Broken Boy

Chapter 3

Having money is like a sweet piece of ass—it never gets old and once you have it, there's no going back to a life without it. I expect meathead to lead me back into the club, but instead a sleek black limo rolls into the alley.

The door swings open and the longest pair of golden tan legs I've ever seen slide out. My eye line goes to the plunging neckline of one of the finest racks I've ever seen. Someone took great care when they made those—whether it was an M.D. or the man himself upstairs.

A woman clears her throat and I'm greeted by a pair of steely blue eyes. Meathead snorts behind me, and when I glance at him, a smirk covers his face.

"Go on, boy. She's not gonna bite you," he says. Challenge colors his tone.

"Mr. Kinsey, would you care to join us for a ride?" Legs-for-Days draws my attention back to her, her voice low and silky. I don't even care who the 'us' is in that limo—my mind is thinking up ways to get her to say my name in that cock-raising tone.

"Because your prepubescent dick wouldn't know any better. That's a real woman." The bouncer mutters behind me. He's close enough I can smell his heavy, rancid breath on the midnight breeze.

I take a step back and ram my elbow into his gut. He grunts, but recovers fast. Meathead's thick bicep wraps around my neck, and the air I was enjoying is squeezed out. I'm about to put another move on him when "Gerald, enough!" carries from inside the limo and into the night air around us.

The bouncer scrambles off me. I straighten my champagne-drenched shirt, and this time it's my turn to smirk at him. "I think I will take that ride," I say, keeping my eyes on Gerald, whose square jaw works back and forth. Then I turn my gaze on Legs. She stares me down, her wall impenetrable. Who will back down first?

"I'm going to enjoy it, too." I hold her gaze—I get the feeling she's the type of woman who enjoys a good fuck with her eyes open. It's cocky as hell, but I don't blink. I want her to get a taste of what every second with me would be like.

Her irises are like two bottomless pools and I'm ready to fall in head first, all she has to do is say the word. My blood rushes in my ears and heads south. The desire is heady—I am seconds from my control breaking. But I want her to make the first move. Then she brushes a lock of blond hair that's fallen loose and disappears back into the limo.

Win.

By now all the clubbers in line have their attention on me. It's not my style to be an arrogant ass, but it's all show for the bouncer behind me. I leave him to stew in my victory and duck into the limo. As soon as I'm inside I give a snort when I see Fancy Pants from the club seated at the far end with Legs next to him. Of course, this guy would be Mr. Drake.

"Look, man, I don't know what you think I did, but—"

Fancy Pants waves my comment off. "Please, Mr. Kinsey, let's leave the accusations for a latter time."

"A.J." I may be on his turf, but I don't have to play by his rules.

"Very well...A.J." He rests his hands on his knees, a gold ring on the pinky of his right hand. This guy's posture is confident and controlled. And I'm about to break it.

"I'm Holden Drake." He extends his hand.

I cross my arms in front of my chest and settle into my seat.

"Perhaps a drink would be a much more relaxing way to converse," he continues.

I make a quick scan of the interior of the limo and don't spot any liquor except a decanter of tawny brown liquid. I earned my way into Harvard—I get these guys and their etiquette, but I want to make him squirm. "I'll take a Bud Light," I say with a grin.