Page 1 of Forgotten Comeback
Prologue
Gavin
“Oh, yes, Gavin!” A woman screams as my fingers bruise into her hips.
“That’s it, Bree.” My balls slap her ass with each thrust.
“Brin.” She cranes her neck, her eyes narrowed to slits.
“Isn’t that what I said? Damn, beautiful, this pussy’s so good, I can’t remember my own name.”
That pacifies her, along with me reaching around and strumming her clit like an acoustic guitar. Her pussy seizes around my dick as she comes.
I thrust faster and faster, wanting to feelsomething, but all I get is a less than satisfying orgasm.
Self-loathing seeps into my bloodstream as I pull my soft dick out of her cunt. I silently hop out of bed and move to the bathroom, avoiding post-coital cuddling like the plague. The condom gets a toss before I wash up, refusing to look at myself in the mirror.
Even I’m getting sick of my bullshit.
A playful grin secured firmly in place, I saunter to the bedroom. “That was fun, Brit, but I need to go.” Ignoring the daggers she’s shooting in my direction, I pull on my boxers and step into my jeans. Grabbing my shirt and shoes, I don’t bother fully dressing as I hustle for the door.
“My name’s Brin, asshole!” The woman shrieks, flinging a pillow in my direction.
Phew. That was a close one.
I slide behind the wheel of my car, grabbing my buzzing phone from my pocket.
Where the fuck are you? I’m outside your place.
My thumbs fly over my phone with annoyance.
I’m busy.
Roll off her and get your ass here now. Family business.
On my way.
Arriving at my place, I park next to an old town car with blacked-out windows and slide into the front seat. “Where are we going?” I ask my brother, who mashes the accelerator.
“Newark. Finally figured out which business is Romeo’s. He’s got it hidden behind a shell company.”
“What’s the business?” I wonder.
“Coffee shop.”
“Coffee shop?” I snort. “Not very gangster.”
John lifts a shoulder. “It’s actually a smart play. A mob underboss hiding where no one would think to look.” He cranes his neck before turning on the blinker and changing lanes. “So I got word from Russell; your coach isn’t happy?—”
“Don’t start with me,” I warn. “Where’s Inferno?”
“He’s busy.”
“Why aren’t you on his ass?” I grumble.
John locks eyes with me. “He doesn’t give me a reason to be.”
“Gold star for him,” I mutter.
