Boston Avant-Garde 4: Encore Read Online Free Page A

beady eyes shifted around the room. “It’s Kim’s apartment too.”
    “The hell it is! She doesn’t pay rent, and you’ve been sponging for like three weeks. I’ve had it with your worthless ass. The dealing puts it over the top. So get the fuck out, and don’t come back!” Suri had the presence of mind to note that she was totally taking out her love-life frustrations on her sister’s loser boyfriend. She just didn’t care.
    “Kim.” He poked her sister with no result. “Kim!”
    She could’ve told him her sister never opened her eyes until at least noon.
    “Your bitch sister is throwing me out.”
    Kim cracked one eyelid. “It’s her apartment. Better do what she says.”
    Frankie whined and pouted like a three-year-old, stomping around to collect his shoes and the other random bits of clothing he’d left lying around. “This is bullshit.”
    “Blah, blah, blah, now get out so I can go to work.” Suri pushed him out the door in front of her. Kim might not care right now, but this was worth at least an hour’s rant once her sister was coherent. Maybe it was a good thing she had to put in a shift at Asylum after her teaching job.
    Frankie was still standing on the curb digging in his pockets for bus fare when Suri climbed aboard, put her tokens in the slot, and found a seat. She didn’t care if the bastard got run over. It’d save the next victim from falling “in love” with him.
    Ugh! Love. It’s nothing but hormones and idiocy made socially acceptable by humanity’s need for companionship.
    South Boston spooled by outside the window. The last of the fall leaves were gone. Soon it would be Thanksgiving and then Christmas. There would be tons of bookings for the string trio, which meant great money.
    Suri’s friend, Leslie Hampstead, had put Trio Dolce together four years ago. Two years past, Suri had replaced the original cellist, and she and Leslie had become the closest thing to real friends Suri had ever known.
    The bus drove into a pothole the size of Fenway Park, and Suri nearly lost her seat on the bounce. Grabbing hold of the railing, she paused to be thankful she wasn’t lugging her cello along for the jolting ride. She’d kept the instrument at school since the first time Kim had gone behind her back and tried to pawn it in order to bail some idiot out of jail.
    She shoved that memory right out of her head. This was not the time to curl into the fetal position and try to sort through her life issues. In fact, if she paused to contemplate her life, there was a distinct possibility she’d go stark raving mad.
    A mental image of meeting Dante’s compelling, dark eyes while they both sucked Jericho’s thick cock danced through her mind. Desperate for distraction, she latched on to the thought. As nuts as it might seem, entangling herself in a threesome with her boss and his head of security was a distraction that might make the holidays just about bearable.
    * * * *
    Dante turned in the oversized bed, his arm striking empty space. Images from the night before lingered, making him ache in a way he’d never thought he would again. He blinked, opening his eyes to discover that he was alone. No Suri. No Jericho. He wasn’t surprised, but he wasn’t happy either.
    Giving up on sleep, he rolled to his back and stared at the coffered ceiling. As always, he lingered over the Aladdin scenes from Arabian Nights . The streetwise thief had pretended to be a prince. Dante wasn’t trying to pull one over on a princess, but he figured swapping nationalities put him in pretty much the same category. Aladdin wanted to be the prince of Persia. Dante didn’t. Same dif.
    He’d spared no expense when he’d built the club. The contractor hadn’t made it any secret that he thought Dante was nuts to rehab an old South Dorchester warehouse. It would have made more sense to put an upscale club in a better area of the city. Dante didn’t give a shit. He’d had his own reasons for burying himself in