Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
I set my drink down and pointed at the young blonde who had been onstage earlier. She was new.
“Send her over, Kitty.”
She glanced at the girl, then back at me. I could see her need for me to assure her I would leave Aspen alone. Typically, I didn’t give a fuck what a bitch wanted me to do, but tonight, Kitty had shown me there was more to her. I could respect someone who fought for their family.
“I don’t want an innocent, Kitty. You know that. She’s safe from me.”
The relief on her face as her shoulders slumped and she took a long, deep breath really was a little over the fucking top. Her sister might be naive, but I doubted that hot piece of ass was a virgin. She couldn’t be completely innocent. Boys had to have been banging her door down in high school.
“Thank you,” she said finally. “I’ll go get Cookie for you.”
I nodded once and watched her walk away. Maybe Kitty wanted her to have more than this. The education, husband, suburban house, the soccer-playing kids. Boring shit. Poor Aspen. This life was more exciting.
My phone buzzed, and I looked down at it.
Blaise: Fucker is underground. Hung up for now. Get Kye and meet us there in two hours.
I read the text and grinned.
Blaise Hughes was the next boss of the family—aka the Mafia south of the Mason-Dixon Line. We’d grown up in this twisted life together. Our families had been intertwined for a hundred years. My great-great-great-grandfather was the first boss’s best friend. They’d started this with horse racing, moonshine, and illegal arms, not knowing the empire it would one day become. Or the power the family would wield.
Me: I’ll be there as soon as I get my cock sucked.
I sent it, grinning, then pocketed my phone. Tonight would end with answers from the thieving bastard we had locked up, or we’d torture him until he bled out. Either/or, it was always a good time.
“Kitty said you wanted me,” the blonde said in a sweet Southern twang.
I grinned at her, leaning back in my seat. “Depends, sugar. How well do you take orders?”
She batted her long, fake eyelashes. I liked them like that. It was slutty, and, fuck, I liked slutty. Made me want to spank their asses harder.
“For you, Daddy, I can listen real well.”
Ah, Kitty. Got her prepped and ready for me. Smart girl.
“Then, I need you to go to the third private room and wait for me.”
Her eyes flashed with excitement as she pulled her bottom lip through her teeth before letting it pop free. “Yes, Daddy,” she replied, then turned to the hall of private rooms.
I watched her tight little ass with nothing but a string up it as she strutted away.
Three
Aspen
“Stay in this car,” Irish said for the tenth time since we had left the house.
“I know! Jeez. I don’t want to go in that club. Trust me. Go handle whatever. I am fine,” I assured her.
She pinched her temples. “No, Aspen, you have a fever.”
“But I feel fine. I could have gone to the after-hours clinic myself.”
Irish looked at me as if I had lost my mind. “You don’t go to an after-hours clinic with your heart condition. You go to the goddamn hospital. Jesus!” She took a deep breath. “It’s fine. You’re going to be fine. Just let me go make sure I’m covered and they know what’s going on. Don’t open that door for anyone. If someone comes up to the door, lay on the horn.”
Again, she’d already told me all this, but I nodded anyway. “Got it.”
Irish opened the driver’s door to her cherry-red Ford Mustang and climbed out. Then pointed at me to lock the doors. I did, and she did a quick take of the parking lot before heading inside. I rested my head back on the seat and sighed loudly.
Five weeks of living with her now, and she was still treating me like I was an invalid. Gran had never kept me home all the time. I’d had a life. One that made me feel like I was doing something. Giving back. Now, I binge-watched a lot of television shows, did yoga alone twice a day in the living room, and baked things that I had seen on the Cooking Channel.
Other than sending sweets to the strippers at Devil’s Lair, I wasn’t doing anything for anyone. I hated feeling like I was wasting my time. Not living life. Explaining that to Irish though was pointless. She’d get all panicky and tell me how I had to recover first. I’d had pneumonia over a month ago. I was recovered.
Lifting my head back up, I stared at the door, waiting for Irish to return. When it swung open, I was glad that she’d been so quick. However, the woman who looked like she was just wearing heels wasn’t Irish. Neither was the man who followed her out the door. He gave the girl a shove, and she stumbled. I tensed.