“Story of my fucking life.” Charlie smirked at me. I followed Eric as he headed for the main sun deck at the very front of the yacht.
“The edge gone yet?” I asked Vinnie. He nodded, and I could see by his eyes that his medication had kicked in. His pupils had dilated a bit, and the shaking in his hands had lessened. “Getting calmer by the second, Artie. Getting calmer by the second.” He smiled again, his deep dimples making him look a fuck-ton more innocent than he actually was. I put my hand on his shoulder, right over the face of Nosferatu with his sharp vampiric teeth that was tattooed there.
“So, who are we docked next to?” Freddie asked Eric. Freddie was six feet two with dark brown hair and brown eyes. He was slender in build but could fight like a fucking Rottweiler. His old man died a while back, for the firm, shot right through the fucking forehead by a Russian. My dad practically adopted Freddie after that. He’d lived with us in the old church for the past couple of years. He was quiet before his old man’s death. Now, compared to the rest of my gobshite mates, he was almost mute.
“Wait until you see,” Eric said, waggling his eyebrows. Eric was six four, blond and covered in bright-as-fuck horror-themed clown tattoos. His hair looked like something straight from World War Two—combed over like a good little British solider. Claimed birds got wet for it—we all knew that was mainly referring to Betsy, my cousin and Charlie’s little sister. But neither he or Betsy ever talked about that. He also rarely shut his mouth. But that didn’t matter when shit hit the fan. He had your back, one hundred percent without question.
As we turned the corner, I saw movement on the yacht beside us. Birds in bikinis, some topless. I couldn’t care less. Seen one pair of tits, you’d seen them all. Bored already, I lit another cig and moved to the front of the yacht. I looked out over the ocean.
“Nice tits, sweetheart!” I heard Eric shout behind me. I glanced over to the yacht beside us and saw two girls sunbathing, looking our way—one with dark skin and jet-black hair that fell in spiral curls to her shoulders, and one with light freckled skin and red hair down to her waist.
I went to turn my head again, when someone walked out from below deck and toward the two sunbathers. The hand holding my cig stopped en route to my mouth when I saw her long legs and olive skin. The dark hair that was pulled up on top of her head. She was wearing a white bikini, fucking curves like an hourglass.
As if she was feeling my stare, she looked over, and the minute she did, I recognised those eyes. Those big fucking eyes that were fixed on me and widening by the second. Green-brown eyes that I never fucking forgot …
Cheska Harlow-Wright …
The memory smashed into my brain like a crowbar. The memory of her posh accent sank like talons into my eardrums. Chelsea Girl. In all these years, I’d never forgotten this posh-as-shit Chelsea girl.
Cheska stopped dead, the fancy red drink in her hand spilling over the sides. “Cheska!” one of her friends said, wiping the drink off her stomach. But Cheska didn’t move. She just kept staring at me.
My eyes dropped to her body, devouring every inch. Chelsea Girl was all grown up. And she was even more fucking gorgeous than she had been back then. I finally took a drag of my cig, eyes never off her, and moved near my friends. Cheska’s eyes followed me the whole way, red bursting on her cheeks. I’d thought of this girl often. And here she was, standing right before me, in Marbella.
I stopped next to Charlie, my dick swelling just looking at Chelsea Girl’s cock-sucking red lips. My cousin leaned in close. “A friend of yours, old boy?” he asked, nudging his chin at Cheska. I narrowed my eyes at my cousin; Charlie laughed knowingly. I wasn’t laughing. I was imagining her underneath me, imagining fucking tearing her apart, pushing three of my fingers into her wet cunt.
Charlie dropped down on the lounger behind us. “Wake me up when something interesting happens.” He lay out on the cream lounger and shut his eyes. I smirked at the dark-skinned bird staring at Charlie like he was her next meal. Poor bitch had nothing on her menu that Charlie wanted. Pussy did nothing but offend him. But women always wanted him. He had brown hair and brown eyes, six feet three and cut with muscle. Freddie called him a bird’s wet dream. My cousin was also the most ruthless motherfucker I had ever met. No one fucked with Charlie Adley and lived to see the next day. It was why he was my right-hand man and best mate. I trusted him with my life.
“What’s your names, ladies?” Eric shouted over to Cheska and her friends. The redhead stuck her middle finger in the air in response. Eric held his hand over his chest. “You wound me, beautiful. You fucking wound me!”
“Then piss off!” she shouted back. Eric laughed, but the bird had no idea she’d just become his next conquest.
I tracked Cheska as she placed her drink down on the table beside her friends. Her eyes kept flicking away from mine before snapping back. I took a swig of my beer. She seemed to breathe faster as I kept my gaze on her. I watched her nipples harden and wanted nothing more than to feel them against my tongue—I wanted to taste all of her. Her tits, her tanned skin, and her posh pussy.
I flicked my cig to the floor when engines roared to my right. Four blokes were riding jet skis toward Cheska’s yacht. I narrowed my eyes on the arseholes as they turned off their engines at the side of the yacht, climbed the ladder and walked onto the deck.
A blond pretty boy moved to Cheska and kissed her on the cheek. My blood boiled. I had the sudden need to rip his fucking head off his shoulders. Cheska’s eyes stayed locked on mine even as the fucker put his hand on her arse and squeezed. Chelsea Girl had a boyfriend.
To me, he only looked like dead meat.
Then the shitstain looked over at my yacht.
“Who the fuck are these guys?” he asked the girls, his pathetic friends coming to stand behind him like they thought they could be threatening. They had no fucking idea who they were eyeballing.
As if my thoughts were a command, the shitstains before us seemed to suddenly see Eric’s ink. His bright tattoos were picture after picture of deranged and psychotic clowns—sharp teeth and claws, mouths sadistic and dripping with blood. Eric’s smile turned from dirty for the redhead to fucking crazed in one second, and their smirks melted off their aristocratic faces.
“Happy to introduce ourselves,” Eric said, a dark edge to his voice, his cockney accent thickening.
Freddie kicked Charlie’s lounger, and my cousin opened his eyes. “You wanted to be woken up when something interesting happened.” Freddie pointed to the other yacht’s arseholes. “Well, something fucking interesting is happening.”
Charlie was beside me in a flash, body vibrating with excitement. “Eye candy or dead meat?”
“The latter,” I replied.
“Shame. The bloke on the right is fit. He looks like he could take my kind of rough play.”
Eric waved a hand at Freddie beside him. “Freddie Williams.” Eric pointed to Vinnie. “Vinnie Edwards.” Vinnie ran to the side of the yacht and laughed manically, the muscles bulging in his neck and shoulders. When his laugh faded, a wide, deranged smile stayed on his face as he stood there and stared.
The posh fuckers took a fearful step back, as if my brother would pole-vault over the sea beneath us and land on their deck. “Stay calm,” I said to Vinnie so he could hear me. I heard him inhale and exhale, doing what I said, but his smile remained. Good thing about Vinnie, he always listened to me. I was his soulmate’s older brother. He’d never cross me in a million years. For Pearl. Everything he did was for, or because of, Pearl.