Unmaking Marchant by Ella James Read Free Book Online

cab or something.”
“You sure?”
Goddamn, this kid is persistent. I cut my eyes at him, trying not to let my foul mood show. “Yeah, man. I got it.”
That’s a lie. But I still owe a guy some money, and I don’t need to involve the kid in whatever might happen. What is it they say? Bad impression. No—it’s bad example . Kids are vulnerable, and I’m an example, right?
It’s Friday night—still early, but the Wynn is hopping. The weed keeps me mellow, so the crowd doesn’t bother me much. I hurry through the massive, marble-columned hallway, trying to keep my head down as I walk toward the private room that’s reserved for the Hearts for Heroes fundraiser Hunter roped me into. It’s for the cardiac unit at the local children’s hospital, and there’s some elaborate system they’re using to raise the money. Something with teams. We’re calling ours the Love Inc. team, even though Hunter set everything up, and we’ve got a couple of extra people.
I feel like an asshole with this gun in my pocket, and I’ll look like one if security sees it, but I can’t take the risk of getting jumped by Hawkins. Rex Hawkins, the guy who’s been threatening to shoot me in the back.
Fuck him. I said I would pay. I just need a little longer to get the money moved. Fuck Hawkins for starting that fight last week at Tao. Fuck Tao, too. I got a month-long ban and a ride to the South MLK police station, and Hawkins got nothing.
I try to shove my anger down as I turn sideways to get past a group of Asian men in pastel business suits. I need to keep my mind on tonight, not get lost in that other shit. But I can’t help it; I wish I was at Tao playing blackjack. I wish I could find Rex Hawkins and kick his fucking ass.
I press my hand against my pocket and remind myself that guns are terrible things. I’m not a gun guy, right? I’m all about the party.
I should throw the gun out.
Where? A trash receptacle? No way. The cameras pick that shit up. I rub my slacks again, but my mind is fucking hazy. I don’t know what to do with the damn thing.
The room we’re in is big, with high ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows, marble floors, and lots of black, fringed chandeliers that look, to me, like video-game monsters. Tonight the lights inside of them are glowing red. I guess in honor of the whole hearts thing.
Kids with heart defects. Now that shit is sad. Really goddamned sad. When I think about the kids, I need a fucking drink.
This dude comes up, and I swear I’ve got some magic fucking powers, because he’s got a tray loaded with alcohol. I grab what looks like Long Island iced tea and down it before he can make it to the next person.
“Let me grab another one, dude.” I shove a hundred into his palm and grab two more drinks.
“One for my friend,” I mutter as I step away.
Take that, Hawkins. I’ve got enough money to come through this shit. I’m solvent. I finish the second drink and sit the empty glass by a potted palm tree. My eyes are burning like a motherfucker. My hands itch. Fuck. I’m jumpy as shit. Maybe I should go. I could probably make it over to Tao’s in less than half an hour if I could get a police escort.
I rub my eyes again. Okay, the cops probably wouldn’t do that for me. Not unless I get in trouble. Maybe I should go find Hawkins and shove my fist into his tenth-grade-looking face again. Baby-faced motherfucker.
I cast my bleary gaze around the room. Crowded. Lots of important types here. The mayor and shit. Wonder where the hell Hunter is. I can’t remember who’s on our team. It’s fucking hot in here. I’d love another blunt. Maybe I should go.
I fiddle with the gun and think about going to the bathroom and flushing it down the toilet. I don’t need a gun. I’ve got my fists. Guns kill people—right? I don’t want to do that. I’m a nice guy.
Can guns fit down toilets?
Right out in front of me, in between me and the tables they’ve got set up, this woman walks by, and she’s a fucking