1642734778_punk-57-pdf

He laughs. “Have you checked in one of the rooms upstairs? Little cock
tease had some liquor tonight, so she might finally be giving up that pussy. I
can’t wait for my turn.”
I lunge out and grab him by the collar of his T-shirt, both of our crews
moving in.
But I catch sight of something to my left, and I look down, seeing a cuff
wrapped around Trey’s wrist.
And on the cuff, secured by two straps, is an antique Jaeger-LeCoultre
timepiece.
My heart pounds in my ears. “Where the hell did you get that watch?”
His eyebrows dig in, and I shake him, feeling a thick swell of bile rise
in my throat. He didn’t get it from her. She wouldn’t have given it to him.
No.
“Misha!” someone calls. But I ignore them.
All I see is Trey.
“Misha?” someone murmurs. “Who’s Misha?”
The music is still going, but I stare at him, feeling more people start to
crowd around us.
I push him away, releasing him as I tighten my fists. She gave it to him?
“Leave,” Ryen orders, appearing at my side.
I jerk my eyes to her and stare down, hovering. “Don’t talk and don’t
move,” I bite out, taking in her tits, plain as day in her bikini top and offthe-shoulder
shirt that hangs on her like a shredded piece of fucking
Kleenex. “You’re all over Facebook, shaking your ass and doing body
shots. I’m not happy.”
Her eyes go wide, shock and anger flaring. “Excuse me?” she yells as a
couple of girls giggle.