Devil's Game(66)

“I know guys think things like that,” I said slowly. “But you do realize you’re not supposed to say them out loud, right?”

He sighed.

“Em, I really like you. We covered that. I like you enough not to play games? okay? That means I’m not gonna feed you any romantic bullshit.”

Huh. Wasn’t sure how to take that. On the one hand, I didn’t want him lying to me. On the other, I didn’t like the honesty, either. Made it too hard to pretend that this wasn’t completely insane.

“So let’s lay it all out,” I said. “You want to f*ck me, but you don’t care about me. I want to f*ck you, but trust me, every time you open your mouth, I care about you less.”

“Pretty much,” he muttered.

“We should do it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Let’s do it,” I said, warming to the idea. “Fuck. Screw. Boink. I know you’re good at it, and it’s about time I got it over with. Let’s go in there and have at it. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.”

I smiled up at him brightly, pleased with myself. It was a brilliant plan.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he said, closing his eyes. “Un-f*cking-real. Em, we need to get you home. Now.”

“You’re turning me down?” I asked, raising my brows. “Because you seemed pretty ready to go for it at the bar, and you sure as shit weren’t faking it when you had me cuffed to the bed. Pretty certain I didn’t imagine that part.”

“Yeah, Em. I’m turning you down.”

“Well, f*ck you, *. Oh wait, we’re not doing that, are we?” I said peevishly, looking past him. The front door had opened, and I could see girls dancing inside. Some of them weren’t wearing much in the way of clothing. Interesting. “If you’re gonna be boring, I’ll just go check out the party.”

I pushed past him and walked into the living room, looking around curiously. If Hunter wanted to be a dickwad, I’d find someone else to entertain me.

Now, I grew up in an MC, so it wasn’t like the party totally shocked me. But Dad always kicked me out before things got too crazy at the Armory, because he’s mean like that. I have a good imagination, though, and I’ve heard stories about wild club parties.

Stories that were apparently pretty accurate. Sweet.

Across the wall was a long banner that said “Welcome Home, Clutch.” Right underneath it sat a big recliner, all covered with gold cloth like a throne. There was a mini fridge set next to it, and attached to one arm was an elaborate remote-control holster. I made careful note of each peripheral detail, because my eyes kept shying away every time I tried to look at the action taking place in the chair.

A man wearing a Devil’s Jack cut lay back, a giant grin on his face. I couldn’t tell if it was from watching the half-naked stripper working the pole in the center of the room, the two fully naked chicks on the couch sixty-nining each other, or the girl giving him a blow job. Whatever the cause, Clutch (I assumed it was Clutch) was in a very, very good mood.

Well, at least now I knew what the party was for.

I started wandering across the room, which was full of guys drinking beer, couples making out, and oh … look at that. There was a giant plasma TV playing porn.

“Em,” Hunter called, his voice warning. I ignored him. This was far too interesting. Past the living room was a dining area. Big Boobs lay back on the table while a tall man with a hairy ass f*cked her in front of the crowd. I cocked my head, studying him carefully. He needed a wax in a big way.

Then everything turned upside down.

Hunter had grabbed me and thrown me over his shoulder, which wasn’t the most comfortable position for a woman who’d been drinking all night. It took everything I had not to barf down his back, so I started smacking him and demanding that he let me go.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, passing through the kitchen and up a flight of stairs. He turned into a room at the top, flopping me down on an unmade bed. Everything started spinning. I tried to focus on the ceiling, where something faintly green shimmered. What was that up there?

Then I burst out laughing.

“The f*ck?” Hunter asked, hands on his hips, exasperation written all over his face.

“There’s a glowing unicorn on your ceiling,” I said, awestruck. But was it real? I closed my eyes, rubbed them, then opened them again.

Nope. It was still there. Holy shit.