Page 86 of Forgotten Sacrifice
“Owe me ninety-four.”
“Mmm.” My balls draw up as I move my hand faster and faster. Spreading her ass cheeks with one hand, a guttural cry leaves my lips as ribbons of cum hit her pussy and thighs.
My chest heaving, I run my finger through the huge load, and with great satisfaction, I push my cum inside her.
So much for that self-control.
“Have fun.” I pull up to the curb.
Luna gives me an eat shit look before opening the door. “Fuck off.”
“There’s my little ray of sunshine.”
She bares her teeth at me, and I chuckle as she slams the door. I watch Luna disappear inside the coffee shop before making my way across the city.
Parking, I walk around the back of the Chess Hall near the dumpster, lurking in the shadows.
The janitor exits through the back door, tossing a bag of trash.
I greet him with an envelope of cash, and he peeks in it before stuffing the payment in his back pocket. “Luna Barone was rejected because a certain board member didn’t want her at the club,” he reports.
“Who?” My baseball bat is in my trunk, ready to bust the kneecaps of Brit Boy.
“Gerald Koch. Big shot Wall Street guy. His daughter Aspen is a member of the club.” The asshole who hired the P.I. “They also poached Maksim Petrov to be Aspen’s coach exclusively.”
“Why did this Maksim Petrov stop coaching Brit Boy; I mean, Wesley Morrell.”
“Brit Boy, I like that,” he says with a chuckle. “That kid’s a punk of the first order. Now why they parted ways when Coach Petrov helped Wesley become a Grandmaster, no one knows. There were rumors of Wesley being difficult to coach, partying too much. A hush-hush rumor of cheating got shut down faster than anything I’ve ever seen.”
“If you had a kid who was into chess and money was no object, who would you choose as their coach?”
“My humble opinion? I’d choose Bruno D’Agostino. Italian grandmaster and number one in the world until Brit Boy dethroned him.”
“Where is he now?”
“Retired. Moved back to Italy.”
“Let me give you my cell.” I hand him a card with one of my burner phone numbers on it. “I want to be updated weekly about the goings on at the club, specifically concerning Aspen and Wesley. No detail too small.”
“Absolutely. I’m really sorry about your girl, Luna. These rich assholes think they run the world.” He glances at his watch. “I’ve gotta get back to work.”
We shake, and he disappears inside.
I return to the empty parking garage, mulling over my next move. Aspen’s father may think he runs the world, but the Parisi family runs theunderworld. An in-person lesson may be in order.
Feeling someone behind me, I turn to find three men a little too close for comfort. “Problem?” I ask, glancing around. I’m surrounded by three more.
They swarm me, and I don’t have a chance to even consider going for my gun strapped to my ankle. I’m dragged to the back of the garage and shoved against the wall.
“You’re making a mistake?—”
A fist connects with my stomach, causing my teeth to rattle.
“No, Vincenzo. You’re the one who made a mistake, conducting business in our territory.”
I groan as another fist lands a solid blow to my ribcage. “I wasn’t conducting family business?—”
Another fist connects with my solar plexus, the wind violently escaping my lungs.
