Page 19 of Cocky Prince
Hunt lives up to his name, and aren’t I happy he does? I’m not interested in entertaining these women, though I can’t very well send them on their way and fail Paul’s test. But my slut of a brother would be happy to oblige.
“Right on time. Ladies, this is my brother, Hunter. He’s very friendly, and he enjoys spending time with beautiful women.”
Blondie licks her lips and strips my baby brother bare with her gaze. “Yummy.” If I didn’t know Hunt ate women like her for lunch, I might worry about him.
Hunt kicks off his shoes, because he knows I don’t like his dirty shit in my house, and saunters over. “Tell me your names.”
Choker Girl uses her trademark gesture and palms him, which my slutty baby brother leans into, cupping the breast she’s blatantly shoved beneath his nose. Blondie stands and rubs on him from behind. Hunt reaches back and grabs her bare ass cheek… And this is my cue to leave.
I pound my red, grab a small box from the junk drawer, and exit the dining room, heading for the bathroom. Once inside, I pull out the velvet pouch and dump the white powder into the toilet. I flush three times to make sure it’s all gone, then pull out a match from the small box and burn the plastic bag over the toilet, flushing that next.
I collapse onto the covered toilet seat and wait until I can’t hear talking. But even then, I wait. No talking means other things, and I’m hoping my slut of a brother has the common sense to take that shit into the spare bedroom. I give him another minute or two.
Hunter is the brother with no shame. Not that the others haven’t whored themselves out, myself included, come to think of it—I was a Club Tahoe cabana boy, after all. Hunt just took our errant ways to a new level of depravity.
I texted him as soon as the girls arrived, but he surpassed my expectations and arrived within a few minutes. Must have driven like the wind.
I lean forward, forearms on my knees. This better not be a mistake, passing off the women on Hunt. Oh, I’m not worried about my brother. He’ll be thanking me tomorrow. I’m more concerned about what Paul will think. Sleeping with the women he sent holds no interest for me. I’m not a cabana boy anymore. My tastes have refined since then.
After a few minutes, I peek out the bathroom door to an empty living room. This is ridiculous, hiding in my own house… And yet I walk out silently, and sneak past the kitchen.
The fact that I can’t see my brother or the women doesn’t mean they aren’t still here. In fact, the closer I get to the living room, the louder the thumping sounds come from down the hall. At least Hunt didn’t use the master bedroom. I would have to kill him slowly when I saw him next.
With the women occupied and the coke disposed of, I grab my keys and escape the hell out of my house. The night air is warm as I jog down the stairs to the dock. The place I’ve been renting over the last year costs me an arm and a leg, but being able to take out the Chaparral whenever I want is worth it. And now seems like a good time, with my brother and two prostitutes defiling my home.
I unhitch the boat from the dock and climb on board, reaching for a windbreaker inside the bow storage. I start the motor and cruise past the no-wake zone.
My home is on the eastern shore, slightly north of the California/Nevada border. I steer south, the blocky neon outlines of the casinos coming into view against the night mountain backdrop.
Paul never struck me as an upstanding citizen, but I’m redefining my opinion of him by the minute. The guy is bad news, but bad news or not, I need him. And I need Blue Casino.
As long as no one gets hurt, how wrong can all of this be? So Blackwell wants me to hire a few less-than-discerning individuals to fill positions for the new venture. Who am I to judge?
I can do this.
I glance up at the patchwork of stars. Out here, I am no one and anyone I want to be. Out here, away from the world, the pressure drains. I can separate myself from my family, from my work, from everything.
And for the first time, it’s not enough. I want more, and that scares the hell out of me.
* * *
Irollout of bed the next morning and throw on a T-shirt and jeans. The women and Hunt were still here after I returned from my boat ride, but glancing out the front window, I only see the girls’ sports convertible. A nice sports convertible. Paul wasn’t playing around. He paid good money for these women.
Shaking my head, I make it into the kitchen. Better scramble some eggs. The disappointment will go over easier if the women have been fed.
Minutes later, the ladies roll out, their faces less made up than the night before, hair a bit worse for the wear. I’ve never heard of a prostitute staying the night. Which goes to show the effect Hunt has on women. Bastard.
Blondie looks around. “Where’s your brother?”
I dish eggs onto two plates. “Gone. You take your coffee with milk?”
The women glance at each other. “Gone?” Choker Girl asks, minus the choker this morning, a desolate look on her face. “He left without saying goodbye?”
Perfect. Hunter breaks even call girls’ hearts. “Were you hoping for his number?” I ask dryly.
The women reluctantly sit at the bar and pick at the breakfast I’ve set out.
“Just so we’re clear,” I say as I refill their coffee, “you had an excellent time last night, correct?”
