bodyguard Rusty was waiting with a yapping, wet-nosed Trey, cradling him because Kevin didn’t like Trey to have to sit on the ground. The dachshund was clad in a blazer, baseball cap and sneakers to match his owner’s—they’d had a whole wardrobe tailored bespoke. Snatching the pooch, Kevin was swallowed up by the car’s interior. He felt like a vampire, if not confined to the night then confined to the inside, skulking around behind closed blinds, hiding beyond a tinted window or crawling about in the endless dark. He held Trey’s fur to his mouth and quietly kissed his neck. You’re the only one who understands.
Kevin demanded to drive the Audi R8 and Sketch hadn’t the strength to refuse—after all, the kid had his licence, even if he did kangaroo-hop the vehicle into gear, the exhaust exploding behind them.
‘You take your vitamins today?’ asked Sketch as they whizzed through the city. He caught Rusty’s eye in the rearview mirror.
‘For fuck’s sake, course I did,’ Kevin lashed. ‘Don’t you trust me?’
They approached a red light and the brakes shrieked.
‘Sure I do, kiddo.’
‘I want a lion,’ said Kevin, out of nowhere.
‘What?’
‘Like that one we saw at the zoo. Get me one.’
Sketch chuckled. ‘It ain’t that easy, pal …’
‘I’m Kevin Chase, course it’s that fucking easy.’
‘Why a lion?’
‘Why not? They’re cool, aren’t they?’
‘They’re dangerous.’
‘Yeah, but they’re cool.’
‘You won’t be able to go anywhere near it.’
Kevin swigged from a can of energy drink. ‘Sure I will, if it’s tame.’
Sketch bit his tongue. What on earth was his client talking about?
‘Rusty,’ Kevin nodded into the back, ‘what do you think?’
‘Whatever you want, boss.’
The Audi took a corner at speed. ‘It’s king of the jungle, y’know?’ said Kevin. ‘Manly. Like, the ultimate manly animal. And hairy. Really hairy.’
‘You want a hairy animal I’ll get you a guinea pig.’
‘Now you’re taking the fucking piss.’
‘I’m trying to be practical.’
‘Well, don’t. There’s no point doing what I do unless I get what I want, got it? You’re supposed to be my manager—so manage stuff, dickwad.’
Sketch gritted his teeth. There was no point arguing. It was Joan’s fault. Anything Kevin wanted, Kevin got. Anything Kevin demanded was produced. Any word Kevin spoke was law. By the time Sketch had discovered him, at the tender age of twelve, Kevin had already been nurturing an impressive Napoleon Complex.
You haven’t helped. You’ve made him into the monster he is.
It was a relief when Kevin brought the car to a screeching halt outside the Guild Theatre. The entrance was a quarry of press. Stars drifted down the carpet, stopping to chat to camera, smiling and posing as they went. Hollywood king Noah Lawson, a coup for the event, was signing merch amid an adoring mass of women.
A band of Little Chasers had been tipped off about Kevin’s arrival and, as the teen heartthrob emerged, their squeals reached blistering crescendo.
‘ Kevin! OhmygodKevin! Kevin, I love you! Keviiiiiiiin! ’
Kevin waved, flashing his pristine teeth and criminally cute dimples. Sketch had to admit that despite Kevin’s disastrous moods and fatal tendency to strop, when it came to putting on a game face he was up there with the best. The kid was a pro.
Kevin, meanwhile, was hitting his stride.
It was a dream, he reassured himself as a sea of hands reached out to skim just a fibre on his blazer, only a dream. Nothing like that was ever going to happen. Plane crashes were the fate of old people, poor people, people who travelled on low-cost airlines in dirty foreign countries. No, a more likely end to Kevin Chase was total burnout, nervous breakdown: a meltdown to end all meltdowns …
Imagine if he did it now! Just stripped naked and barrelled up to the gleaming gala entrance, blathering and drooling, maybe he could even deliver a steaming turd to the carpet to make absolutely sure? Instead he twirled for the crowd, performing one of his hallmark 360-degree dance moves, a splash of MJ mixed with Ne-Yo polished off with Usher, shooting one arm in the air as he sprung up on his ankles and released a high-pitched cry. Across the gangway he met Sketch’s approving gaze.
Good little monkey, Kevin thought bitterly. Monkey did good.
At the end of the carpet, billionaire entrepreneur Jacob Lyle, one of the cooler guys on the scene, was draped around a gorgeous six-foot brunette.
What did it take to bag a woman like that? Kevin wondered sadly, absorbing her hip-hugging floor-length gown and the tight swathe of pastel-pink that barely covered her tits and ass. He imagined burying his head in those tits, plunging into her, making her moan, hearing he was the best she’d ever had, and having her admire the broad, muscled shoulders he yearned for so badly, working till he puked at the gym.
As if that was going to happen. What was wrong with him?
Every time Kevin got to second base his cock fizzled and died. No wonder Sandi had run for the hills: she was probably screwing her way across LA this very minute, spreading her damning word as fast as she spread her legs. Kevin’s erections lasted mere seconds before they flaked, and even when his dick did get hard it barely amounted to more than a pickled gherkin. When he thought about screwing Jacob Lyle’s Amazonian angel, the only image that sprang to mind was one of a naked child scrambling over a climbing frame. Even jerking off was like flogging a paper bag.
Jacob Lyle, on the other hand, had it down.
Jacob was a pussy magnet. Whatever it was, Jacob had it in spades.
Kevin wanted it too.
As he was ushered inside, his PR fending off the last of the requests, he resolved that a meeting with the entrepreneur was drastically in order. Maybe if he started affiliating with guys like Jacob, his luck might start to change.
Something had to—fast.
Los Angeles
In the back seat of a limo cruising down Sunset Boulevard, Jacob Lyle grabbed his girlfriend’s hips and pulled her down onto his throbbing cock.
She was wet as fuck for him.
‘Jake, oh, screw me, Jake, you feel so good!’
He knew he did. All the girls said it.
Jacob flipped her round so her palms struck the partition glass, soundproofed but who cared if they were heard; it only added to the thrill. In the tinted reflection it occurred to him how easily one hot cunt could be traded for another hot cunt. Creamy ass riding his dick like a jockey, swathe of glossy hair cascading down her back (he supposed the colour was a variant), the moans of ecstasy he could pretty much script by the book … ‘Make me come,’ she gasped, ‘don’t you dare stop till I’ve come …’
Once more, Jacob lifted her waist, supporting her so her drenched pussy was teasing the tip of his cock. He was making her wait, resisting her as she fought to plunge onto his length. Expertly he reached round and located her clit, deciding she was so wet she could put