Free Bowles, Jan - Love Slave to the Sicilian Billionaire [Guilty Pleasures 4] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic) by Jan Bowles Page A

bartender stared back at her. “What can I get you, lady?”
    “Give me a drink.” Her life felt like shit. Max must have known all along.
    “You need to be a little more specific, lady.”
    “Give me four shots of tequila.”
    “Expecting company?”
    “None of your business,” she answered sternly.
    “Okay, lady, just making small talk. Take a seat, I’ll bring them over.”
    She slid into a booth. The anger once more coursed through her veins. She’d spent the last three months feeling guilty over Kirk’s death. Well, not anymore she didn’t, not now she’d found out he’d been having an affair with some blonde floozy. That bitch must take some responsibility. Where was she now? She clearly didn’t give a fuck about having an affair with a married man, and causing his wife so much distress? Perhaps she’d secretly attended the funeral. Ella felt her hackles rise. At the time she hadn’t been in a fit state to notice much. She could so easily have even been there, and she’d not known. That would be the ultimate humiliation.
    The drinks arrived and she quickly began demolishing them. Knocking each of them back in one swallow. So what if she was getting tight. She had every right to. Kirk had betrayed her trust. And Max, that bastard, wasn’t any better. He’d known all along. He must have. When she started on the fourth drink, she banged an empty glass on the table several times. “Bartender, bartender. Four more shots over here, and make it quick.”
    A waitress came up to her. “Ma’am, please keep the noise down. You’re disturbing the other customers.”
    Through blurred vision, Ella looked around the bar. “What customers. I don’t see any other customers. Just get me the drinks, sweetie, and be quick about it.” When the girl didn’t move, Ella dismissively waved her hand. “Run along. Shoo. I need a drink. Why the fuck am I still waiting?”
    The surly, jaded bartender strolled over. “Lady, I think you should leave.” He went to touch her arm, but Ella snapped, “Take your hands off me. I still haven’t had my drink. Four more tequilas, four more tequilas. What’s so hard to understand about that? Listen”—she touched the bartender’s arm, aware that her words were slurred and her vision blurred—“let me tell you about my husband. He’d rather fuck some old army whore than me.” She burst into laughter. “That was a joke, right.” The bartender didn’t smile. Maybe he didn’t get it. “Jesus you’re fucking thick.” She looked nonchalantly around. “You call this joint a bar? I’ve had more fun in a morgue.”
    “You asked for it, lady.” He turned to the waitress hovering behind him. “Brea, go and get Roscoe.” He looked at his watch. “He’ll be in the coffee shop across the road.”
    The bartender moved away, leaving Ella to finish the last of her drinks. When a shadow fell across her face, she looked up. Ella snorted indignantly. “What can I do for you, Officer?” she asked the aging cop. He looked like he’d just stepped from an episode of the cartoon Top Cat .
    “It’s time to pay your tab and leave.”
    “What if I’d rather stay here?”
    “Lady, you need to sober up. You’re a danger to yourself and everyone else. Go home.”
    “What would you fucking know?”
    “Ma’am, I’m warning you not to cuss like that, or you’ll be sleeping in a cell tonight. We got one ready and waiting for you, down at the precinct.”
    Ella laughed hysterically. “Oh, Officer Dibble, I’m so scared.” What was wrong with everyone? They all wanted to tell her what to do. Well no more. From now on she was going to be in control. “Look, Officer Dibble, while you’re here, why don’t you make yourself useful, and get me a fucking drink from the bar.”
    “Right, you’re under arrest.” Without warning she was hauled from the booth. Her hands were held behind her back and then a set of handcuffs locked around her wrists.
    “Are you into BDSM, too,