Page 552 of Forbidden Billionaires: Vol. 7

Oh well. I would never get spit roasted, because I was done with men. The only way I was getting spit roasted would be by two dildos. How exactly would that work, though? Would I have to get the ones with the little suction cups? Maybe put them on opposites walls of a shower and then bend over between them? They’d have to be kinda floppy for me to maneuver between them. And what if I got stuck? With how today went, I’d probably get stuck and die if I tried that tonight. Not that I was seriously considering it or anything.

Yup…I’m definitely not going to be able to fall asleep.

I groaned and rolled out of bed. The minibar was unfortunately only stocked with alcohol - so much alcohol - and the room service menu said they stopped service at 9 pm.What kind of shitty princess suite is this?One for a 7-year-old princess with an early bedtime and a severe drinking problem?

It didn’t really matter though. Random room service wasn’t what I was craving. If I was being honest with myself, only one thing was going to satisfy my hunger tonight. I needed to taste that pig.

The only question left was…what could I wear back to the party? I’d die of hunger while trying to figure out how to putthe princess “dress” back on. I could wear one of the plush bathrobes, but that felt like an invitation for Cole to sneak up and rip it off of me in the middle of the party. That left me with one option. I had to find something in the suitcase that stupid Tanner had packed for me.

I rummaged through the suitcase, throwing bikini after bikini onto the floor. To be fair, it wasn’t all bikinis. He’d also been a gentleman and packed me a few skintight dresses, a push-up bra, and solid gold pasties.

I didn’t know what I had been hoping to find. Of course that was what he had packed for me. Because he didn’t know me at all. All I was to him was a pair of breasts attached to the most gullible brain in the world. I would bet my new gold pasties that he had run away so that he could go make fun of me with his bestie Matt. I was suddenly glad I’d set Matt on fire. Anyone who was friends with Tanner was an idiot. And idiots deserved to have their penises damaged. #PenisFacts.I nailed that.

I was about to give up my hunt for something to wear when something at the bottom of the suitcase caught my eye. It was fleecy and baby blue and had little cartoon pandas all over it. I reached in and pulled out the most beautiful set of comfy pajamas I’d ever seen.

They were absolutely perfect. Almost too perfect. I eyed them suspiciously. What was Tanner’s angle here? Were they actually snap pants that would be easy for someone to tear off of me? Were they laced with some experimental tech that would turn them see-thru after ten minutes of wear? Or was Tanner just the sweetest guy in the world and included them because he knew I loved fuzzy jammies and pandas?

Definitely not that last one. Because Tanner was a dumb jerk.

I was debating how to test the pajamas for traps when the elevator dinged open.

“Pervert!” I screamed and dove into my bed. I held the covers over my head, hoping that whatever cannibal had come for me would just think the place was empty and go away.

I waited for them to say something. Or make a noise. Or anything. But everything was silent. Eerily silent. Like the silence you’d hear in a horror film just before the murderer pops out and stabs the dumb girl who walked into the basement by herself.

Was that what was about to happen to me? Or had I imagined the elevator opening?

I slowly lowered the covers to peep out. There was no one there. But there was a microwave-sized package sitting on the elevator floor. It was perfectly wrapped in shiny red paper and tied with a white bow. Somehow, seeing that was even creepier than seeing a murderous psycho. At least I knew what I was getting with the psycho. This could be anything. The top 3 most likely options were, in no particular order, a grainy VHS of me walking alone in the forest, a severed finger, or a bomb.

I kept both eyes on the package as I fumbled for my phone.

I wanted to call Chastity. But she was probably still busy getting railed by Angel and Diablo. So I had to resort to calling Madison. Which wasn’t so bad, because she loved watching serial killer documentaries. She’d know what to do.

Three rings. No answer.

Come on. Come on!Why wasn’t she picking up? This was a life-or-death situation!

It went to voicemail. Ialmostleft her one, but I wasn’t quite that desperate. If I did die tonight, I didn’t want Madison to remember me as a monster who leaves voicemails. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t text her a bajillion times until she responded.

I navigated to the text screen. I was all ready to type out my last will and testament, but then I saw that I had an unread message from her.

Madison: On a date with Donovan. Wish me luck!

Who the hell was Donovan? And what kind of a cruel joke was the universe playing on me?

I wasn’t even sure Madison liked dudes. And yet…she was out having the time of her life being ravaged by some gentleman suitor while I became the 7thvictim of the Emerald Oasis Eviscerator. Was that a real serial killer? And had he killed 6 other people? Not to my knowledge. But it sure had a nice ring to it.

I took a picture of the package and attached it to a text.

Ash: I hope your date is amazing. And I can’t wait to hear all about it. If I survive the night, that is. Which seems unlikely thanks to that package that just mysteriously arrived in my room. I’m pretty sure I’m about to get murdered, so I just wanted to say that I love you very much. Oh, and you and Chastity can share my awesome closet.

They weren’t the most eloquent dying words, but they pretty much conveyed what I wanted to say. I decided to add one more line, just to make sure she’d never forget me.

Ash: P.S. I almost got spit roasted tonight.

I would have considered texting Liz instead. But I’d rather die than take advice from a furry. Hopefully the Emerald Oasis Eviscerator would kill her next. I tossed my phone onto the nightstand and tiptoed over to the package. Why was I tiptoeing? I wasn’t really sure. But it felt like the right thing to do.

There was a little handwritten note on top of the package: