Unmaking Marchant by Ella James Read Free Book Online Page A

fox. Short, blonde-brown hair. Angel face. Ass-hugging jeans. Maybe that’s what I need to shake this weird-ass mood: a good fuck. I push myself up and start to follow her. If I ask, she might be game. I can donate some money to this charity bullshit. Stay in bed with her instead of playing.
I’m on her tail, my eyes glued to her pert little ass in those amazing blue jeans. Fucking hell. The way she moves…
There’s Hunter! I see him in a crowd of well-dressed pricks, crossing through the room behind this one, angled toward me. I need to dodge him, follow the girl, but he holds his hand up. He raises his eyebrows—West’s idea of a friendly greeting—then pulls his phone out of his tux pocket. He’s getting a call, and whatever he hears makes his eyes go wide.
I turn back, and the girl is gone.
Goddamned Hunter. He’s such a cock block.
I turn back toward the lobby, because I’m getting out of here. I don’t have the right head for this hearts bullshit.
I turn, and there’s Hawkins.
     
“I don’t know what the fuck you want from me, but I told your asshat errand boy that I wouldn’t have the money until Monday.”
Hawkins, standing in front of me in a small, round sitting area off the rented casino room, smirks. “You didn’t tell anyone shit.”
“Monday,” I growl. 
Again, that smirk. “So make it Sunday, papa pimp.” He grins and takes a step toward me.
I take a step forward, too, crowding him against the rounded wall. Wormy little bastard. I can take him with my eyes closed. “You gonna threaten me here, when you’re all alone?” I sneer.
“I’ve got friends everywhere, Radcliffe.”
“Good for you, you fucking prick. You’ll get your money Monday. Now, you might want to consider getting the fuck away from me, before I get pissed off.”
His face twists. “Sunday, or I’m coming for it.”
“Why don’t you try?” My self-control snaps and I shove him against the wall, enjoying the sensation of my hands digging into his shoulders. “I might owe you money, but you’re a fucking bully and a cheat. And getting the cops involved at Tao was— hey! ”
I was going to say “a bitch move,” but strong arms grab my shoulders from behind.
“Let’s take this outside,” Hawkins says, his beady eyes directing whoever is behind me. One of his thugs, obviously. I force my body to go limp as the man behind me pushes something hard and cool into my lower back, and I’m shoved out a nearby door, into one of the casino’s discreet atriums, with lush green grass, potted trees, and a bunch of cheesy lanterns.
Hawkins’ thug digs his gun into my back, but I don’t give a fuck. I whirl on him, kneeing him in the balls, sending him down to the plastic grass in half a second, before Hawkins’ other goon throws a punch at my jaw.
I dodge it easily. My eyes are fast. One swift kick to the wrist, and his gun is on the ground. One more and that big, fat bastard is bleeding from his ugly fucking head.
I go for my own gun, rounding on Hawkins as I do—but my fingers aren’t working right. I’m having trouble tracking. My mind is racing too damn fast now.
Goon No. 1 is back up, so I backhand the bastard and he flies across the grass. Another big bastard with that distinctive Hawkins Security swagger comes barreling out the door, and I kick him in the balls. Now they’re all down.
But Hawkins has the gun, and he’s circling me. “You high on something, Radcliffe?”
“Life.”
He looks at me like I’m crazy, but he should have looked at me like I’m the fucking Flash, because I grab the gun from him and get him on the ground in half a second. I start wailing on his face, and it feels so good. Just what I need.
From somewhere far away, conscience tells me to lighten up—I’m gonna really hurt him—but I don’t listen. I need this too badly.
I’m feeling better than I have in weeks when I hear a shriek, then feel small hands tugging at my shoulders. I aim a punch behind me and, a millisecond