| BOOK SIX | THE LONDON CRIME KING | A DARK MAFIA ROMANCE NOVEL |
This book contains adult language and subject matter, including graphic violence, drugs and explicit sex that may be disturbing to some readers.
This series is NOT a typical romance...
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I had consumed a surfeit of drugs with regretful superabundance. Cocaine is procedural to function when enervated or under pressure, but acute intoxication by the component of lysergic acid diethylamide is an acknowledged mistake on my part.
Powerful hallucinogens are not a laughing matter. It is downright terrifying. If you see imaginary people, hear disembodied voices, feel the cold touch of the dead and experience sensory distortion, or worse, collide with the pain-filled flashbacks of your past, then it is time for a long, hard look in the mirror and some censorious self-reflection.
Muscle weakness and impermanent paralysis ensued whilst I slept. I cracked one eye open, evaluating the current situation. I am on someone's double bed, with arms and legs outstretched, spread-eagled, stark naked and temporarily disorientated.
My head pounded.
My limbs ached.
It felt like I had been hit by a bus.
I recognised the leopard print shell-backed chair in the corner.
"Christ." My face burrowed into the pillow. "Why do I do this to myself?"
I am a glutton for punishment.
Animal print inspired the decor. Teal-coloured sofas and gold pouffes matched the bed. Potted trees sat on the acrylic tables, and brightly coloured cushions littered the mustard sheepskin rug on the hardwood floor. The maximalist design stretched throughout. Even the bathroom had pink neon heart lights on gilded shelves. Everything, from the walls to the ornaments, is vibrant, quirky and edged with chaos, just like the owner's personality.
It would seem that I paid an exploratory visit to Cherry's apartment, which came as no surprise because the melange of wild grotesqueries is the home away from home recently.
"Hey, you," Cherry said with a hint of accismus as her arrowhead fingernails drew patterns on my back. "How are you feeling?"
My face turned.
Cherry, who has been at Club 11 since its inception, is sprawled out on the bed next to me, her bright red hair fanned across the pillow, her naked body twisted in satin sheets.
"I know that look." Her face was clear of makeup. "Confusion."
Self-chastisement is more apt.
"Well?" Her blue eyes were softer and prettier without false eyelashes and layers of mascara. "Jesus, Brad. You are scaring me."
I glanced at the curtained window, where the faintest flicker of light shone into the dark bedroom. "What time is it?"
"Six a.m.," she confirmed the worst, and I forced myself to sit up. "Hey, where are you going? I thought you wanted to sleep for an eternity?"
I checked the time and date on my phone. "Shit."
"What?" Holding the sheet to her chest, she propped up onto one elbow. "Did something happen?"
