If you can handle it, you’re in.”
I briefly wondered if Sander had filmed all of his “trial.” It might explain why a few of the sex tapes were shot at the Roosevelt. As soon as Chance slipped his hands under my shirt, I had what seemed to be a good idea. “Hey, you wanna do something for me, Chance?”
He smiled lazily, and I must admit he was attractive, in an elegantly wasted sort of way. “What do you want me to do?”
“Throw the nightstand through the window.”
That made him raise his thin, pale eyebrows. Surely he was expecting a sex act. “What?”
“C’mon, it’s totally rock star. We trash the room and fuck in the rubble. It’d be hot.”
A slow smile crept across his face, and his glassy eyes seemed to glow. “That’s kinky.”
“You have to trash the room solo, ’cause I’m a little tied up at the moment.”
He chuckled at the horrible pun and slid off my lap, which was kind of a shame. I watched him reel across the room, taking the lamp off the end table and putting it on the bed before looking at me dubiously. “Toss it through the window, really? Won’t they be mad?”
“Who cares?”
He considered that for a moment. “Good point.” Chance picked up the nightstand and threw it at the window. As the glass shattered and the furniture sailed out into the night, he laughed giddily, like a three-year-old on a sugar high. He then started throwing furniture around the room, laughing the whole time. “This is fun!” he proclaimed, tipping the bed over.
If the cops were out there, they just saw a nightstand fly through a window. They’d have to come in and check it out now, no matter what bullshit Cutter and his men spun.
Over the noise of Chance trashing the room, I thought I heard running footsteps, outside in the hall and maybe above me. It was a minor panic sound, meaning the cops probably were coming in. “Chance!” I shouted. I had to shout it a couple of times before he heard me and stopped. “You oughta go. I think there’s a raid.”
He looked cute when he was puzzled. “Huh?”
“Cops. You better get going.”
It seemed to take a moment for that to sink in. “Really?” He staggered toward the door and glanced out, still unsure. When Chance looked back at me, he was frowning. “What about you?”
“I’ll be okay. Go.”
Chance gave me that adorably stony little smile and said, “Rain check.” He then left, and I watched his cute little ass go. It wouldn’t be so bad to collect that rain check.
There was a small chance Cutter would have his men come and get me ahead of the cops, but I wasn’t sure they’d have time or anywhere to take me. As it turned out, I was left tied to a chair, bleeding and wondering why it was so fucking cold outside (and why I had to be sitting directly in the path of the breeze from the broken window), when a surprisingly familiar figure appeared in the doorway. “Jake, my God, what happened to you?”
I should have known, as soon as that guy said there were cops outside, that one of them was Kyle.
12
W HILE I was sitting on an emergency room gurney, getting the cuts on my face pasted together with surgical glue (the doctor seemed to think stitches would most likely tear, and I agreed), Kyle told me he came after me once he realized I’d stolen his Taser. It didn’t matter that I’d taken pains to avoid being followed; he was able to find me pretty quick. He had no idea why I’d be poking around the Roosevelt, but he had a bad feeling about it and called it in as a B&E, figuring I could talk my way out of it if I was the only one inside. As soon as Kyle saw Cutter, though, he knew something terrible was going on. The nightstand flying through the window was just another sign.
As soon as the doctor was done and moved off to attend another patient, Kyle asked, “What does Blunt have to do with any of this?”
“I don’t know,” I said, although now I thought I had some idea of what was going on. Yeah, it was a
I briefly wondered if Sander had filmed all of his “trial.” It might explain why a few of the sex tapes were shot at the Roosevelt. As soon as Chance slipped his hands under my shirt, I had what seemed to be a good idea. “Hey, you wanna do something for me, Chance?”
He smiled lazily, and I must admit he was attractive, in an elegantly wasted sort of way. “What do you want me to do?”
“Throw the nightstand through the window.”
That made him raise his thin, pale eyebrows. Surely he was expecting a sex act. “What?”
“C’mon, it’s totally rock star. We trash the room and fuck in the rubble. It’d be hot.”
A slow smile crept across his face, and his glassy eyes seemed to glow. “That’s kinky.”
“You have to trash the room solo, ’cause I’m a little tied up at the moment.”
He chuckled at the horrible pun and slid off my lap, which was kind of a shame. I watched him reel across the room, taking the lamp off the end table and putting it on the bed before looking at me dubiously. “Toss it through the window, really? Won’t they be mad?”
“Who cares?”
He considered that for a moment. “Good point.” Chance picked up the nightstand and threw it at the window. As the glass shattered and the furniture sailed out into the night, he laughed giddily, like a three-year-old on a sugar high. He then started throwing furniture around the room, laughing the whole time. “This is fun!” he proclaimed, tipping the bed over.
If the cops were out there, they just saw a nightstand fly through a window. They’d have to come in and check it out now, no matter what bullshit Cutter and his men spun.
Over the noise of Chance trashing the room, I thought I heard running footsteps, outside in the hall and maybe above me. It was a minor panic sound, meaning the cops probably were coming in. “Chance!” I shouted. I had to shout it a couple of times before he heard me and stopped. “You oughta go. I think there’s a raid.”
He looked cute when he was puzzled. “Huh?”
“Cops. You better get going.”
It seemed to take a moment for that to sink in. “Really?” He staggered toward the door and glanced out, still unsure. When Chance looked back at me, he was frowning. “What about you?”
“I’ll be okay. Go.”
Chance gave me that adorably stony little smile and said, “Rain check.” He then left, and I watched his cute little ass go. It wouldn’t be so bad to collect that rain check.
There was a small chance Cutter would have his men come and get me ahead of the cops, but I wasn’t sure they’d have time or anywhere to take me. As it turned out, I was left tied to a chair, bleeding and wondering why it was so fucking cold outside (and why I had to be sitting directly in the path of the breeze from the broken window), when a surprisingly familiar figure appeared in the doorway. “Jake, my God, what happened to you?”
I should have known, as soon as that guy said there were cops outside, that one of them was Kyle.
12
W HILE I was sitting on an emergency room gurney, getting the cuts on my face pasted together with surgical glue (the doctor seemed to think stitches would most likely tear, and I agreed), Kyle told me he came after me once he realized I’d stolen his Taser. It didn’t matter that I’d taken pains to avoid being followed; he was able to find me pretty quick. He had no idea why I’d be poking around the Roosevelt, but he had a bad feeling about it and called it in as a B&E, figuring I could talk my way out of it if I was the only one inside. As soon as Kyle saw Cutter, though, he knew something terrible was going on. The nightstand flying through the window was just another sign.
As soon as the doctor was done and moved off to attend another patient, Kyle asked, “What does Blunt have to do with any of this?”
“I don’t know,” I said, although now I thought I had some idea of what was going on. Yeah, it was a
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