Page 28 of Black Sheep

In my apartment, they spread out on various seats in the living room.

“Drink?”

Bolton shakes his head. Ronan requests another whisky. Troy shrugs a nonanswer. I head to the bar and pour three whiskies. As I turn, I can’t stop my mind from imagining Cleo here, instead of my brothers. My gaze tracks the room, conjuring up the many places I would fuck her. The couch. Up against the glass wall.

The floor, definitely. Maybe not the first time. Or the second. But her tight, little body will be pounded into that floor before I was done with her.

I hand the drinks out and retreat to the suspended fireplace at the farthest wall. “I’ll keep this short. I know Finnan wants me to butt out of his dealings with the Eastern Europeans.”

“And? You’re gonna finally show this family some respect and do the right thing?” Ronan snarls.

I allow myself a stiff smile. “I am doing the right thing. I’m giving Finnan exactly what he deserves.”

“Fuck you, Axel. What you’re doing is giving Pa the finger, you useless piece of—”

“I’m not going to debate this matter with you, Ronan. I owed it to you to give you a heads-up. I’m telling you now that what’s happening need not involve you three—”

“Wrong. You take him on, you take all of us on,” Troy inserts.

I sigh. “Take off your fucking blinkers for a damn minute, Troy. I don’t want to fight you…any of you. None of what’s about to go down need touch any of you.”

“You want us to believe you’re protecting us?” Troy laughs. “We don’t need—”

“My protection. I know. But neither do you need to be caught in the crossfire that’s none of your business.”

Ronan discards his drink and stands. “You stealing deals from right under our noses is our business.”

I swirl my drink for a moment before I meet his gaze. “The Eastern Europeans aren’t the main reason Ronan wants to see me. I’m not going to give you the details. You can ask him, but if he hasn’t told you yet, I guarantee you he’ll lie. When this is all over, if you want to know the truth, maybe I’ll tell you. For now, stay the hell out of my way.” I harden my voice so there’s no mistake that I’m being anything less than succinct.

“You have some fucking nerve—”

“This isn’t up for discussion, Troy. Take my advice. Or don’t.”

Ronan’s head snaps back as if he’s just had an epiphany. “Fuck, you still have a stick up your ass about being sent to West Point, don’t you?”

I struggle not to grit my teeth, any notion I had of warning him off the Bratva shelved. For now. “I’ve said what I wanted to say. Feel free to leave—”

“You’re still salty because we didn’t hold your hand while you ran around after that little slut?”

I stare Troy in the face, my fingers tingling with an inhuman itch. “I dare you to call her that one more time.”

Troy loses a shade of color but the sneer doesn’t leave his face. Ronan stares at me, a speculative light in his eyes.

Bolton scrambles to his feet. “Okay. You said your piece. We’ll…uh, discuss it. Let you know how what we decide.”

“You don’t need to let me know,” I reply, my eyes still on Ronan. “When the time comes, you’ll either be in my way or you won’t.”

Chapter Seven

FIRST CONTACT

An hour after they leave, I head to the Punishment Club. Now that I’ve accepted that having Cleo again is the only thing what will appease the prowling beast inside me, my madness has throttled down a notch.

It’s not a state that will remain stable for any appreciable time, even in the short term.

I haven’t fucked in weeks. After watching Cleo come, and being unable to think of anything else other experiencing that heady sight again, the hand jobs are losing their appeal.

Yesterday, I contemplated accepting a blowjob from one of the many submissives in the Punishment Club. I discarded the idea a pathetic minute later, knowing that no one but Cleo would pierce the layer of sexual inertia blanketing me.

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