Aesthetic Credits: Viktoria – FC Joanna Prus
/ Istvan – FC Rob Evans
/ Both images borrowed from their Instagram
/ I own none of these images, all used with love and respect <3
/ Rings – enoirvado / Vegas view – Instagram sin1city / Quotes – all taken from Pinterest and none had credit for where they came from.[/caption]
Drake shoved Andreas out of his way as he exited the lift,
‘Fucking useless idiot!!’ he thought to himself, everything was absolutely fine until he went to get some cigarettes, the queue was long and that clown only had to watch Istvan for 20 minutes! How the hell couldn’t he keep away from that auburn piece of fluff he’d been groping for 20 minutes?? No self control; his days in royal security were numbered, Drake would see to that. But for now, they just had to find Istvan. Maxwell had been babbling in the car that they should check out tattoo parlours and how this was so ironic because they were ‘The Actual Wolfpack’ now!! Drake had rolled his eyes and tried to dial Istvan again, the phone just kept ringing out, which he reckoned was a good sign. If there was anything more sinister to Istvan’s disappearance than a drunk guy heading home, his captors would have switched off his phone to avoid being traced by his cell signal… The trio headed down the corridor towards their suite, Drake taking point. As they rounded the corner, a tall blonde dishevelled looking woman in a revealing metallic dress marched past,
“Your friend is an asshole!”
She exclaimed as she went. The three of them stopped and stared as she stormed off towards the elevator without looking back or giving further explanation. Drake groaned,
“What the…???”
He jogged the rest of the way to the suite, pulling open the door as he yelled “Istvan where the fuck are you??” He barged in to find Istvan standing mute in front of the floor-to-ceiling window looking down at his cellphone. He didn’t move to look at Drake. Drake crossed the room and gripped his friends shoulder, half enraged, half relieved,
“I don’t know if I should hug you or fucking punch you! Where the hell have you been? Who was that woman?”
Istvan looked at him blankly,
“She called, Drake.”
Drake gawped at him,
“What? Istvan you aren’t making any sense. Who? That blonde woman?”
Istvan waved the phone under his nose,
“Viktoria. She called me, Drake.”
—-
Jasmine fumed as she got into a cab outside, ‘How dare he?? Fucking asshole!! No one rejects Jasmine Somerville!! I’ll fucking teach him…’ She was furious, so much for being the next American on his arm. He’d scooped her up and ripped her dress off, hands all over her, as she’d unbuttoned his shirt and trailed her tongue down his torso, the bulge in his trousers hard against her palm as she tugged at his belt. He gripped her hair tightly as he moaned,
“Hmmm baby, ohhhh Viktoria that feels so good…”.
She’d stopped momentarily at the sharp sound of the other woman’s name in her ears, which gave him enough time to clock his mistake,
“Oh, shit! I-I.. Jasmine I’m sorry, this is a terrible mistake, I’m so sorry, but you need to go. I can’t do this.”
He recoiled from her, stepping back off the bed, re-buttoning his shirt with trembling hands. Jasmine reached her hand out to him, her mask slipping,
“Your wife’s not coming back Istvan, but you can call me her name if it gets you off…”.
He gawped at her,
“What?? Who the fuck-?? How do you-?? Just get out, now!! Leave!!”
Istvan threw her dress at her and marched to the door opening it, she pulled the dress over her head and flounced past him scowling, but not before her perfectly manicured hand connected with his cheek.
Istvan slammed the door behind her and shuddered, rubbing his face. He couldn’t believe he’d been so reckless tonight. He groaned; the guys were probably totally wasted by now, he was a little surprised that he’d not heard back from Drake though-he’d pinged him a quick text as he exited the club with Jasmine. He crossed the suite to the lounge area sofa where he’d left his jacket when he’d come in with Jasmine. He fished his phone out the pocket and stared at the screen, 57 missed calls, 9 voicemails and 18 texts. The majority from Drake, “Ist where are you?” , “Istvan where the fuck are you?”, “???” A few from Maxwell, something about Tigers? A couple from Andreas… Istvan shook his head, ‘What the devil…? Oh.’ He grimaced as he realised that quick text sent to Drake was sitting with a big red exclamation mark saying ‘unsent’…
He quickly flipped through the rest of the messages and missed calls thinking ‘Shit…’, until his heart lurched. Viktoria. She’d called him. His Viktoria. What could this mean?! His mind started to race! Instantly he forgot that Drake was in a blind panic searching the streets of Vegas for him! Then, suddenly he felt a knot in his stomach. Viktoria had called him when he was seconds away from having sex with some random blonde from a nightclub… Thank God he’d come to his senses when he did! He had been moments away from potentially making the biggest mistake of his life. He felt sick; if she wanted him back, how the hell would he have explained this to her…? He stood there holding the cellphone, his finger hovering over the ‘dial’ function, staring at his wife’s beautiful face smiling out at him. So deep Istvan was in his reverie, he barely heard Drake burst through the door yelling at him…
—-
End – VP 💖
