and began to pray again.
C HAPTER 11
5:16 AM
December 28
Lee was not happy. His head felt like it was going to crack open any moment, spilling his throbbing brain onto the slate tile of the suite’s bathroom. The sun was creeping over the far edge of Lake Michigan, slicing through the air and boiling his eyes. He could handle the sun though; he’d find the damn switch that lowered the blinds later. Although he couldn’t, for the life of him, understand what he’d been thinking last night when he’d demanded a view of the lake.
No, what Lee needed right fucking now was a goddamn drink of water.
Problem was, he couldn’t figure out how to turn the faucet on.
There were no handles. Just curving horns of pure, smooth onyx that jutted boldly over two shallow black sinks. He tried waving his hands under what he thought might be the faucet, hoping for a motion sensor, but nothing happened. He squinted around the gleaming, ultra-modern bathroom. Everything was gray and black, with brilliant white starburst accents. Even the toilet and bidet, elevated on two steps like thrones, were jet black. He tried the second sink and got the same result. Behind him, across a space larger than most living rooms, waited both a tub big enough to fit four people and a shower that could easily fit another four, with a bewildering array of nozzles that sprayed you from every conceivable angle. Lee honestly couldn’t remember if he’d even used them last night or not.
The morning sun still sizzled through the bare windows, ricocheting off the mirrors that covered every inch of wall space. Even the ceiling was one solid mirror. Lee wasn’t sure why. Who in the hell would want to look up and watch themselves taking a dump?
He swept the chic complimentary perfumes and toiletries off the counter in disgust. It didn’t help his head, but it reminded him not to let his rage slip out of control. He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly through his nose like the anger-management counselor had coached. It didn’t work. It felt like he still had barbed wire wrapped around his skull, and some giggling evil bastard kept twisting it tighter. He idly scratched at his right ass cheek. Fresh itching erupting up his torso, and he attacked it, ending with a furious scratching in his right armpit.
What kind of shit had he gotten into last night? His head hadn’t hurt like this since . . . well, right now he couldn’t remember. He was going to have a serious chat with Jamal when he felt better, and if the dealer wasn’t forthcoming about his party favors, Lee would only be too happy to call on a couple of large, mean boys he kept employed down at the motor pool for just such occasions.
Maybe the hooker had some aspirin. Or maybe even something stronger. He couldn’t remember her name. He’d left her sprawled facedown on the bed, still passed out. The thought of digging through the wreckage of their suite for aspirin sounded exhausting, and so he simply squatted, holding on to his pounding head. Plus there was always the chance he might take the wrong pill, and he couldn’t be seen acting irrationally in public.
The itching spread to his groin and he took a moment to rake his nails through his pubic hair. For a moment, the scratching felt so good it almost eclipsed the pain his skull. He wondered if a shower might help. Maybe he could try and get some of the spray in his mouth, get a drink of water that way.
He stood, feeling the sunlight wash over his body. He caught sight of himself in the mirror. Instinctively, his gaze went to his abs. Still flat and tight. Then to the skin under his jaw. Still firm. Good. But too many nights like—
Wait a goddamn minute. He turned sideways, so the sunlight illuminated the right side of his body. Tiny red blotches covered his skin, from his ass to up under his armpit. He looked down at his groin in horror. More red bumps.
That BITCH.
He stormed into the suite and grabbed the hooker by the ankle and
C HAPTER 11
5:16 AM
December 28
Lee was not happy. His head felt like it was going to crack open any moment, spilling his throbbing brain onto the slate tile of the suite’s bathroom. The sun was creeping over the far edge of Lake Michigan, slicing through the air and boiling his eyes. He could handle the sun though; he’d find the damn switch that lowered the blinds later. Although he couldn’t, for the life of him, understand what he’d been thinking last night when he’d demanded a view of the lake.
No, what Lee needed right fucking now was a goddamn drink of water.
Problem was, he couldn’t figure out how to turn the faucet on.
There were no handles. Just curving horns of pure, smooth onyx that jutted boldly over two shallow black sinks. He tried waving his hands under what he thought might be the faucet, hoping for a motion sensor, but nothing happened. He squinted around the gleaming, ultra-modern bathroom. Everything was gray and black, with brilliant white starburst accents. Even the toilet and bidet, elevated on two steps like thrones, were jet black. He tried the second sink and got the same result. Behind him, across a space larger than most living rooms, waited both a tub big enough to fit four people and a shower that could easily fit another four, with a bewildering array of nozzles that sprayed you from every conceivable angle. Lee honestly couldn’t remember if he’d even used them last night or not.
The morning sun still sizzled through the bare windows, ricocheting off the mirrors that covered every inch of wall space. Even the ceiling was one solid mirror. Lee wasn’t sure why. Who in the hell would want to look up and watch themselves taking a dump?
He swept the chic complimentary perfumes and toiletries off the counter in disgust. It didn’t help his head, but it reminded him not to let his rage slip out of control. He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly through his nose like the anger-management counselor had coached. It didn’t work. It felt like he still had barbed wire wrapped around his skull, and some giggling evil bastard kept twisting it tighter. He idly scratched at his right ass cheek. Fresh itching erupting up his torso, and he attacked it, ending with a furious scratching in his right armpit.
What kind of shit had he gotten into last night? His head hadn’t hurt like this since . . . well, right now he couldn’t remember. He was going to have a serious chat with Jamal when he felt better, and if the dealer wasn’t forthcoming about his party favors, Lee would only be too happy to call on a couple of large, mean boys he kept employed down at the motor pool for just such occasions.
Maybe the hooker had some aspirin. Or maybe even something stronger. He couldn’t remember her name. He’d left her sprawled facedown on the bed, still passed out. The thought of digging through the wreckage of their suite for aspirin sounded exhausting, and so he simply squatted, holding on to his pounding head. Plus there was always the chance he might take the wrong pill, and he couldn’t be seen acting irrationally in public.
The itching spread to his groin and he took a moment to rake his nails through his pubic hair. For a moment, the scratching felt so good it almost eclipsed the pain his skull. He wondered if a shower might help. Maybe he could try and get some of the spray in his mouth, get a drink of water that way.
He stood, feeling the sunlight wash over his body. He caught sight of himself in the mirror. Instinctively, his gaze went to his abs. Still flat and tight. Then to the skin under his jaw. Still firm. Good. But too many nights like—
Wait a goddamn minute. He turned sideways, so the sunlight illuminated the right side of his body. Tiny red blotches covered his skin, from his ass to up under his armpit. He looked down at his groin in horror. More red bumps.
That BITCH.
He stormed into the suite and grabbed the hooker by the ankle and
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