Page 173 of Wanted By a King

From what little I’ve heard about Cain, something tells me he’s done it on purpose. Probably to amuse himself.

“I actually like this dress,” Izzy says. Reaching for the tequila on the table, she takes a large swig before continuing. “Now the Kings will have to work for it.”

Huh, from talking about Gunner tormenting the Cunts, to being fucked by the Kings in no time at all. The atmosphere change is enough to almost give me fucking whiplash.

Then again, I should be grateful. When we talk about nothing, my mind quietens down, making it easier for me to breathe.

“It’s time to go,” Alana declares, picking up the picture of Sasha before waving the Cunts toward the door.

As Beth picks up the picture of Slasher, she glares at the one of Gunner.

“We have to bring the picture of him,” Beth says, scathingly. “Not that he deserves to be displayed next to Slayer or Sasha. But…” Trailing off, she shrugs as if to say there’s nothing to do about it.

“Whatever,” Rhiannon adds. “They’ll be too drunk to notice the damage.”

The overwhelming smell of alcohol, cigarettes, and weed pollutes the air in the main room, the one with the stage where I… where Gray… no, I can’t think about that now.Or ever.

As I look around at the Kings, sitting at the tables they’ve pulled together, I’m pretty sure that everyone’s blood type is alcohol—mainly whiskey.

Fuck, the amount of bottles that are strewn across the floor is enough to make me wonder how they’re all still standing. Well, sitting. Yeah, how they’re all still sitting upright.

“But then I said—” Titch looks lost as his eyes dart from left to right. “Fuck, I don’t remember.”

He’s slurring his words, and within two seconds, he falls off the chair. Although he flails like he thinks he’s trying to fly, no one laughs. Everyone is too sad, angry, or both to find amusement in anything.

My heart aches as I look at Gray, who’s slumped in the chair next to Rocco. The joint dangling between his lips isn’t even lit.

Seeing him like this is… I can’t bear it.

“Gray,” I call. When he doesn’t react, I walk over to him and take his hand into mine. “Come with me.”

Some of the guys make some half-assed suggestive sounds, but it falls flat when they don’t get a reaction.

Ignoring all of them, I lead us into one of the bathrooms, not even bothering to lock the door behind us.

“Princess,” he rasps, swaying on his feet.

Straightening, I take the unlit joint from between his lips and place it between mine. When his eyes narrow, I hold my hand out, silently asking for the lighter I know he has in his jeans pocket.

With a mockery of a smile stretching across his lips, he hands me what I need, and I instantly light the joint. This isn’t the first time I try my hand at smoking, and just as the other times, I feel like I’m choking as soon as I breathe the smoke into my lungs.

Removing it from between my lips, I hold it out for Gray to take. He eyes it with suspicion, as though he thinks I’ll turn it around and burn him.

“Take it,” I implore. “You need it more than I do.”

I watch as he places the end between his parted lips, greedily inhaling and filling the enclosed room with the earthly aroma as he exhales. I don’t take my eyes off of him, watching him until half of it’s gone just like most of the tension in his shoulders.

“There you are,” I smile.

Backing up, I lean against the wall, parting my legs wide while hoisting the skirt of my dress up. Gray’s eyes widen and he takes the joint between his index and middle finger before licking his lips as his gaze zeroes in on the apex of my thighs.

“You’re not wearing any underwear,” he rasps, blinking like he’s not sure he believes what he sees.

“No,” I confirm on a purr. “You keep ripping them apart so it seems like a waste.”

“Is that so?” After another drag of the joint, he tosses it into the toilet next to me. “Why are you showing me your pretty pussy, Princess?” he asks, only sounding mildly curious.

Lifting the skirt above my hips, I beckon him over with my finger. “Because I need you, Gray. I need you to—”

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