Page 7 of Never To Suffer (The Hollywoodland #4)

OH LOVE

GREEN DAY

In the last hour, I’ve had two requests to meet up, one asking for a private show, and another three telling me I need to update with more videos or they’ll unsubscribe. It’s typical, but it also means some people out there want to throw some extra money my way.

I check my watch and see Dani shouldn’t be home for another few hours, which means I should be able to throw some numbers out and see who bites. Worst-case scenario? The private shows aren’t as private as the viewers believe, with four of them in the room at once. Best case? Both in-person meetups.

I pull out the fancy box Dani got me for our weed stash out, ready to roll a joint to relax before I go on cam. Only it’s empty. Not even shake.

Shit.

I’m not going to my parent’s place for some uppity bullshit dinner while I’m sober, and getting drunk isn’t an option.

Right now, Dani and I have about twenty dollars in the bank, and we’ll need that for gas.

No time for the little shit. I need to go big.

I crack my knuckles and open my messages to see who requested an in-person meeting.

The first name isn’t familiar, but the second one?

Mitchell comes from money and pays well, but there’s a reason he pays well.

I met Mitchell at boarding school—in fact, a surprising number of my clients came from my time at boarding school.

Mitch played football for the school, and, like everyone else there, he had more money than brains.

Affluent jerks learn early how to throw money at their problems rather than deal with them.

Sometimes, when they’re stuck in a closet or questioning which way the door swings, I get to be that problem.

The downside? I’m not rugged or athletic.

I’m a fucking pretty boy with a soft voice and too much sarcasm.

Eventually, they tire of hearing me run my mouth.

It’s taught me how to take a punch…or three.

Some of these guys, like Mitchell, get off on taking things too far.

I shouldn’t let them, and I’ve used up my excuse other than some part of me likes it.

It’s the only reason I can imagine for going back to them so often.

It’s not the money, even though the rough guys always pay more.

It’s the contempt in their eyes when they call me the second time, or the third.

Shame, disgust, anger—every bit aimed as much toward themselves as me.

Mitch’s career in pro sports didn’t work out, but daddy paid the right people off and now Mitch pretends to work in his cushy high-rise office in downtown LA. He found me a few years ago on the website and we’ve met up a time or ten.

Fuck, Alex. Your mouth feels still so damn good.

Stop crying, you little shit! This is your fault, faggot! You made me do this!

I should find out if his wife has a pre-nup agreement for if he’s caught with his pants down.

Maybe that would jog his memory about the time he locked me in the janitor’s shed when we were eight.

Three days alone, cold, and hungry at eight years old can become quite the catalyst for some nasty revenge plots.

Mitch

How Much?

$250 for

Mitch

Be behind the bar in 20. You know which car is mine.

I’ll bring a grand.

Blackmail gets messy. But sometimes, messy serves me well.

“A bar fight? The day you’re supposed to go to your parent’s house?

Seriously, Xan?” Dani hisses each word under her breath, but loud enough for me to hear her.

She’s decorated the sink in colorful cotton balls, ranging from dark red of dried blood toward the bottom and a lighter pink toward the top when she had the bleeding under control.

We’ve been in the bathroom for almost an hour, patching my face up and trying to cover the damage in concealer.

She steps back, hip jutting out as she stares at her handiwork.

“Wear your glasses. It will help hide some of the bruising that hasn’t developed yet. ”

I nod; my lower lip tucked between my teeth like it’s been since she dragged me in here. I’m fighting back the pain I don’t want her to see along with all the other emotions. I’m a mirror to those assholes because I feel the same way about myself. I hate that I’ve become this.

I won’t do it again.

The desire to scream those words—and mean them—makes my splitting headache worse. I don’t need those guys. I don’t need this shit. And yet, I keep going back.

“I’m sorry, Dani.” Her shoulders drop at the pathetic sound. She doesn’t recognize the sound of it, but I do. Childhood to me, full of fear after a nightmare. The voice begging for someone to tell him they’d protect him from the monsters.

Oh, go back to bed, Alex. I have a meeting in the morning and don’t have time for your nightmares.

“You, well, you could have picked better timing, that’s all,” Dani sighs and kisses my head. Some days, I wonder if she realizes what I’m doing. “Let me clean all this up while you go get changed. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“What are you going to wear?”

“Is that you asking, or your mother?”

“Me,” I answer too quickly, lowering my head again. “I…thought we could match or something.”

Her scowl melts, letting the worry show in her features before she slips on her mask. “Leggings and that t-shirt dress I made from your old suit. The gray one. I love you, honeybee.” She kisses my cheek and shoves me out of the bathroom.

“No, Xander, I will not sit down and pretend that your family is normal and everything is fine!” Dani barks in a harsh but hushed tone. I don’t think anyone else heard her. “I wanna go home, Xander. Now.”

“What? Why? It’s not that bad!”

“Like your black eye wasn’t that bad? Or the other bruises I had to cover up so we could even come to this thing?”

“I told you; it was a stupid bar fight!”

“Sure, Xander. And that thing in there is an animatronic,” Dani says, rolling her eyes.

I grab her jacket from the closet before she gets to it. To judge what level of pissed off she is, I hold it high out of her reach. “Come on, this is bullshit!”

“Xander Marie Moneypenny! Give me that jacket!”

“No chance—wait, Marie Moneypenny? That’s all you’ve got?

Not your best work.” I toss the jacket over my shoulder and cross my arms. She’s annoyed, not pissed.

To be fair, I would be, too, if I wasn’t into meat and walked in on a huge ass pig staring at me with dead eyes while it slowly turned over a pit of fire.

“Come on, this is seriously ridiculous. Dad asked about your band. I told him about the contest the other day, thinking maybe he could help. You’re mad about that? ”

“It’s not! Your parents are nice, okay? They’re super nice.

Too nice. Like creepy aliens who want to eat all of humanity nice!

Like putting out candy that’s too delicious in little dishes that are too expensive to lure me into their trap nice!

They’re an episode of Twilight Zone, Xander!

” Dani catches the sleeve of her coat and rips it off my shoulder, hugging it to her like it’s the last coat on Hoth.

“Their creepy routine won’t work on me! Soylent green, Xander! ”

“You need to cut back on the sugar and late-night horror shows, D. That wasn’t Twilight Zone.” I can’t hold back the chuckle, even though it will only annoy her more.

“Stop laughing! There’s a fucking whole ass pig outside! A PIG, Xander. On a spit! Over a fire! What the fuck kind of crazy ass cartoon world do you people live in?”

“You’ve been to parties like this before at Coop’s house. I’m sorry about the pig; I didn’t think they’d go so hard on the luau theme, but this isn’t as bad as you’re making it.” I scratch the back of my head before dropping my arms to my side. “You’ve never had a pig roast before? Seriously?”

“No! Chase Cooper never once invited me to a party with a fucking pig on fire! And he’s the richest person in my life other than you!

” she snaps back, crossing her arms. “We also don’t eat fucking snails!

Christ, I would rather eat a whole chicken nugget than anything you weird, sick people have in there. Is this a cult initiation?”

“Beetle, come on. It’s not that bad, and there are some normal things, too. They ordered stuff for you, so you’d feel welcome.” I nudge her jaw with my knuckle. “Or we could raid the kitchen for ice cream.”

“It’s probably made with something weird, like the last egg of an African Condor.

What exactly on that table would you call normal ?

The lobster they boiled alive? The chicken thing I can’t even pronounce?

That lame ass excuse for a taco?” She wags her finger at me, becoming the spitting image of her mother when she would go off on something stupid white people did.

“That thing is an insult to my people, and I should not let it stand. Grito de Dolores! ” She throws her arms in the air, almost hitting me with her coat.

“ Grito de what —seriously, babe?”

“Whatever, it was all I could think of.” She pouts before she straightens up again.

“While I appreciate the lovely spread—and I guess I do want the mac and cheese recipe—that pig could feed my entire neighborhood. Or be running free on a farm, happy. Alive! Anyway, your privilege is showing, babe. Big time!” She’s pulling on her coat while continuing to yell at me in a whisper.

As she fights with the sleeve, I grab her face and pull her to me into a deep, passion fueled kiss.

I’ve met people before that I wish had some kind of on/off switch to shut them up, but Dani has one and I’ve learned how to activate it.

I press against her, moving her into the closet and out of sight from the hallway as our mouths come together again and again.

I don’t stop until she’s squeezing my arm and melting into me.

It’s always been like this between us. We fight over stupid shit; we scream at each other; I kiss her, and it’s like a reset in her head.