and barked out the questions, where is she? Where the fuck is she? until the whole place was on edge, looking at me. I didn’t fucking care. All I cared about was that pretty little bitch.
I climbed the stairs, leaping over people fondling each other on the landing, shoving some of them aside. If she was up there . . . if she was up there and taking his dick . . . my blood boiled at the thought.
The first bedroom I burst into had girls giggling on the bed with a wine bottle being slugged between them. The second had couples littered all over it, grunting and fucking. The third bedroom was in darkness, and I pawed for the light. No sign of my pretty bitch, but her pussy boy bestie was in there with his mouth around his loverboy’s dick.
He recognized me.
Pussy boy recognized me.
The Blue Hawk freak rocker let out a groan of a fuck you, fuck off out of here, but I was already on him, shoving him down onto the floor.
I was on pussy boy in a heartbeat, my face right up to his as I held her clutch up high.
“Where the fuck is she?”
He knew who I was talking about. He swallowed hard but he shook his head. “Stay away from her.”
Turns out pussy boy had bigger balls than I thought.
“I asked you once, where the fuck is she?” I hissed. “You know what’s coming to you if you don’t open your fucking mouth.”
He did know. I could see it in his eyes. Still, that didn’t matter. He was a brave little pussy boy after all.
It was the Blue prick who came for me, reaching out to wrestle me with weedy arms.
“Stop!” pussy boy yelled to him before he could grab me. “That’s Lucian Morelli; don’t go near him!”
Blue prick knew who I was well enough to stop in his tracks and back away.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “Holy fucking fuck . . .”
“I’m not asking you again,” I told pussy boy. “Where is Elaine Constantine?”
It was the Blue prick who answered. He answered in no time at all.
“That little blondie is Elaine Constantine? Whoa, shit. She’s downstairs with Stephen Cannon,” he said, and I turned to him, seething.
“If she was downstairs, I’d have found her already, idiot. Where the fuck has she gone?”
“Don’t tell him!” pussy boy yelled, but the Blue prick was staring at him with saucer eyes.
“That’s Lucian Morelli, of course I’m fucking telling him!” The guy shot his stare back to me, and he was shitting himself. He tossed me some keys from his jeans pocket. “She’s on fifth Avenue, top floor of block twelve.”
“No!” pussy boy cried, but I elbowed him straight in the face, knocking him out cold.
Blue prick went to scream, but he was next in line. Another elbow right to the jaw saw him in a heap on the floor, unconscious.
They were lucky I didn’t break their necks before I left, but I didn’t have the time.
The bass was still booming and people were still drinking when I charged back down into the kitchen. I tore my way through the drawers until I found what I needed. One hell of a knife slipped straight into my jacket, and then I pushed and shoved my way out of that hovel onto the sidewalk.
I didn’t have time to order a cab.
I didn’t have time to risk the cops showing up – even my Lucian Morelli get-out-of-shit-free card would take some time under this much commotion. Time I didn’t have.
I checked out my cell and looked up Fifth Avenue. A few blocks over. I could make it at a sprint, but it would take minutes at best. I just hoped Elaine Constantine’s pussy had minutes left to spare with a prick like that trying to get his hands on it. Even at a push it would be unlikely. Not if she was spreading her legs for him. And why wouldn’t she be? Why wouldn’t she be spreading her legs for the prick?
My stomach did a monster of a twist at the thought, and again I didn’t get it. I didn’t fucking get it. Why the fuck would I give a shit about Elaine Constantine spreading her legs for anyone?
Again, the truth was there waiting. As always, the truth was there waiting.
I was desperate for the girl. Truly fucking desperate for her.
She sure as fuck didn’t belong to that loser, and if he’d taken her . . . if he’d taken what