Red Garnier - The Billionaire's Club #2 - Taken by Him
Taken by Him (The Billionaire's Club #2)
A failed murder attempt felt crappier than a failed orgasm, especially when you were the one getting shot.
In a private suite in the south wing of the Prestons of Chicago’s medical center, Luke Preston made a mental list of all the things he hated about hospitals. Even his own.
The stupid robes.
The fact that the nurses looked at you with virginal mercy rather than intense lust, which were the looks he was most accustomed to.
The fact that he did not rule here, as lord and master, but his doctors did.
And the fact that everyone saw fit to visit uninvited and give him a little bit of shitty advice.
Like his friends, who now surrounded his bed with consternated faces because eleven days ago, Luke had been shot and the bullet barely missed slicing into the top chambers of his heart.
Now they were showing him blog posts and articles that referred to him as the “Walking Miracle” because had the bullet been a hair closer to the right, he would’ve died. Yeah, right, that was Luke, the Walking Miracle.
But what happened eleven days ago wasn’t a miracle. Miracle if the fucking man had missed. But oh no, being shot and lying in a hospital bed didn’t constitute a miracle to Luke, who’d never even had a sprain his whole life. Plus everyone knew he was a cad—clearly, the heart in his chest was just for pumping blood to his cock. Not for feelings and shit.
Hell, he could probably still live without one.
And yet here he was now, in a private suite, eating the same crappy food all the other people in the hospital ate, and so far, not one nurse had given him a blow job. That was not the way to treat one of the owners of the hospital, as far as he was concerned.
He was a sexy man. Everybody wanted him. His famed and acclaimed advertisements for one of his own male underwear companies were fit for a Playgirl cover; he was every woman’s wet dream and they went wild for his big, thick cock perfectly delineated under those damned white briefs—hell, his dick and balls could barely fit inside, he was so well endowed.
But it seemed that when you were in a hospital, your sex appeal considerably diminished once you donned those stupid robes and were hooked up to an IV and shit.
He was angry from sex withdrawal. Eleven days. He’d never gone without it for so long. Even his fat, elderly, nighttime nurse was starting to look good. Hell, the most arousing thing he’d had all day was his bandage change.
“You sure you didn’t see his face, Luke?” Daniel Lexington demanded.
Daniel stood next to his sister, Chloe, and another one of Luke’s good friends, Graves Buchanan, who’d been exclusively banging the luscious Chloe for over a month—the lucky pig. Luke’s other good friend, Cade West, stood alone by the window. He was actually a very moody motherfucker, one who rarely spoke and when he did, it was usually to piss on somebody, like the world was to blame for his young wife’s death years ago.
“No, asshole,” Luke told Daniel. “I didn’t see the bastard’s face, I was too busy getting murdered.”
“Come on, man, you had to have seen something. It’ll help the authorities nail the bastard if you get your head out of your ass and give them some useful information.”
“I might have seen him if I hadn’t been too damned occupied trying not to die.”
And when his would-be killer had arrived, Luke had been too busy screwing the brains out of the woman he’d placed doggy style on the bed to even realize they had a visitor until a jarring sound exploded in the room and Luke had felt as though a chunk of his chest had been torn off.
When he’d rolled off to the side in a bemused bleeding-to-death state and with a wilting hard-on, Luke hadn’t had the presence of mind to see who the hell the bastard was who’d barged in, gun aimed, and shot him. All he knew was that he, Luke Preston, billionaire playboy, charming, intelligent man loved by many and with no enemies until now, had just been shot and was losing a shit load of blood and he should probably call someone fast and start thinking of some smart words to be remembered by.
Bad news was, he hadn’t been able to come up with any witty last words.
His brain hadn’t been at optimal function.
Hell, even after the three blood transfusions they’d jacked him up with when he got here, he still wasn’t…good.
He groaned and shifted in the bed, his tailbone aching like a grandmama’s. Due to the sideways angle from where he’d been shot, the bullet had both entered muscle and immediately come out—and thank God, it hadn’t touched the woman—but the stitches from the deep, painful “flesh wound” had not been fun, and the left side of his chest still hurt like a motherfucker. It hurt to breathe, to think, to lie here like an imbecile.
“Ah, crap,” he grumbled. “I feel like the bug squished by the dog who just shit on it.”
“Aw, you poor thing,” Chloe said, but she didn’t leave Graves’s side to come and pamper Luke like he deserved. Graves was like the Wizard of Oz’s Tin Man, and even now that Chloe had given him a heart, he still wore that graveyard face he’d been born with.
“You’re just pissed they haven’t given you a suppository yet,” Graves said in his usual flat tones.
Daniel laughed, then quickly sobered when Luke scowled. “Luke, seriously, you need to be a little more discriminating with your sex partners,” he said, crossing his arms.
“The woman wanted a fuck, man. What was I supposed to say? No?”
“Yes, asshole. What if Cade’s dog wants to hump, are you going to stick it to him, too?”
Luke glowered at Graves for that last one, but Chloe still gazed up adoringly at the man. Luke shook his head in complete disbelief. “Graves and Chloe? You disgust me, seriously.”
Chloe laughed and held onto her man, all gooey like bubblegum. “Eat your heart out, Luke!”
“Graves, you look like a puppy. Where’s your dignity, man?”
“Look,” Daniel interrupted. “Unless you want to look like swiss cheese with holes all over your person, you should lay low until the police catch the bastard.”
“Or at least hire some bodyguards,” Chloe suggested.
“Bodyguards?” Luke blinked at the notion. “And hand over my privacy and freedom? Hell fucking no.”