Page 91 of Gambler's Conceit
I didn’t know alcohol could make me feel like this. The loss of control, the horniness, the desire to burst into tears, and the pounding in my head that should’ve been pounding on my ass.
“What the fuck?” Michael says out of nowhere, placing his hand flat on my back. “Go away! I don’t need room service!”
I raise my head and try to look over my shoulder, feeling like I’m reacting far too slowly, but I can’t see who he’s talking to.
Then there’s a distinct beeping sound, and a door slams open.
“Seven!” Havoc shouts. “Are you all right?”
No. Why is Havoc here?
He’s going to fucking ruin everything.
“No,” I mutter. “Fuck.”
Someone is pulling Michael off of me, and I guess it has to be Havoc—but then I see Vortex, too, who looks every bit the nickname with the rage and damage he’s leaving behind.
“What the absolute fuck, Seven?” he thunders, squeezing Michael’s shoulders hard.
Michael looks like he’s about to piss himself. “I thought you said your boyfriend doesn’t care!” he shouts. “Jesus fucking Christ!”
“He’s not—” I start to protest.
“Is he the one who’s hurting you?” Michael asks in what I think must be a stupid show of bravado. “I’ll call the cops!”
“Get your hands off of him!” I try to demand of Vortex, but nausea is making my stomach lurch as Havoc pulls me backwards.
I try to fight him off, but I’m boneless and dizzy, and I turn my head at the last second to throw up all over the fucking carpet.
I should’ve just thrown up on Havoc.
“Fuck,” Havoc says, pulling my hair away from my face. “How much did he have to drink?”
I moan and sob, trying to push away from Havoc. His arms are tight around me, though, and I don’t have the strength to fight him off.
“Only a few shots!” Michael says, his voice high pitched. “I didn’t do anything to him he didn’t want!”
I’m too busy retching to argue with him.
“He’s fucking drunk,” Vortex says. “You usually go and fuck drunk guys?”
“He wasn’t drunk when he agreed to come back here!” Michael argues, but he’s edging back even as Vortex keeps advancing on him.
“My god,” I hiccup, my stomach heaving again.
Can this day get any fucking worse?
TWENTY-ONE
VORTEX
“Vortex,”Havoc’s voice rings out sharply in the room, and I almost ignore him as I ball my hands into fists.
“You think you’re some big hotshot who can fuck someone who’s drunk and can’t take care of himself?” I demand of the idiot who’d had the fucking nerve to touch Seven when he’d been drinking.
Five shots. Seven had had five fucking shots. For someone of his size, that’s not a small amount of liquor—and this sleazebag had taken advantage of that.
Part of me is aware that Seven shoulders some of the blame, too; I know he has a habit of going for whoever’s available. But at the same time, I’d thought things would be different now that he has me and Havoc, along with Caleb. I can’t fathom the idea that we aren’t enough.