten how disgusting he made me feel. Hewasn’tMisha, screamed the little voice inside, trying to get me to see how wrong it all was. Nothing about him was remotely the same. Not his smell. Not his size. Nothing. My animal brain knew it but my logical brain knew there were bigger things at stake than something completely useless like morals or emotions.
As much as it was going to hurt, I held on to Misha’s face in my mind. I could pretend. I was really fucking good at pretending. Lying. Same difference as far as Misha would be concerned. But we weren’t discussing that. He said so. Besides, he already knew what I was. No need to remind him he’d been polluting himself with trash. What did he expect? Tigers didn’t change their whiskers. Spots? Claws…
A smile crept across my face.
Finally. I was floating. And if I was floating, that meant my high arrived in time to save me from myself, to buffer the disgust and self-hatred for a couple of hours. Shush the guilt. The gnawing guilt. Like little rat teeth, just eating away at me, one piece of rotten flesh at a time. I deserved it. Trash deserved to be eaten by rats.
If I was really lucky, I’d fall into the black hole opening up in my mind. My thoughts were already rushing toward it like a storm drain, washing away like garbage on the city streets. I hoped I drowned down there, rats and all.
