Page 4 of Bratva Wolf

I chuckle. “I guess you’re glad you came home with me now.”

“Oh yeah. I’m close.”

Her words spur me on. Typically, I’d have her tied to my bed and play with her. She’d suck my cock first, and then I’d fuck her, but her pussy feels like heaven. “You can come.”

She meets me thrust for thrust as her body tenses. The look of bliss that hits her face is something I miss when she’s gone. She cries out my name as her orgasm hurls her into ecstasy. Her hands tighten around my neck, and I lean down to kiss her hard, swallowing her cries. It only takes a moment, and I’m joining her. I break the kiss to cry out in rapture with the orgasmic high. Collapsing on her, I kiss her again as I drop to the inner side of her and pull her against me. Sleep.

The stillness of my room signals that she’s slipped out again. I touch the light next to my bed to illuminate the room. She slips out like a phantom. Usually, she stays for a third round, but I passed out. The bright blue rope hanging on the bedpost catches my attention. I stroke my cock, thinking about how long I made her wait to come when I tied her to the bed.

My ringing phone brings me back.

“Hello.”

“Come home.” The call ends, and I focus on my phone. Being out from under my father’s boot was the only good thing about being in Central America on my Cartel quest.

Forty-five minutes later, I trudge into my father’s foyer. Workers hustle around the first floor. It’s the middle of the night, but my father’s money pays them to work around the clock. His decorator is at it again. She remodels it based on his whims every other year. The blue accents are being replaced with deep greens and golds. I knock on my father’s door. It’s unnecessary for me to knock. He already knows I’m here, but he insists on the formality. My father sits behind his one-of-a-kind antique desk. He bought it at auction. It used to belong to JFK, and it’s the primary focus of his room.

“You’re late.”

“I was at Biggie T’s. Ran into Jose Aguilar.” Just a little lie. I was at the club earlier. It’s just after two in the morning, so the lie works. I don’t want him knowing about Red.

“How is Arturo’s nephew?” Papa’s brow peaks.

“A prick. He’s got some money laundering scheme he wants to share. I told him to run it through Cynric.”

Papa waves his hand. “Good. Just don’t have him bother me.” He casts his eyes to the portrait of my mother and then back to me. “What did you learn while you were away? I expected to be here when you got back.”

Images of slit throats, drugged out kids, beaten whores, and the smell of blood and death fill my head. “Nothing good. They’re savages.”

He chuckles. “Savages?”

“Yeah. They have no honor. Mother would be appalled at the way they destroy women and children.”

He scoffs. “We don’t do that.”

“No.” I blow out a frustrated breath. “But they want us to.”

“You met all the players?”

“Yeah. Arturo has four nephews. He never fathered any sons, so he uses them as his proxies. They do the work, and he gets the proceeds. I didn’t like him either, but he treated me like I was a son or something.”

Papa takes a drink of his vodka and resets it on his desk. “He’s always searching for an heir. He’s going to need one. From what I hear, Jose wants to assassinate him and take his throne.”

“He’ll have to stand in line. Jose’s brother, Marco, is the real power.”

“And your relationship with this, Marco?”

“Tight. He thinks we’re close, like brothers. He’s older than Cynric, but spent days teaching me the business. I don’t mind him, but he’s stupid to think I’d give away my family for a fake brother when I have four real ones.”

“Good. Sounds like you’ve figured out the dynamics of the cartel.” Papa settles back in his chair. “Go to Cynric’s tomorrow and find out what he needs from you.”

“Okay.” I stand and the photo of my parents on their wedding day catches my eye. Will I ever experience that kind of devotion to a person who isn’t my blood? Cynric’s frown in the last family photo reminds me. This will be my role. The number two to my oldest brother. He’s not the devil my father is, but he’s close. I bump into the workman who’s hanging a red and gold Damask wallpaper in the foyer. “Watch it.”

Chapter 2

SCARLET

I step out of my twenty-one-year-old, faded blue sedan. Bertha, as I call her, needs a tune-up and new tires, a new window motor, and so many other things. I groan. Our townhouse catches my attention, making me sigh. We live in Newark, and my grandmother has owned the little place since it was new. One of the many gifts my father gave her back in the day. The porch needs more work every time I look at it. The brick beam holding up the porch roof looks wonkier than it did when I left this morning. This is my early day, so I’m home before dark. The peeled paint laughs at me. I need to find some paint to cover the bare wood.

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