Page 32 of Brutal Queen

AURORA

Sinclair and I have been in his tech cave reviewing the footage of the date-rape douches as a way of distracting ourselves while waiting to hear from Gabi. We’ve managed to identify most of the boys from their very useful fraternity website. It’s a veritable who’s who of assholes in training. There isn’t a single one of them who doesn’t have some sort of institutionalised wealth covering their ass.

Even with the evidence we’ve got, any one of the lawyers they’re bound to have on retainer will get them out of charges, never mind going to court. Being able to get away with it isn’t a good reason for them to hit the clubs that got them on Nico’s radar to start with, though.

Something’s not adding up.

“What happens when you follow the money?” I ask.

“They’re all ridiculously well off and funded exclusively by the bank of mom and dad. I can’t see anything unusual in anyof their personal accounts other than their obscene overspending. They have nothing unusual coming in.”

“What about the frat accounts?”

“Shit. Good call,” Sin says, fingers tapping furiously on his keyboard while I stand up and stretch.

I love watching him when he’s typing. Not only does the clack of the mechanical keys scratch some ASMR itch I didn’t think I had, but his focus is mesmerising. His fingers bounce over the keys with minimal pressure, like he’s enticing information from his various strings of code, not bashing the truth out of them. He never looks up and is constantly biting and releasing his bottom lip. It’s a glimpse of him in his natural habitat and it makes me feel a little like a voyeur.

“Found something,” he shouts out before muttering a number of swear words and hooking his fingers under the front of the keyboard, only to slam it down harder than I expect. “Motherfucker!”

“I’m not a mind reader, Sin,” I remind him, folding my arms across me and raising an eyebrow. When he remains quiet, I start tapping my foot on the floor.

“The frat is being subsidised by an offshore account. One that looks fucking familiar.”

I continue to tap my foot at him in the hopes that he’ll get to the fucking point.

“It’s an account for a De Luca shell corporation. Max is either a fucking idiot for using it or he wants us to know these cunts are on his payroll.”

“I’d put money on it being the second option. So he’s bankrolling them to stir up shit in our clubs? That doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t think he’d pay them to make themselves known to the police,” he muses, running his hand down his face. “I need to do a deeper dive now that I know Max is involved.”

He’s still rubbing his face, running his hand through what’s now a pretty convincing five o’clock shadow. “Go take a break, Sin. I need you firing on all cylinders.”

“Yes, boss.”

“How is it that both you and Nico manage to say ‘boss’ in a way that reminds me I call you both sir?” I ask, with a playful smirk and a mock sulky tone.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,colibrì.” Sinclair gets up from his desk and heads for the door. “Besides… sometimes you call me daddy, not sir.”

He’s gone before I can respond, and I’m chuckling as I head upstairs to check on Zo.

Zo’s been dozing mostof the afternoon while I’m curled up in the armchair. I flip between checking my phone for alerts from the capos to going through the financial reports Dom sent me this morning. Looks like he’s on top of things. Business is good, and he’s got some great ideas for expansion in the future. He was a good hire.

His father had him languishing in the ass-end of nowhere, managing some of our warehouses. A complete waste of his talents. He’s young, but that’s no reason to sideline him where he’s absolutely no fucking good to me. I left his father in charge of the west side guns and reporting to Luc. For a member of the old guard, I was surprised how willingly he accepted Luc as his new boss.

Enzo starts to toss and turn, squeezing his eyes tight and flinching. I move the laptop off my lap and jump up. Sliding under the covers, I tuck myself into his side and squeeze, hoping the connection or my presence settles him.

He stills and curls into me, but it doesn’t take long for himto start twitching again. I prop myself up on one elbow and stroke the hair around his temple, teasing and twirling the haphazard tufts between my fingers. He turns his head towards me in his sleep, nuzzling against my touch. I love how he responds to me, even subconsciously.

Whatever he’s dreaming of won’t let him out of its grasp though. All of a sudden his dream obviously turns to nightmare, and he starts jerking beside me. I straddle him like before and this time I lay down flat, spreading out my weight to try to stop him from thrashing. He’s sleeping in his sling so the risk to his shoulder is reduced but I hate seeing him tormented like this.

I try to calm him with my words, but he’s still fretting and even when I start attempting to wake him up, it doesn’t work.

As I stroke down the side of his face, I drag my hand down the slope of his neck. I’m essentially riding him while he bucks and strains beneath me. His writhing turns to slow rolls of his hips and I can’t help but flex mine in response as he hardens beneath me.

“Enzo, you’re killing me here. I’m going to need you to wake the fuck up,” I whine, because regardless of how much this is turning me on, there’s no way I can use him to get myself off without his permission.

His tempo increases and I bark in frustration. “Wake up, Zo,” I shout, but it does nothing to snap him out of it. I wrap my hand around his neck and squeeze. His eyes shoot open and he sits bolt upright, pressing me hard against his chest as he wastes no time in claiming my lips. He’s feral and I fucking love it. His tongue ravishes me while his tight grip clutches me to him and pulls me down against his rock hard length.

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