Page 3 of East (The Moral Compass 3)

“Oh, just until Friday morning, and to say thank you, I have gotten us tickets to see Drake on Sunday. They’re not fancy seats like your brother got us, but at least you’ll be in the same building.”

“Thanks, Chelsea, that’s so thoughtful, but…”

“What’s wrong? You never turn down tickets to see Drake. You’re like his biggest fan.”

“Nothing’s wrong. I’ve just had a busy week,” I lie. “Thank you. It’ll be good to spend some time with you. It feels like forever since we had a girl’s weekend away.”

“Thanks for watching Satan, East. I love you, you know? You’re the best friend in the whole world. Anyway. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you Friday. You know where everything is for Satan and, listen, if he gives you any shit, just put him in his crate. Love you. Bye.”

The phone clicks off while I stare at the black screen.What the fuck have I just agreed to?

The most exciting thing in my life right now is cat-sitting for a feline that is called Satan for a reason. He is as evil as they come.

He’s pure black with bright-green eyes. He looks at you like he’s going to scratch your face off, and he would if you gave him half the chance.

Before I go to bed, I venture downstairs and let myself into Chelsea’s apartment. So far, so good. Armed with my oven gloves, I tiptoe inside. I only need to put food and water in his bowl and change the litter tray.In and out in five minutes, tops. I mutter to myself.

I get just inside the lounge door when I am accosted by a black attacker. My hair is pulled, my face smacked, and then, to top it all off, the fucker spits at me.

Thank fuck I wore my oven gloves. I reach up and pull Satan off my head, and all the while, he hisses and growls. His paws flail, trying to scratch me.

“That’s it, you little fucker. Crate time for you,” I chastisethe cat.Easier said than done. I open the crate and try to push him in. The little shit has all four paws spread out, blocking the entrance. Then, I remember something I saw on a pet programme: shove him in backward. Manhandling the beast, I get him turned around and into the crate and lock the door. Mission accomplished.

It’s then he decides he’s going to meow like a normal, pleasant cat. A nice gentle meow. If he thinks I’m falling for that, he has another thing coming. Then, I realise he can’t stay in there permanently. I do what I came in to do and then bend to open the crate.

“Now, you listen to me, Satan. I will let you out this once, but if you attack me again, I will have no choice but to leave you in here until Mama comes home, okay?” I wait as if he is going to reply, but the feline just stares back with his eyes squinting. Fuck, he reminds me of Daisy.

I open the door, and the cat wanders out over to his food as if nothing has happened. I make my escape.

Nothing I said to him made a bit of difference; twice a day, I go through the same rigmarole, but now I wear the oven gloves and a headscarf around my hair and face. He’s managed to disfigure my face twice, but today is Friday and, as I shut Chelsea’s apartment door, I thank the Lord that I don’t have to see that fucker again for a while.

I suppose it did take my mind off Drake for a bit, but seeing as we are due to fly out tomorrow morning, he is firmly back in my brain.

Chapter 4

Zed

Idon’tmindVegaswhen I’m with the boys having a laugh, winning some money, and the ladies are okay, too. This trip is just a ball-ache. My brother comes across as hard as nails, someone you wouldn’t mess with, yet he is scared of his own freaking shadow and always has been.

I’ve had meetings with his security team who are all in agreement that my brother has a problem. They have had the police looking into all the packages and the letters he’s been sent as well as the issues with security footage. In two hotels where his room has allegedly been violated, the security cameras have been disabled.

This does concern me a little. You wouldn’t go to those lengths if you just had a crush or were a little crazy. This seems a little more organised than that. Or the person in question actually knows what they are doing and is having a little bit of fun at his expense.

I really hope it’s the latter. I’ve had enough espionage and dirty tricks this last year. I would love nothing more than to go back to Mexico and lie on that beautiful beach with East McGarry.

Shit… Where did that come from? Fuck. I do not want to be thinking of her. The only problem is, I have not stopped thinking about her.

I keep wondering what she’s doing. Is she back in the States? Should I fly over to New York and say hi, seeing that I didn’t introduce myself properly in London?

I keep imagining her on her knees. My dick is firmly in her mouth, touching the back of her throat, those piercing blue eyes stare up at me, my hands twisted in the golden strands of her hair while I fuck her perfect lips.

Fuck.

I have jacked off to that image more than I care to admit over the last few days.

I need to stop. I can’t have her. West would undoubtedly kill me. Plus, the way she looked back at me in London, she wouldn’t want me. She looked angry, as if I’d interrupted a really important discussion between the girls. Kara and Sutton were okay though, so fuck knows why she gave me the death stare, but I still wouldn’t mind any type of stare from those eyes.

My dirty thoughts are interrupted by my brother and his crazy entourage all yelling and screaming like a bunch of women on sale day.

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