Page 23 of London’s Calling, Part 1 (London’s Calling)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Mickey

After arriving late to the office this morning, I stay late ensuring everything is in place for work to start on the Whitechapel hotel Monday.

Before heading home, I do a little research into Hart’s history.

Unsurprisingly, there is nothing but a long list of his fucking accomplishments over the years and several mentions of him and Marvin Kerr.

When Franklin and my father were partners, Marvin Kerr was their number one enemy. Until Franklin switched sides. I don’t know all the details because Dad refuses to talk about it. Now, Marvin owns a selection of sister hotels, in hot spots along the bank of the Thames, to Franklin’s Tower Hotels.

I do a quick search on Kerr’s Bankside hotels shares status.

“Well, well, well. Would you look at that?” I mutter, closing down my computer and heading out the door with a new plan. A kill two birds with one stone plan.

A message dings on my phone as I reach my car, and I pull it from my pocket to see it’s from Fletch.

Fletch

It’s Saturday, fucker. Time to party! There’s a beer with your name on it and a hot piece of arse just waiting to be banged.

I greet James and climb into the backseat and contemplate whether to head over to Priest’s or go home and see if… What the fuck am I doing?

I’m not going to sit around on a Saturday night like some lovestruck dickhead waiting for a girl who means nothing to me. Yeah, so we screwed a couple of times. She’s still a Hart. It’s not my responsibility to take care of her, protect her.

Liar.

Hell no!

Me

Be there soon. Warm her up for me. ;)

I send the message and wait for the usual thrill accompanying the prospect of a Saturday night drinking and fucking. But it’s noticeably missing.

The closer to home we get, the less I feel like I made the right choice. But I shove that mushy shit down. At my apartment, certain I’ll forget about Roni as soon as I get to Priest’s, I crack open a beer as I get ready, then less than twenty minutes later, I’m hopping in my car and heading out.

I’m totally wasted! The room has a foggy haze to it, and I’m not sure if it’s the booze or smoke from the blunt Fletch is toking on.

Probably a combination of the two, either way, I’m enjoying the buzz.

I needed this. This past week has been a fucking nightmare between work and…

Nope, don’t go there. I push her from my thoughts and take a mouthful of beer.

The second I pull the bottle from my lips, my hand is knocked to the side by a body as someone climbs into my lap. My head flops back, and I look through half-closed eyes to see the blurred face of the girl who’s been trying to fuck me since I arrived.

“I can make you feel good, Mickey,” she purrs, leaning forward and peppering kisses along my jaw.

She takes my free hand and places it on her breast. I give a half-hearted squeeze as she rolls her hips.

“Come on, baby,” she says, rolling her hips again and trying to get some kind of reaction from me.

I go to pull my hand from her tit, but she stops me. “Na-uh, here, let me show you what I can offer.”

Suddenly my view is filled with a pair of tits as she takes a handful of my hair and steers my head toward a nipple.

My mouth falls open, but I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m so fucked! This chick starts dry humping me, and I drunkenly close my mouth around her nipple, sucking it—at least I think I am.

Laughter fills the space around me followed by a groan, which I’m sure came from the girl on top of me.

One hand is guided down as the bottle in my other hand seems to disappear, and my fingers brush against something soft and wet.

I wiggle them, slipping inside, and in a fleeting moment of clarity, I realise I’m fingering this girl. I try to focus, try to get into this.

But it’s not doing anything for me. My cock is clearly more wasted than I am and can’t even manage a half-mast. I pull my hand away, my fingers slipping from inside her, and begin pushing her away. There’s a crash and an angry cry as I push to my feet.

“Hey! What the fuck, Mickey?”

The room spins, my head lolling side to side, as I try to make my legs work.

“Where you going? I’m offering you prime pussy and you’re just going to walk away, huh?”

Her voice grates on me, and I can’t believe, even without thoughts of Roni running through my mind making it impossible for me to get hard for someone else, I would ever hit that.

“Yo, Mickey, What’s up, man?”

“Mickey!”

My eyes close, trying to figure out who is calling me as I stumble a couple of steps forward. My thigh hits something hard, and I almost topple over. Hands grip me, guiding me from behind.

“Jesus, Priest, what did you do to him?”

Fletch—that’s Fletch.

“Fuck you, man. Maybe it was this chick. What did you slip him? Did you fucking roofie my mate so you could fuck him, bitch?”

The voices fade as whoever is guiding me moves me further away. My limbs feel like mush, and I can’t focus my eyes on anything, everything spinning and hazy.

“Nearly there, Mickey. A couple more steps.”

Then I’m falling, falling, falling—my face meets something soft that smells like magnolia…then nothing.

“Urgh!” I grumble as I smack my lips together, attempting to wet them.

My face is squashed against whatever I’m lying on while a splintering pain arcs through my skull.

“What the fuck…” I groan as I rollover, flopping onto my back.

My arm feels like lead as I raise it and begin patting down my body, grateful to discover I’m fully clothed and there is not a random, nameless female lying beside me.

It takes me a good twenty minutes to get myself up and on my feet. I stumble down the corridor and into the lounge where Fletch and Priest are sitting, looking a hell of a lot better than me.

Fletch looks up. “Shit, Mick, you look like death.”

“Yeah, I feel like it too. What the fuck happened?”

Priest and Fletch share a look before Priest gets to his feet and disappears into the kitchen.

By the time I’ve made it to the sofa, dropping down beside Fletch, Priest has returned with a bottle of water and some headache tablets.

I take them both when he offers them to me, chugging down half the water before taking the tablets.

“How much do you remember?” Fletch asks.

“After arriving and having a few beers, not much.” I frown.

“Yeah, that’ll be whatever that bitch put in your drink. But don’t—”

“Hold up, are you saying someone spiked my fucking drink?” They both nod. “Explains why I can’t remember shit, and why my head feels like someone took a sledgehammer to it.”

“It seems Trina doesn’t take no for an answer. You were blowing her off all night, man. What the hell was up with you?” Priest asks.

I shake my head. “Nothing. I just wasn’t feeling it. And after spiking my drink, I guess my gut was right.” I arch a brow, downing the last of my water.

“I call bullshit on that lame excuse,” Fletch says, pointing at me. “This is about Roni, isn’t it?”

“Shut the fuck up, Fletch. This is not about anyone, especially not the Ice Queen.” I squeeze the empty water bottle, the plastic crinkling under the pressure, and push to my feet. “I need to get out of here,” I tell a confused Fletch and Priest, tossing the bottle aside.

I know how they feel ’cause I’m as confused as fuck too. I’m in no state to drive, but I can’t stick around here for the duos interrogation about why I baled on a sure thing. I want a shower and some actual sleep as opposed to the drugged up, comatose shit I got last night.