Page 1 of Tainted Blood

Chapter One

Ian

June 2014

My eyes sweep over the busy club. It’s a good night for business. It’s loud, and drinks are flowing, which means so is the cash. We run many operations which keep us busy. Currently, Connor is off, handing an issue at the docks, forcing me to take over for him at the club here. Normally, I only step in to handle the muscle here. My business in the family lies in the form of dealing with our physical problems, but on occasion, I pick up the slack with the day-to-day management like I’m doing now.

Jack is off hunting down any leads on our missing brother. We still don’t have anything on his whereabouts and the only fucking lead had her head blown off by my peace of shit father. After that, our suspicions on him only deepened even though he was injured and could have been killed during the abduction.

Jack hasn’t given up even though Connor and I pretty much have lost hope that he’ll be found alive. It’s been so long that the likelihood is almost none, but Jack searches through every trafficking ring he gets a lead on. That’s probably where he is now.

I should be in Vegas managing my other company, but I’m here tonight. I wish someone would start some shit, so I can take out this burning rage that lives buried deep within my soul. Feeling annoyed with the lack of activity, I twirl one of my brother’s fancy pens.I’m keeping this fucker, I chuckle to myself as I tuck it into my breast pocket.

I sit on my brother’s expensive leather sofa with my feet propped up on the arm, pondering my work in Vegas while knowing he’ll be annoyed if he was here. My head of security and I had been working on plans for security upgrades when we were delayed due to bureaucratic red tape. Still, I have a lot of ideas playing in my head. As I consider them, there is a knock at the door.

“Come in,” I say, sitting straight up with one hand on my gun, ready to pop someone. Trust isn’t in my nature—call it part of the family business, or call it years of training, but it’s just who I am.

“Mr. MacNamara, may I have a word with you?” the club’s head bartender says. I cock my brow up at the woman because we’re swamped, and she should be pouring drinks instead of bothering me. Connor hired her because she’s good, but my mood isn’t conducive to being nice, especially if she tries to hit on me.

“Make it quick. The club is packed,” I snarl, tapping my pen on the desk.

“Yes, I know, sir. I just wanted to let you know that some people are getting a little rowdy, and you’re the one I’d tell.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell security?” I ask her. Sure, I could bounce the fuckers out of the club myself, but what’s the point of having security if they don’t do their jobs? Hell, I’m tempted to show them how I treat those who fuck up in my presence, but I don’t want Connor riding my ass for showing our hand in public.

“Because they are in the VIP section.” She bites down on her bottom lip. She doesn’t look like the kind of woman who nervously bites on her lip. My reputation has preceded me and my face has done the same. I’m ready for war. These little pricks are about to have a bad night.

I roll my eyes. The crowd that spends two thousand for the VIP section isn’t the kind you kick out, or so Connor would say, but fuck that noise. It’s my club tonight, and my rules. These dickheads want to act a fool, then I’ll treat them to the Ian MacNamara way of handling problems. “Hand me a whiskey, neat. I’ll straighten them out,” I say with a smirk.

She stares at me nervously before muttering a shaky, “Yes, Mr. MacNamara.”

She leaves my office, closing the door without looking back up at me.

As a doubtful bastard, I turn the cameras on to watch her pour my drink. Instead of watching her, my eyes find a much better sight that snags my attention. At the bar, a petite woman with side-swept raven hair faces the dance floor, biting down on her bottom lip nervously as if she doesn’t know whether to run or loosen up.

I automatically know that I’ll loosen her up really good. My dick stiffens in these restrictive pants. Damn. I’ve never gotten hard in a suit before. These fuckers are cutting off my circulation, and still my cock isn’t calming down. I adjust the raging pole in my pants, getting a little relief by tucking it straight up and under my belt.

The pretty little thing in her short black dress, which hugs every inch of her curves, turns to the bar, and I spot the tattoo on her shoulder. It’s fresh, like she just got it today. I groan as I stare at the fucking thing, jealous of the bastard who had his hands on her soft skin for hours.

Fuck. I’m about to run down the stairs and nab her up. She tosses back a shot before grabbing her fruity drink with some orange juice or pineapple in it. I’m going to crush my lips to hers to find out just which one it is.

A knock at my door stops my viewing pleasure. Growling, I tell the person to enter. “Sir, here’s your drink.”

“Thank you.” I don’t want to deal with the fucking crowd, but it’s a must. In my hungry perusal of the little minx at the bar, I’d forgotten my irritation with the drunken VIP bunch. I walk out of the office and make my way toward the VIP section. The sooner I deal with those assholes, the sooner I can find the woman that I’m fucking all night long. I’ve got a lot of pent-up lust, and she’s the one to pull every drop out of me. Fuck. I slam back my drink, needing to calm down. I spot a server on the way and put my empty glass on her tray. She smiles at me and nods.

As I reach the VIP area, there are several fuck-offs who see me and freeze. I catch one of them snorting coke off the expensive table. Another has one girl’s face in his lap with his tiny dick in her mouth, and she’s giving the weakest blowjob while she grinds her ass on another guy. They’re clearly fucking, even if he’s got her mostly covered.

Most of this can be seen from the bar, and I don’t need that shit in here. There are rules, and fucking and drugs are two of them. We don’t need heat from the cops on us. If they decided to raid the place, which has been known to happen, we could be liable, and that wouldn’t be a good thing. I snarl at the one wiping his nose. “If you don’t want more than that candy up your nose, I suggest you get the fuck out of my club.”

Slowly the gang-bang lets up, and they adjust themselves while the girl wipes her lips before smirking my way with a sauciness that is uncalled for—as if I’d be interested.

“Hey, we paid a lot to be in here,” the cokehead says, wiping his nose as he sniffs.

“Yes, and that’s not to fucking burn your nostrils with blow or to get blown. Get the fuck out. I won’t say it again.” I crack my knuckles, every pop echoing in the section. Fear shows in their glazed eyes.

“Fine, but I’m going to leave a negative review,” says the guy who was fucking the girl from behind.

I smirk at the jerk-off in his messy suit with his hair all fucked up. He’s probably spending Daddy’s money. Those are always the type who think they’re above everyone else. What a pussy.

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