Free King's Pleasure by Adrianne Byrd

the corner. All explanations flew right out of Jeremy’s head about the same time his jaw had the misfortune to be in the direct line of this angry brother’s fist.
    After that, he blacked out.
     
     
    “All right. Here you go,” a bored Los Angeles police officer said, pushing Jeremy’s wallet and car keys toward him. “Sign here and here.” He pointed to the X’s on a clipboard form. “And you’re free to go.”
    “Thanks,” Jeremy mumbled and then was punished by his swollen jaw. He quickly scrawled his name twice. Turning, he was then escorted out of the precinct by another officer. Once he was directed to the department’s crowded lobby, his cousin Quentin climbed to his feet with a Cheshire-size grin from ear to ear.
    “Damn,” Q said, wincing at the sight of him. “What the hell happened to the side of your face?”
    “Zip it, Q. I’m not in the mood,” Jeremy groaned as he marched past his cousin and out of the precinct’s glass doors.
    “I wouldn’t be in the mood either if I looked like I’d just been run over by a Mack truck.” Quentin laughed as he struggled to keep up with his cousin. “Did you at least get the license-plate number?”
    “Yeah. K-S-S-M-Y-A-Z-Z!”
    Quentin threw his head back and laughed.
    Jeremy reached the parking lot and then glanced around. “Where did you park?”
    “This way, convict.” Quentin pointed in the direction of a Mercedes rental. “Let me hurry up and get you off the streets before you break into someone else’s house butt-naked and flash your junk.”
    “I didn’t break in,” Jeremy said, jerking open the passenger door and throwing his body onto the leather interior. “I was invited.”
    “By the hysterical woman that’s telling every news camera in a fifty-mile radius that she feared for her life when a strange naked black man just popped up behind her in the kitchen?”
    Jeremy’s head fell back against the headrest. “It’s all over the news?”
    “Local news—I haven’t seen anything on the CNN ticker yet.”
    “Great. Juuusssst great.” Jeremy closed his eyes and for at least the millionth time prayed that when he opened them back up this whole thing would’ve just been some horrible nightmare.
    “Chill out. Don’t get your panties in a wad, I’ve been in your position numerous times myself,” Quentin continued his style of consoling. “You go to a party, toss back one or two too many drinks and then next thing you know someone has called the damn law. Trust me. You called the right man for the job on this one.”
    “I called you because Eamon is still on his extended honeymoon and Xavier didn’t answer his phone.”
    “Well, at least I was third in line,” Quentin said, with a wink. “I already got you lined up with some of the best lawyers money can buy. You were robbed.”
    “I had my wallet and clothes,” he reminded him.
    “You were disoriented—you have a medical condition,” Quentin amended. “It doesn’t matter. My lawyer, Ernest Files, got you covered like Allstate. This whole thing will get swept under the rug. No problem.”
    Jeremy continued to just shake his head. “Look, I’m telling you the truth, Baby Girl took me over to her crib during Dylan Freedman’s bachelor party…and—”
    “Say what? Dylan Freedman got hitched?”
    Jeremy huffed at being interrupted. “Yeah. The Dollhouse threw him this cool party. I met this one chick— I mean, damn!” He shook his head, remembering some of her moves both on the dance floor and then a few other ones that answered how that mattress ended up on the floor.
    “That fine, huh?”
    Despite the soreness, a smile crept onto Jeremy’s face. “Baby Girl was a whole ’nother level,” he said. Hell, there were still parts on his body that were aching that had absolutely nothing to do with the sucker punch that knocked his butt out.
    “Damn, playa.” Q laughed. “Are you daydreaming over there?”
    “What?” Jeremy jerked. “Nah. Nah. I’m just