Page 26 of Black Sheep

Public groping doesn’t make me uncomfortable, not when I’ve indulged in an orgy or three in less salubrious days. But she’s stroking my limp cock, her eager little hand busy at my fly. I should be getting aroused. Except I’m not.

Her gaze flickers up at me, one side of her lip caught between her teeth. The titivation is a little too forced.

Or my cock has resigned its commission without bothering to let me know. “Hands off the junk until you get a green light, doll,” I growl with enough venom to make her shiver.

Yes. Definite danger whore.

Despite her clear predilection, she heeds my warning and goes back to exploring my upper body.

I sigh inwardly. Time for her to leave. I’m looking around for one of my bouncers just in case she decides to become a handful, when she gasps.

“Oh, you poor baby. What happened to you?”

She’s holding my right hand and examining my wrist with a mixture of curiosity and morbid excitement. A second later, she attempts to lift it toward her puckered lips. I jerk away before her mouth can make contact with my chafed wrist. The skin is still angry, and the wound crusted over, but like the rest of my body, that part of me feels lifeless. I experience a vivid urge to rip the scabs off just to feel some pain, just to remind myself why I shouldn’t heed a single thing Bolton said tonight.

“It’s time for you to go.”

Acute disappointment drowns her features. “It’s okay. I won’t talk if you don’t want me to. I can be obedient.” One dark-nailed finger approaches my collarbone. “I’m very accommodating. Whatever you want, just say the word, and it’s yours.”

There’s a rapidly building fire in her eyes, and again I’m alarmed by my extreme lack of stimulation. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

I temper my tone because, as unreasonable as I’m feeling, this isn’t her fault. The bouncer leads her away despite her protests, and I turn toward my private bar. Getting hammered as quickly and as severely as possible feels like a capital idea right now.

Except, no amount of whisky can disguise the fact that I’m still tracking the monitors way more than I should, that every woman in the club with a passing resemblance to Cleo snags my attention. Which in turn gets me more notice from women than I want. A problem I counter with more booze.

I finally accept that Cleo’s heeded my warning not to return around two a.m. I also accept, as I jerk off hours later in my shower, that her obedience this time around has pissed me off more than I thought possible.

Chapter Six

RULES OF ENGAGEMENT

Now that I know exactly what Finnan wants, the battlefield becomes clearer.

Now that I know what I want, I don’t hesitate in pulling my substantial resources into achieving my aims.

I thought I was done with her. That what she did to me would irreparably taint my desire for her. I’ve been proved wrong multiple times now. Turns out hate doesn’t overrule every single decision of my life.

She placed herself in my orbit. She’s staying until I decide otherwise.

Five days have passed since I last saw her. Four nights that I’ve jacked off to the memory of her sweet pussy then locked myself in the Punishment Club afterward.

I’m going to take her, but before I do, I’m going to remove one more Rutherford cornerstone.

I eye the man sitting in front me. “Do we have an agreement?”

The young Bratva lieutenant shakes his head. “We Bratva take loyalty very seriously. What you’re doing…it’s very disloyal to your father, no?” he asks in a thick Russian accent.

“I thought the Bratva didn’t recognize blood ties, only brotherhood?”

He seems marginally impressed. “Da; nevertheless, what you’re doing, it has potential to be messy, and Bratva—”

I hold up my hand. “Please don’t tell me the Bratva doesn’t do messy. We both know that’s a joke.”

His face tightens with affront. Shit. I swallow and regroup, choosing not to feel annoyed that my request to deal with the head of the Russian mob was answered with a meeting with a low-level lackey.

The lieutenant looks around my office then stares at a couple of monitors showing a packed club. “You run lots of nightclubs, successfully by the look of it. What do you want with guns, anyway?”

I choose my words carefully. “I have a lot of assets to protect. You help me protect them, and I’ll make sure none of the mess lands on your doorstep.”

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