Home > Gotta Have Fate(3)

Gotta Have Fate(3)
Author: Max Monroe

All the men in the room boo, and I whip my head toward an animated version of the corpse formerly known as my youngest brother.

“Jude, what did you do?”

“You can thank me later,” he says excitedly, just as two women appear at my sides and take me by the hands, pull me around to the side of the stage, and lead me up the stairs.

Oh, sweet Jesus.

“Let’s show him a really good time, girls,” the emcee continues, making the women laugh as Sunshine brings a chair out from backstage, sets it in the center of the platform, and shoves me down into it by the shoulder.

I can barely see my brothers at the edge of the stage thanks to the spotlight pointed in my eyes, but I’ve got to imagine both Jude and Ty are losing their minds.

When the first notes of “Cherry Pie” start up, though, I know I’m really in trouble. There’s not a strip club in existence that doesn’t use this song to its full advantage.

Sunshine is the first to straddle my lap and grab my shoulders as she swings her body back and forth. The other two women dance behind me, so I can’t see them, but I can feel the gyration of their bodies as they press up against me. I put my hands to my face, both in embarrassment and to keep them from accidentally touching anything, but Sunshine shakes her head in reprimand before licking her lips.

I can hear Ty’s holler despite the music. He’s that excited.

Leaning back, Sunshine wraps her legs around me and flips all the way to the floor to do some sort of walkover that ends in a split right in front of my brothers, and I almost breathe a sigh of relief. But another woman, this one a brunette, drops down in her place and takes my chin in her hand, and then pushes her breasts to my face before I get the chance.

I fight to breathe in the air pocket in between them, the smell of coconut body spray all but choking me.

My immediate feeling is one of guilt, for betraying my fiancée in some sick way, but I quickly quiet that to a dull roar by rationalizing that it is in no way my choice to be here, in this club, on this stage right now.

In fact, if someone weren’t tying my hands up behind my back at this very moment, I’d be making my getaway.

As it is, I’m attached to the chair now as the three of them work together to drag me toward the pole and set me up against it.

Sunshine uses my legs to climb, before jumping up to grab the pole and straddling her legs right in front of me. The tiny scrap of bright white fabric covering her vagina is like an airport beacon light, spinning around to alert the approaching traffic.

The brunette drops to her knees on the floor and pushes my legs apart, working to unbutton my pants.

“No, no,” I protest. “That’s okay—”

But the jolt of my zipper hitting its bottom end is all the punctuation I need to tell me I’m on this ride whether I want to be or not—and my baby brother Jude is the one who strapped me in.

How long can my mother really cry if I kill him? A month? Two, tops?

The brunette tugs my pants down over my hips while Sunshine and her other friend work together to put as many boobs in front of my face as humanly possible. Panic sets in when the climax of “Cherry Pie” builds, and the brunette grabs my boxer briefs, pulls them away from my body, and shoves the goddamn spike of her heel right through them, ripping them in two.

Holy. Shit.

I need to get out of here. Right. Now.

The crowd erupts again, and this time, it’s not even close to limited to my brothers. Everyone in the place is losing their fucking shit, and I’m trying not to have a stroke before the age of thirty. I’m also really fucking thankful that somehow the scraps of my boxers manage to keep my dick under wraps. Not to mention, that whole it-almost-got-impaled-by-a-stripper’s-heel thing.

Yeah. That too.

God help me.

Quickly, my hands are undone, but before I can make a move, Sunshine flips my chair down onto its back in time with the close of the song, ripping off her top in dramatic fashion as she stands over me, straddling my head in a symbolic gesture of defeat.

And, in a way, I understand it. My “freedom” has been sufficiently killed. Because I have never been more eager to run down the aisle with Charlotte and never fucking look back.

Only a sadist would see this experience any other way, but by the expressions on Ty’s and Jude’s faces, it’s evident I’m directly related to at least two of them.

I swear, they both look like they would have bartered their own balls to be in my position right now.

Personally, I can’t pull up my jeans and tuck the shreds of my underwear inside quick enough.

I also can’t get out of there soon enough. I need to eat. I need to breathe. And I really need to figure out a way not to fucking slice my baby brother’s throat open.

 

 

Remy

 

I’m the first one to step through the doors of Taco Bell, and instead of holding the door open for Jude, I let it slam shut in front of his face.

“What the fuck?” he questions on a hearty laugh.

I don’t bother turning around or righting my wrong.

The bastard knows what the fuck.

He knows exactly what the fuck. After his strip club stunt, I’m lucky I didn’t end up in the ER with a dick kabob in my pants.

The aromas of beef and cheese and grease assault my nostrils, and my arteries clench up in anticipation. Though, if I’m being honest, a heart attack might be a welcome distraction from murdering Jude. Sure, it’d put a damper on my wedding, but hell, it’s taking everything inside me not to kick the shit out of my baby brother.

It doesn’t help that I’m reminded of why I should kick the shit out of him every time I move my legs because the giant tear in my boxers has my dick rubbing against the scratchy denim of my jeans.

I don’t have anything against commando, but it’s one of those things that a man likes to choose for himself.

On a deep sigh, I step up to the counter while the sound of my brothers whooping it up like a bunch of rowdy frat idiots echoes off the grimy, cheap ceramic-tiled walls.

Technically, Flynn is an innocent bystander, but it’s so much easier to lump them into a group rather than having to call them out specifically.

I’d like to place my order—food would really go a long way to helping my mood right now—but there’s not a single employee to be found at the register, and the only employees I can see inside the place are standing somewhere near the back grills, doing god knows what.

They notice me standing there, but none of them makes a move to come toward me. Apparently, they’re in no rush tonight.

“Aw, don’t be mad, Rem. I just wanted your bachelor party to be a night you wouldn’t forget,” Jude says as he steps up to wrap an arm around my shoulder in a half-assed hug. I immediately shrug him off.

“Pretty sure you more than achieved that.” Flynn snorts. “Rem’s gonna have nightmares for years thinking about his dick turning into a set of bunny ears.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Jude retorts, and Flynn is quick on the trigger.

“Wasn’t that bad?” he questions on an incredulous laugh. “Another inch and, not only would Rem have ended up with two dicks, poor Charlotte would’ve had to get reconstructive surgery to route her shit in two different directions like a cable splitter.”

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