the ceiling was one solid mirror. Lee wasnât 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 didnât 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 didnât 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 hadnât hurt like this since . . . well, right now he couldnât remember. He was going to have a serious chat with Jamal when he felt better, and if the dealer wasnât 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 couldnât remember her name. Heâd 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 couldnât 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 likeâ
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 dragged her off the bed. âGet up. GET UP! Get up, you filthy, diseased cunt.â The girl struggled to open her eyes through a mass of blond curls and landed in an awkward tangle of long limbs and heavy breasts. She couldnât have been more than nineteen.
âBaby, whatâsââ
âYou fuckinâ whore. Shut your fucking mouth.â He paced around the bed, clenching and unclenching his fists.
âBaby, Iââ
Lee sprang at her. He grabbed a fistful of blond curls and punched her twice in the face. Grabbing her hair with both hands, he head-butted her, and felt the satisfying crunch as her nose shattered. She collapsed on the floor. He straddled her chest and took his time, using both fists in swinging, roundhouse arcs. After the fifth or six blow, she stopped struggling under him and tried to wrap her skinny arms over her head.
He was still hitting her when somebody knocked on the door.
Lee sat back, panting. He glanced quickly around the room, as if to make sure there were no cameras aimed at him. He stood, collecting himself for a moment, paused long enough to spit on her, then crossed the room and opened the door. âWhat?â
His uncle was at the door. Short, with a bad back. Dead eyes that wouldnât blink at a night fire at an orphanage. âJesus Christ, Lee, you want to bother answering your cell?â
âI got busy.â
âDo we, or do we not, have an agreement that you will keep it with you at all times? I have been calling you all morning. And when I call, you answer. It does
He swept the chic complimentary perfumes and toiletries off the counter in disgust. It didnât 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 didnât 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 hadnât hurt like this since . . . well, right now he couldnât remember. He was going to have a serious chat with Jamal when he felt better, and if the dealer wasnât 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 couldnât remember her name. Heâd 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 couldnât 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 likeâ
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 dragged her off the bed. âGet up. GET UP! Get up, you filthy, diseased cunt.â The girl struggled to open her eyes through a mass of blond curls and landed in an awkward tangle of long limbs and heavy breasts. She couldnât have been more than nineteen.
âBaby, whatâsââ
âYou fuckinâ whore. Shut your fucking mouth.â He paced around the bed, clenching and unclenching his fists.
âBaby, Iââ
Lee sprang at her. He grabbed a fistful of blond curls and punched her twice in the face. Grabbing her hair with both hands, he head-butted her, and felt the satisfying crunch as her nose shattered. She collapsed on the floor. He straddled her chest and took his time, using both fists in swinging, roundhouse arcs. After the fifth or six blow, she stopped struggling under him and tried to wrap her skinny arms over her head.
He was still hitting her when somebody knocked on the door.
Lee sat back, panting. He glanced quickly around the room, as if to make sure there were no cameras aimed at him. He stood, collecting himself for a moment, paused long enough to spit on her, then crossed the room and opened the door. âWhat?â
His uncle was at the door. Short, with a bad back. Dead eyes that wouldnât blink at a night fire at an orphanage. âJesus Christ, Lee, you want to bother answering your cell?â
âI got busy.â
âDo we, or do we not, have an agreement that you will keep it with you at all times? I have been calling you all morning. And when I call, you answer. It does
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