Jinzo leaned against the window, forehead pressed to the cool glass, fogging up from his breath. A half-empty beer bottle dangled loose in his fingers like an afterthought.
Outside, the city's neon glow pulsed, pinks, blues, blinding whites bleeding into the fake-ass night sky. None of it touched the irritation churning in his gut.
Fucking Nash. Fucking party. Should've stayed home.
He'd stormed out earlier, pissed about all the bullshit favoring Nash, how the whole crew was drowning in booze and bad decisions.
Now, after some time alone with the cold air biting his skin and cheap beer coating his tongue, the edge was wearing off. He sighed, shoulders slumping.
Might as well head back. Check if they're still alive or if he has started fucking Jaz.
He pivoted, bottle still in hand, and shuffled toward the suite's main room, then the door creaked open on rusty hinges, and he froze mid-step, eyes widening.
Two naked bodies stumbled in, locked in a tangled, sweaty embrace.
