High (4 page)

God, I need to see Felix. I open the wardrobe, pulling out random items of clothing because almost everything I usually wear is in my suitcase and I can’t be bothered to unpack. I pull out a pair of leather trousers that were sent to me by some designer to wear. I yank them on, as well as a turtle neck that stops just short of my belly button. Shoving my feet into a pair of heels, I grab my bag and keys then head for the door. A quick glance in the mirror in the hallway tells me that I vaguely resemble a high end hooker—a zombie hooker.

I pull into the parking lot of Red, Felix’s club, and spot his Range Rover parked right by the back door. Paul is on the door tonight, and his face breaks into a brilliant smile when he sees me.

“Hey, baby girl.” His white smile stands out against his ebony skin. I smile back, despite my awful mood.

“Hey you.” I say as he hugs me and wraps his thick arms around my waist. “I have to see Felix real quick, but I’ll be out in a bit.” I assure him. I need some blow, right fucking now, more like.

He pulls back, scanning my face with a knowing eye. To anyone who knows, it’s not hard to see my suffering.

I cut through the club, the music throbbing and pulsing around me. The punters sit in shadowed booths, watching the dancers move, their bodies twisting erotically on the stages. Red is a strip bar, but there are no poles. These girls are employed because they turn sex into an art. Felix is a genius at making money, and this place makes a fucking fortune. Wealthy guys like to pretend they’re more sophisticated than the average Joe in a strip bar, but really, all they’re doing is spending more money to see less skin. These girls don’t do extra—actually, that’s a lie. I know Lila once gave a guy a blowie for ten grand, but that kind of money will bring most girls to their knees. Hell, I know straight
guys
who would suck a cock for that money. 

I head for the door at the back and type in the security code: 1234. It clicks open immediately and my lips pull into a smile.
Bloody Felix.

The music mutes to a low hum when the door closes behind me. I don’t even knock on the door to Felix’s office, I just push it open.

He looks up with a frown on his face until he sees who it is, and then his steely mask breaks into a wide smile. Felix always was the hot guy that all the girls wanted to bang. But he was too busy hanging around with Milly and me, and fucking girls five years older than him to bother with them. He inherited the chestnut hair and the laughing green eyes from his Irish father. No matter what, Felix always looks like he’s up to something.

“Fuck me!” He stands up and closes the distance between us, wrapping his arms around me tightly and lifting me off my feet. Milly is my best friend, but Felix is like a brother, well, except that one time, when I lost my virginity to him, but we don’t talk about that. Ever.

Putting me down, he steps back, and his eyes meet mine. “You look like shit.” His eyebrows drop into a frown as he studies my face.

I roll my eyes. “Nice to see you too dickhead, but yes, I look like shit. It’s actually Milly’s fault this time. She wanted to fuck this rock star, so we partied with them for three days straight. I thought I was a party girl, but damn.” I shake my head. “There was a hot chick called Stevie, a pierced cock, a hot threesome, and a human turd involved—not all at the same time I might add—and now here I am, strung out to fuck and bringing a whole new meaning to Tragic Tuesday.” I smile at him but he doesn’t return it.

Felix deals for fucks sake but the moment this shit starts to get messy is the moment he’s all judgy. I know right now I look like a junkie, strung out, crashing and burning, in need of the next high. I’m not. These are just extenuating circumstances. His eyes flick over my shoulder before I hear a throat clear. I whirl around to face the person that has clearly been here the entire time, watching my tirade.

“Blake, this is Rhett Torres, a friend of mine.” Felix introduces me.

My eyes work up a broad chest, straining against the material of his shirt before I meet his gold eyes—eyes so distinctive I could never forget them.

“You have got to be shitting me.” I groan. I can’t deal with this crap right now.

His lips kick up at the sides slightly and an infuriatingly sexy smirk makes an appearance. I’m tired, coming down, and grumpy as shit, but that smirk has my insides clenching and my skin breaking out in goose bumps.

“Wait, you know each other?” Felix is frowning, his gaze flicking between Rhett and I. God, even his name is sexy as fuck.

“We’ve met.” Rhett says at the same time as I blurt. “We fucked.” And Felix laughs.

Rhett’s gaze swings to mine and he cocks an eyebrow. “Eloquent.”

“Yeah, that’s Blake.” Felix laughs. My patience is wearing thin, and I turn my back on the walking sex icon behind me. I can feel Felix’s eyes burning a hole into my back.

“Felix, I need to go. Do you want my money or not?”

He sighs. “Wait here.”

Blake? Huh, I was sure she’d be called Elizabeth or some shit.

Fuck me though, her ass looks good in those pants.  She looks like she just rolled out of a drug den, but I’d still bend her over that fucking desk.

Felix leaves the room, and she moves around the desk, her hips swaying before she drops into the chair and props her long legs on the desk. She takes a cigarette out and places it to her lips.

“You got a light?”

I push off the wall, and take the silver lighter from my inside pocket, flipping the lid and leaning over the desk. Her eyes lock with mine as she inhales, making the end of the cigarette glow.

“Well, I didn’t expect to see you in London.” She says, blowing a stream of smoke into the air. “Business or pleasure?” She teases the word, and her lips pull into a playful smile.

“Both.”

“Huh? Well, let me know if you need any help with that.” She drags her eyes over my body, those mismatched green and brown irises flashing. Her full lips pull up into a sensual smirk as she cocks an eyebrow. She’s like a walking challenge, defiance and sensuality rolling off her in waves. She’s…refreshing.

Just when I’m ready to throw her down on the desk and let her ‘help’ me, Felix walks back in. His gaze flicks between the two of us. She holds out her palm and he hands her a small paper bag, her eyes still not leaving mine as she stuffs it in her purse.

Standing, she finally turns to Felix. She holds out a handful of bank notes but he shakes his head and pushes her hand away. “Be careful, B. You look like shit.”

She rolls her eyes. “Love you.” She pushes up on tiptoes and kisses his cheek. I narrow my eyes. She flashes me one last look before she leaves.

 The door clicks shut and I tilt my head back against the wall, letting out a long breath.

Felix laughs a low throaty chuckle. “Yeah, she gets you like that.”

I open my eyes and flash him a look. “You’re her dealer?” I ask, ignoring him.

His eyebrows drop into a deep frown. “No!” He snaps too quickly. “She’s…she’s one of my best friends. More like a sister really.”

“But you do deal to her…” There’s a thinly veiled accusation in my voice. I don’t judge people who take drugs. Hell, I wouldn’t be where I am without drugs, but for some reason, it bothers me that he’s giving
her
drugs.

His eyes snap to mine. “You don’t know Blake. She’s…complicated. It’s just a phase. She’ll come out of it. If I deny her, she’ll just buy it elsewhere, and given who she is, that’s dodgy at best. I’m trying to keep her under the radar until this passes.” He drags a hand down his face. “Not that she exactly fucking helps with that.”

“Given who she is?”

He nods, his lips twisting into a small smile. “Torres, you should know who she is. You did fuck her after all.”

“Felix.” I growl.

He sighs. “Fine. Blake McQueen.” Blake McQueen. I know the name, but why? “Daughter of Miles McQueen.”

My eyes widen. “As in?” He nods, a wide grin on his face. “Fuck.” Blake is the daughter of the Minister of Justice.

I smile at the irony, watching as Felix takes out a cigarette, lighting it. “Well, the apple fell very fucking far from the tree.”

He laughs. “Tell me about it. It’s a long story that involves one night, a proposal, a bag of blow, and a fucking epic exit, followed by a few months of some seriously messy shit. Blake lives and breathes as a giant fuck you to her parents.” He shrugs.

“Interesting.”

 “I can’t believe that you managed to fuck one of my best friend’s half way across the world.” He shakes his head. “Is there a pussy you haven’t been in?”

I snort and pull out my own packet of cigarettes, placing one between my lips and lighting it. I drag a heavy lungful of smoke into my lungs.

I stare him straight in the eye. “No man with a working dick would just be friends with that girl.”

He lets out a loud laugh. “Well, there was that one time…”

“Thank fuck for that. I was starting to worry about you. Thought maybe I was more your type.”

“You’d still be too pretty, and it was a V card job.”

So Blake lost her virginity to Felix, but she takes drugs, parties with rock stars and isn’t opposed to a bit of pussy. Sounds like my kind of girl.

I glance at my watch. “I need to go, but I’m in London for a couple of months.”

A grin splits his face. “It’ll be just like old times.”

I turn and leave the office, winding through the packed strip bar. Women writhe, their hips swinging seductively as they move around the stages.

Felix has a good thing going here. Honestly, I’m not sure why he’s even into running drugs, but I guess it’s the age old adage of never being happy with what you have. And Felix makes a lot of fucking money out of running coke, with relatively low risk. He’s a supplier, not a dealer. Plus, he’s from a wealthy background—a background no-one would ever suspect of breeding a drug dealer. Not that it ever means shit. Blake is from a good background, but I can practically taste the corruption on her, and that may just work to my advantage.
 

As soon as they hear I’m back in London, the press are like vultures. Wherever I go, there they are. I left England in a hurry after I wrapped my car around a lamp post high, and nearly killed myself. Fun times. My parents wanted to keep me quiet. Apparently having a daughter who knows how to have a good time isn’t good PR when your father is a minister. So, I was packed off travelling until it died down and a gag order issued to the press. But they forgot that I’m Blake McQueen, and the Americans do so love us Brits. Sending me away was probably the worst thing dear old Daddy could have done. New York is a giant playground for someone like me, so, of course, I drew attention.  

My father and I don’t exactly see eye to eye. He thinks I should marry some influential dickhead while I increasingly think that he’s a fucking bell end, and seek to piss him off at every available opportunity. Got to love a bit of family drama.

My new found socialite status seems to have followed me back to London, and as much as I love anything that pisses my father off, their constant attention is irritating.