Page 93 of Filthy Elites

Maybe if Mitchell Vikson was anyone else, I’d give in one of these days. One good fuck would get him out of my system. Right? It would have to. Hot guys always lose a little bit of their shine when you fuck them. They’re either so fucking good in bed that they know it and they let you know in no uncertain terms that all they’re looking for is a warm body to share it with, or they’re shitty and well … that speaks for itself.

Something tells me Viks would not be a shitty lay. In fact, if I had to hazard a guess, he’d probably rock my world. That, too, is dangerous and something I should not try to figure out for myself.

Despite his cut jaw and the expensive clothes, he looks more like he belongs in a Motorcycle Club than working for a notorious billionaire.

I finish filling the order, stack the drinks onto my tray, and head up to the second floor. Masculine voices dwindle into silence as I round the corner. My lips press together. I’m not curious about what they were talking about. In fact, it should say something that they recognize me as an actual human with eyes and ears rather than a wall ornament—enough that they shut their mouths when I enter. Still, it’s unnerving to deliver drinks in near deafening silence with nothing more than the deep bass of the music on the first floor to fill the space.

“Thank you, Haley.” A shiver skates down my spine as Viks says my name. I lift my gaze and meet his head on.

The years of serving, thankfully, don’t fail me. “Is there anything else I can get you?” I say as if on autopilot.

The corner of his mouth tips up into a half smile and he shakes his head. “Unless you’re offering yourself tonight, darling,” he says, “that’ll be all.”

Dick sucking motherfucker!Heat blossoms over my cheeks as the other men laugh at Viks’ comment.You can’t hit him, Haley,I remind myself.You need this fucking job. The scholarship only covers so much.

“I’ll be back to check on you later,” I say through gritted teeth, slamming the last drink—his, of course—down with more force than necessary. Before I can think better of it, my lips are parting, and my last remark shoots out. “But for your information, there’s not a chance in hell I’d ever offer myself to you, Mr. Vikson. Have a good night.”

With that, I turn and practically sprint for the stairs again.

TWO

Viks

I chuckleas Haley Montgomery hightails herself right out of Club Outsider’s private lounge after that statement. She doesn’t know it, because if she did, then she’d surely do everything in her power to stop, but when she walks—that round ass of hers sways back and forth. It’s almost hypnotic. It makes a man think of only dirty things—like how to get her to bend over and spread those cheeks so he can sink inside the sweet place between her thighs.

“Feisty one, isn’t she?” Cain Devereux comments as he lifts his whiskey to his lips and swallows a mouthful.

My amusement disperses in a heartbeat as I cut a look his way. “She’s a waitress, Cain,” I reply. “One under my boss’ employ. I recommend keeping your hands to yourself.”

Cain eyes me with what can only be barely repressed amusement. “Perhaps,” he agrees, “but there ain’t nothing saying I can’t look my fill, is there?”

A growl works its way up my throat and it takes all of my willpower to suppress it. Instead of answering, I turn to the rest of the men that have gathered here tonight. “Let’s get back to the matter at hand,” I state. “What do you know about the new drug on the street?”

“Haze?” Cain sips his whiskey and shakes his head. “Awful stuff. Addictive as shit. I’ve lost quite of few of my own employees to the garbage.” And that’s what separates Cain Devereux from my own boss, Nicholas Carter. While the majority of trust fund kids who grew up to be shockingly not stupid enough to lose their fortune and instead make mountains more of it, Carter is one of the few who raises people like me from the gutter and into the realm of the elite.

Across from me, Andrei, one of Carter’s street watchers, nods. “I’ve gotten my hands on it before,” he says, looking my way. “Not tried it myself, but I know how Mr. Carter likes to be kept up to date on everything new in the area.” I nod, letting him know it’s okay to keep going.

“The dealers are all over and they’re constantly changing,” he continues. “They start off cheap, practically handing the shit out for free and once their clients are hooked, they’re raking in the money. Shit goes for several hundred for a mere gram.”

I curse. That can only mean that the shit is more than addictive. It’s positively fucking enslaving. This is not good.

“What contingencies do we have?” I demand.

A shadow shifts and I look up, meeting the gaze of Troy Rodriguez. He shakes his head. “This is the contingency,” he says.

Fuck. I suck in a breath, lean against the back of the lounge, and pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m meeting with Carter tomorrow,” I tell them. “I’ll figure out what he wants to do.”

“Viks.” I look back to Troy as he steps forward and drops into his own seat, setting his water down and crossing his arms. “You already know what he’s going to say. He’ll want this taken care of.” I arch a brow, but the next words out of his mouth explain his words. “It’s reached Eastpoint.”

Shock rockets through me. “The campus?” Troy nods.

I grit my teeth at this news, but with how popular Haze has been on the market right now it … it shouldn’t be a surprise. My attention returns to the dance floor below. The cascade of red and white lights that scan across the floor coupled with the various writhing bodies practically turns the scene into the opening of a porno. Young women barely out of their adolescence dressed in thin, sometimes see through dresses and men with too much money and recklessness party their hearts out. None of them knowing what lurks in the shadows that surround them.

Of course the shit has made its way to Eastpoint. That’s the next stop to its real goal—the world. Once these kids get hooked on something like Haze, they’ll take it with them wherever they go and they go every-fucking-where. Paris. Milan. Tokyo. New York. Los Angeles. Haze has its foothold and if it doesn’t get cut off here, it’ll be everywhere before we know it.

“The next school break is coming up,” I muse aloud. “They’re leaving.”

“They’ll take it with them.” Cain’s words mirror my thoughts.

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