Chapter 100: Unfiltered Haze 2
Micah’s POV
George didn’t take the glass. He just raised an eyebrow, a mocking smirk curling his lips.
"Me? The drink is for you, sweetheart."
"Me?" My eyes shot up, widening in absolute, blinding shock.
My pulse spiked into pure panic. There was no way on earth I could handle a single sip of heavy alcohol, let alone a massive, full glass of pure whiskey. The last time I took a tiny sip, my entire mind completely flipped upside down. I didn’t remember what had happened until I woke up half naked in a room at that party. There’s was no way in hell I could let something like that repeat itself especially when I didn’t know anyone here.
No Damon. No Noah.
"I’m... I’m afraid I really can’t drink," I pleaded, my voice trembling desperately. "I don’t handle alcohol well at all."
George leaned closer, his dark eyes narrowing into an intimidating, predatory glare. He looked like he wasn’t going to listen to me. His voice dropped into a low, dangerous whisper that chilled me to the bone.
"Do you want to leave this place early tonight and head straight home?" he asked softly.
I nodded hard, my heart leaping with desperate hope. "Yes! Please..."
"Then drink it up," he said, his smile turning downright wicked. "And wait... drink the next five glasses, and I’ll personally grant you permission to walk right out of those front doors tonight."
He chuckled softly, leaning back against the couch cushions. "That’s if you’ll even be able to stand up and walk after five glasses," he added, throwing his head back.
The surrounding wealthy clients instantly erupted into loud, mocking laughter, pointing at me like I was some kind of entertaining pathetic joke.
He was completely right. If I drank five full glasses of strong whiskey, my entire brain would melt into mush. I wouldn’t be able to think, stand, or protect myself. Was that what he wanted? For me to get ruined my alcohol even after telling him I couldn’t handle it.
I squeezed my lips together tightly, staring down into the glowing amber liquid inside the crystal glass in my trembling hands. There was no rule against everything that was happening right now.
My chest felt like it was going to burst from sheer anxiety. But... if I drank these five glasses, I would finally be free to leave this nightmare behind. I wouldn’t have to stay here in this terrifying room for another second.
Desperation completely overwhelmed my fear. My grip tightened hard around the cold glass. I lifted it to my lips and tipped it back, taking massive, desperate gulps to finish it as fast as humanly possible.
The raw alcohol scorched a path of pure fire down my throat, burning my esophagus so intensely it felt like I was swallowing liquid fire. My stomach churned violently in protest. Tears instantly welled up in my eyes from the agonizing burn, and I slammed my eyelids shut, pressing my face into my shoulder as I swallowed the last drop. It was terribly bitter, searing hot, and the ice cubes inside didn’t do a single thing to cool down the agonizing sting.
"Oh! Look at him go!" someone shouted.
"Roxie! Roxie! Roxie!"
The crowd in the VIP room suddenly started chanting my fake name loudly, clapping their hands in rhythmic unison as I reached out with a numb hand and poured the second glass. I tipped it back instantly, downing it just as fast as the first. Then came the third glass. Then the fourth.
By the time my trembling fingers lifted the fifth glass to my mouth, my mind was already completely gone.
The entire world turned into a chaotic, spinning blur of flashing lights and loud, echoey noise. The heavy, burning alcohol had rushed straight to my bloodstream, scorching away every single layer of my anxiety, my fear, and my rational thought. My head was spinning violently around and around like a tilt-a-whirl.
My muscles felt completely melted, turned into useless jelly. I couldn’t keep my back straight anymore; my heavy, helpless body slumped backward, collapsing directly against George’s chest for support. I was so utterly weak that the heavy fifth glass almost slipped right out of my numb fingers and shattered onto the floor.
"If you don’t finish that last glass, sweetheart... you’re going to be stuck right here with me for the rest of the night," George’s voice echoed softly in my ear, distorted and faint through the loud buzz humming inside my head.
I hated the idea of being stuck with him. I hated him so much. But wait... was he threatening me? Was this smug bastard actually trying to order me around?
A wild, unfamiliar heat suddenly flared up deep inside my chest, completely incinerating my usual shy, submissive nature. Something in my intoxicated, booze-soaked brain completely snapped. The suffocating fear was gone, replaced by an explosive, reckless wave of unfiltered, foolish liquid courage.
I spun my body around right in his lap, turning to face him directly. I lifted my smooth legs, straddling his broad thighs completely as I sat down right on his lap.
I reached out my free hand, my warm fingers brushing boldly across his sharp jawline. George’s eyes widened in shock, his whole body tensing beneath me as he stared at me like he was seeing a ghost. He couldn’t believe what was happening. I also couldn’t believe myself but, I couldn’t stop.
I tilted my head, my heavy, half-lidded eyes locking onto his with a hazy, dangerous smolder. A lazy, wicked smile spread across my face.
"Do you want me stuck with you so bad, George?" I asked, my voice dripping with unfiltered, playful arrogance.
His jaw tightened, his breathing suddenly becoming shallow and ragged as he processed my bold movement. "Ha... If I say yes... would you actually stay, Roxie?" he asked, his dark eyes burning with a dark, intense hunger.
I threw my head back and laughed out loud, a soft, musical sound that echoed over the music.
"You wish," I whispered teasingly.
Without breaking eye contact for a single second, I lifted the fifth glass and swallowed every last drop of whiskey down my throat. I slammed the empty crystal glass down onto the table with a loud, satisfying clink.
"Goodbye, George Jenson," I said triumphantly, pushing off his chest as I tried to stand up to leave.
Before I could even clear his knees, George’s massive, heavy hand snapped out like a vise. He grabbed me brutally by the waist, yanking me backward with explosive force and slamming me right back down onto his lap.
My body landed hard against his thighs—and my entire world instantly ground to a halt.
Something thick, heavy, and burning hot was poking brutally against my bottom right through the thin fabric of his trousers.
My breath hitched violently in my throat. Was he... was he hard?!
Ugh! My head was throbbing so painfully, spinning out of control. The overwhelming surge of raw alcohol in my system was messing with my body in the most horrifying, shameless way possible. A filthy, traitorous wave of pure heat rushed straight down into my lower belly. My pulse hammered wildly in my ears. My numb fingers twitched uncontrollably with a dirty, unholy instinct—a sudden, crazy urge to reach down, wrap my hands around his thick bulge, stroke it through his pants, or even drop to my knees and suck him off right then and there.
No! No! No! my conscious mind screamed in absolute horror, fighting frantically against the heavy, intoxicated fog smothering my brain. Fuck! I don’t want to do this with George Jenson! I hate him! I hate this!
"Take care of this for me, will you?" George whispered darkly into my neck, his hot breath making my skin crawl with a nauseating mix of shame and dirty heat. "Don’t make me force you, Roxie darling."
This absolute psycho...
"Let me go!" I cried out, my voice slurrying together as I tried to twist my waist and pull away from him again.
But his massive, iron-like grip was far too strong. He grabbed my right wrist forcibly, dragging my limp hand down and pressing my palm firmly over his rock-hard bulge right through his pants. I felt it warm and hard against my palm.
"I said... get to it!" he growled out, forcing my fingers to squeeze him, sliding my my hand up and down at the same time.
"Why don’t I get to you first?"
A sharp, booming voice shattered through the room from the open doorway like a terrifying strike of lightning.
My heart leaped straight into my throat. My eyes widened in absolute, blinding shock, and I quickly snapped my blurry, whiskey-soaked gaze straight toward the entrance of the VIP lounge. I knew I’d recognised that voice anywhere.
Standing right there in the doorway, his tall frame blocking out the light, his face twisted in a murderous, terrifying scowl... was Noah.
My annoyingly sweet, protective brother.