Page 19 of A Quick Buck

Oh, the surprise on their faces was priceless.

“Come on.” Noah plopped down in bed with a grin. “Alistair grills me about where I was? Gives Not-Brad all that shit? None of you like him. It’s obvious.” He smirked. “You’re all mad because I just gave him his alibi, huh?”

“Good for yous, Scrappy fuckin’ Doo.” Junior rolled his eyes.

“Fuck you.” Noah laughed and batted his eyes. “Have you seen this face? I’m obviously Daphne.”

“Very cute.” Crybaby cocked her head. “You wanna drink some more and maybe pass out? ’Cause that’d be great.”

“You’re just mad I’m fuckin’ right.”

“You’re not as smart as you think you are.”

“Whatever.” Noah stretched out his arm to grab the last little bottle of booze. “Hey, can one of you check my fridge?”

“Yous have a fuckin’ fridge in here?” Junior glanced around. “Fuckin’ where?”

“There.” Noah pointed at the big cabinet his television was sitting on.

“That’s a fuckin’ fridge?”

“Yeah. Now go open it and see if I left a bottle of gin in there.”

“Open it yourself, asshole.”

“Play nice, boys.” Crybaby leaned against the wall and crossed her arms.

Groaning in annoyance, Noah got out of bed to check the fridge. There were two bottles inside—a new bottle of rum and one half full bottle of gin. He didn’t remember having any rum, but he went with the gin. “See? It’s a fridge.”

“Wow.” Junior whistled low.

“What?” Noah walked back to his bed and sat.

“Is that the first time yous had to do somethin’ all by yourself without a maid or a fuckin’ butler to help yous?”

Noah flipped him off and grabbed the remote for his television. He mindlessly flipped channels, taking long sips from the bottle of gin.

“You drinkin’ it straight?” Crybaby made a face.

“I’m a highly trained professional drunk.”

“Yeah, well, Mr. Highly Trained, don’t get too fucked up.” Junior shook his head. “Yous got fuckin’ dinner tonight with Mr. Star.”

“Like I’m seriously going to eat dinner with him.” Noah settled on a trashy reality show and threw the remote down by his feet.

“Your stay with us would go much more smoothly if you do as Mr. Star says,” Crybaby cautioned. “Just a thought.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” Noah didn’t want to talk after that, choosing to stare off into the television while his thoughts swirled around him. The alcohol helped weigh them back down so he could relax, but soon his eyes were taking all the weight of the booze and he couldn’t keep them open any longer.

He passed out before the next episode of his program came on, and he slept hard. He was exhausted. He was being held hostage by criminals and the guy he’d been sleeping with was part of this mob of businesspeople or whoever the hell they were.

There was no escape, no way out, and he was fuckin’ trapped.

What a mess.

Thankfully, he slept soundly and didn’t even have a single dream disturb his rest. He only woke up when someone started jabbing him in the forehead.

“What the fuck?” Noah groaned groggily.