Warlord Metal Read Online Free Page A

She slapped it into Sonny's outstretched hand with a snort. "I'm not sitting next to her! If she pukes again, it's gonna be in your lap!"
    The taller teenager's face broke into a wide grin. "Thanks, Shelly!"
     
    Pain. The world was pain. A dull ache from head to toe. All nerve endings were extremely sensitive, screaming at the slightest provocation. Faint rose colors testified to the daylight behind closed eyes. Even the hair follicles complained at the abuse of living. The mouth was filled with sand, the throat with glass.
    Jordan groaned and rolled over, the sheets scraping angrily across her skin. Sheets...? She lay there, eyes closed against the shards of sunlight that would stab her when she opened them. She frowned at the feel of cool sheets against her, the softness of a pillow and mattress beneath. A faint smell of coffee wafted past, interfering with the somewhat stronger and more familiar aroma of vomit.
    What the hell happened last night? Scenes slowly flashed across her inner vision - partying inside the Satyricon, then outside the Satyricon. Scoring some dope and feeling no pain. There was a girl - redhead, long and shapely legs in a tight leather miniskirt. Made me wet just watching her walk. Wasn't there an angry boyfriend, too? Bloodshot emerald eyes squinted open a crack and she peered at what was within her vision.
    A standard white wall met her gaze. Before it a white vanity with gold trim and a large mirror. On either side of the mirror were two posters - one of the band Kiss and the other of Aerosmith. The top of the vanity was cluttered with bottles of perfumes and other personal care items. The mirror's reflection showed a white bookcase on the opposing wall full of books and stuffed animals.
    The frown on Jordan's face deepened. Did I score? Somehow, she hadn't imagine that the redhead's bedroom would look quite like this, though. Her nose itched and she sneezed explosively, groaning loudly at the pain in her head. "Ow, shit!" she muttered, her voice cracking as she curled into a ball and put her arms over her throbbing head.
    The woman lay in a fetal position for a long time, drowsing despite her discomfort. With her sensitive hearing, she could detect someone rummaging around in a kitchen somewhere. The sound of a toilet flushing and a shower running. The soft ticking of a nearby clock that was beginning to drive her to distraction. Eventually, the shower shut off and soon there were voices, male and female. The angry boyfriend...?
    Deciding it was probably better for her to be up if not necessarily awake when he found out she was here, Jordan forced herself to move out of the bed. Narrowly missing the white trashcan of vomit, she got a whiff of the scent and her stomach roiled dangerously. She stood still in the room, eyes closed and breathing deeply through her nose. After gaining control, she looked blearily around.
    She was only wearing her black silk boxers. Did I score? She shook her head, her aches and pains making it too difficult to tell. She found a neatly folded pile of black clothing on the opposite corner of the bed. Picking up the shirt, she shook it out, her nose twitching at the smell of laundry detergent. Whoa! I'm surprised that shirt made it through a washer and dryer without falling apart. She nudged through the rest of the pile and found her trousers as well as a fresh pair of socks and flannel boxers.
    "Shit, I'm gonna have to pass out here more often," she observed with a raised eyebrow. Emerald eyes glanced around the obviously feminine room. "Wherever the hell 'here' is." She quickly donned the clean clothing. Her boots were neatly placed by the dresser and, when she got them, she found her belt, cigarettes and lighter, wallet and chain, and change on the corner. Out of habit, she checked the wallet and found a five dollar bill still there. "Huh... Well, she ain't a thief," she muttered to herself.
    A low voice from the door responded. "No, I'm not."
    Jordan stiffened, eyes