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“Just a little roofie. She agreed. I gave her one hundred dollars.”
Carmen blocked the entrance to the bathroom. “Give her to me.”
George frowned. “She’s willing.”
“No.”
George Wotherton wore gold spectacles, a signet ring on his finger, and an oatmeal-colored suit. One could mistake him for a civilized gentleman if it wasn’t for the unconscious naked woman he had tucked under his arm like an old jacket.
George focused on her breasts. “You took out your implants? That’s a shame.”
Just being near him made her skin crawl. Between wife two and three, George approached her at a party and asked if she would be interested in a mistress or wife position for ten million. She had been too stunned to respond appropriately. His utter gall left her speechless then and now. “Fuck you, George.”
“I wish. You know I’ve always wanted you. Have you fallen on hard times?” he asked hopefully.
“No!”
“Damn shame.”
George scanned her with a leer. “Still a knockout, I see.”
“Give her to me.”
“I paid for her.”
He sounded like a spoiled child. He was talking about fucking a person as casually as if he wanted the last cookie on a plate. A chill ran up her spine. “Give.”
George glared at her. “What are you gonna do about it?”
“George.”
Angel’s voice carried over the relentless beat of music that matched her heartbeat. Angel’s voice was harder, deeper than it had been when he spoke to her a minute ago. George tensed as Angel looked from him to the unconscious woman in his arms.
“Put her back, George,” Angel said.
George’s rat eyes darted from Carmen to Angel and then to the woman in his arms.
“George.” George ducked his head as if Angel yelled. “Now.”
George nodded and turned to take the woman back to the room at the end of the hall. He muttered under his breath as he went. Carmen stared at the girl’s feet which flopped from side to side as George dragged her. She put her gun in her purse as Angel went into the bathroom to wash his hands. She counted under her breath. Just as she started down the hall, George appeared in the hallway, wiping his face. It took her only a moment to figure out what he’d done.
“You dirty old fuck!”
George scowled at her. “I left her the hundred.”
“But you licked her.”
He shrugged. “She would let me do much worse.”
“You—”
Angel grasped her hand. “Fuck on your time, not mine, George. We clear?”
George’s hands wove through the air. “You were eating and…”
“And it’s still my time. You think I would have delayed the festivities until you finished fucking?”
“You’re right, Roman. Quite right. I apologize.”
