Page 7 of Darkness and Duress
“That’s very sad for you. Sad Panda Marco. Shut up and come eat.” He flashed a grin I hadn't seen on his face since his crude and disgusting behavior earlier this morning in the parking garage. “We don't bite.”
“Did you just tell me to shut up?” My eyebrow arched to my forehead.
“Did indeed. Seriously, the guys are chill if you would just pull the fucking stick out of your ass long enough to see it. Unless that’s your kink?” Henny stole another glance with a look of pure mischief on his face. “We all know you get down with a little ass play now and then.”
My blood instantly boiled in my veins. Fucking Gianluca. I knew I never should have tried to hang out with him and these fucking clowns. Through grit teeth, I grumbled in response. “I'm. Not. Gay.”
“Methinks the Sad Panda doth protest too much.”
If we weren’t driving through traffic, I would have launched myself over the console to choke the life out of him for how angry I was. The fact that he was operating a vehicle was the sole reason he was still alive after his death-wish of a comment.
“That’s what I thought. Look, asshole. It's dinner and some drinks with the guys working for you. Build some fucking rapport if you expect this to work out. Hate me all you want for whatever reason you want, but don't fuck with my boys.” He shrugged and flicked on the indicator to pull over in front of an upscale nightclub and lounge.
The rumble of palms striking the windows had my heart leaping into my throat. Everyone in our new team was pounding the windows with bright grins and cheerful laughter. I felt so wholly out of place, I almost considered ordering a rideshare right then and there.
“Get out of the fucking car, Marco.”
I glanced at him, imagining my eyes were daggers so he felt the true depths of my ire, before reluctantly reaching for the handle. “I'll have it stated for the record—I do hate you.”
“No shit, Sherlock. Out of my car.”
I slipped out with a frustrated exhalation and was immediately swarmed by the five remaining people I'd been forced to spend the day with. The day was already an exhausting shit show. Now, it was creeping into my evening. Henny himself appeared after handing the keys over to the valet. With all six of them in full glory, my patience wore even thinner. This wasn't me. The last thing I wanted was to carouse with a bunch of dumb fuck thug friends of my little brother. Evidently, this was my life now.
“Ever been, boss?” An arm looped around my shoulder and I reacted without thinking, connecting my knuckles with the man’s rib cage before ducking out from under his grasp.
“No. And don't fucking touch me.”
Gramps or Grumps or whatever the fuck his name was rubbed at the spot on his side while guffawing to the point of tears. “Holy shit, bro’s a fucking ninja!”
More jostling and shoving ensued, forcing me forward until we were at the front desk. I shouldn't have been surprised to hear them give my father's name. I also shouldn't have been surprised when they introduced me as well. There was a strange sort of appeal to being treated like royalty as we were swiftly waved into the establishment and promptly escorted to a VIP section. I guess being born into the mob did have some small benefits. At least for those interested in the nightlife. Maybe, possibly,perhaps this might not be a complete disaster. I had my doubts, though.
Chapter Four
Henny
Marco’s expression waspriceless. Without knowing any better, one would assume we were forcing him into a root canal with no pain meds, not an expensive dinner at one of the hottest cocktail lounges in the city. If he scowled any harder, his face might snap in half. This was going to be a fun night.
The hostess brought us to the VIP section, sweeping a hand across the space like a Vegas showgirl. To be fair, it was nicer than even I expected—low, black leather couches ringed the periphery of the space with round tables situated here and there to accommodate drinks and food. The tabletop lighting was moody and dim and gave the atmosphere an oddly intimate feel that I could get behind. Music from the dance floor below filtered through the air as the distant pulsing strobes accentuated the illumination from the lamps on the tables. Yeah, this was going to be a great night.
Marco brushed the girl aside and plucked a menu card from one of the tables before throwing himself into the corner of the farthest couch. Even in a lounging position with one ankleperched on the opposite knee, he was so fucking stuffy. The intense desire to mess him up a little was incredibly hard to resist. A little surge of nefarious excitement rose in my chest as I overheard him order a bottle of Macallan 18-Year scotch. The last time I'd seen Marco get shitfaced was at Gianluca’s birthday party. I wanted more ofthatversion of Marco. That guy was fun as fuck.
All of us were filled with frenetic energy and given a private pen to take over for our celebration. It had all the makings of an excellent night. I tossed my jacket on the couch beside Marco with a wink. If he thought he was going to be a wallflower for the event, he was sorely mistaken. My goal was to make him as miserable as possible, and I ordered my drinks accordingly—a round of tequila shots for the group and a double of Hennessy for me. Times two. After all, there was a reason I had a reputation for being the partier of the group.
Before long, the tables were littered with small plates of food, bottles in buckets of ice, dozens of empty shot glasses, and more cocktails than I could keep track of. If a glass was left on a table, it was fair game for me. The music from beneath us was just loud enough to move to but not so loud we couldn't mingle and converse. The liquor warmed my blood and brought a flush to my skin as I meandered around the space stealing sips off every glass as I nursed my own in a death grip. The burning sensation of eyes crawling over my body only added to the heat building in my core with every drop that slid down my throat. More than once, I caught Marco’s narrow-eyed gaze from his position on the couch. The pure hatred in his expression thrilled me to no end.
As one does when drinking to excess, I became more tactile and horny with every passing moment. We all did. Perhaps it wasn't a bragging right, but the fact that I'd slept with all but two of our crew made it easier for me to indulge in my constantneed for physical affection. Even Poncho and Red were willing to play along despite being the straightest members of the group. Gotta love men confident enough in their masculinity to not be offended by a bit of heavy petting and a slow bump and grind between friends. The fact that my oversexualized antics put a look of disgust on Marco’s face was just the icing on the cake.
Jericho guided me away from Red, rudely interrupting my attempt at executing a lap dance. His arms wrapped around my torso as he pulled me flush against his body, my back to his front. Undeterred, I rocked back against him to the beat of the bass.
“You have an audience,” Jer whispered into my ear, pivoting our bodies as he kept rhythm with my movements. The blurry vision of Marco’s dour scowl had me grinning as I doubled my efforts to appear provocative and enticing.
“He looks disgusted,” I mumbled, lifting my arms to slide my fingertips through Jericho’s pin straight hair.
“He does. Are you trying to get yourself beat tonight?” Jericho’s hands shifted under my mesh shirt, hiking it up to reveal the tattooed span of my abs.
“Beat or hate-fucked into the mattress.” I rolled my hips again, earning me a soft moan from my roommate.
“You’re fucking nuts, Hen. Don't play with fire.” His lips trailed over my neck as he spoke, eliciting a shiver of delight. I was well on my way to drunk and every little touch, no matter who it was, brought my nerves to life.