“Yes.” Breathing heavily, she sets her current book down and presses her hands to the bookshelf. “Yes, I want you.”
“In here?” I unzip my pants and take my cock out. “While Tim is upstairs and you’re ransacking his office?”
“Yes.” Bending, lifting her ass, she moans when I run the tip of my cock along her wet slit and collect her natural lubrication. “I’m yours, Felix. I’ve always been yours.”
“Mmm. I kinda wish he was awake. He could come down and let you suck his cock while I fuck you with mine.” Sliding into her ass without priming her, I take pleasure in her cries of pain and thank the fact I thought ahead and closed the door to keep sound from escaping.
Pushing in as far as I can go, I grab her hair in my hand and ride her the way a dog might ride a bitch in heat. “Did you get anything else for me, Anne?” I draw my cock out, then slam it back in again so her whimper of pain turns to something of pleasure. “Anything I can take back to my father?”
“Not yet.” She drops her head, panting for breath. But she’s a masochist too, because the way I hurt her only brings her closer to the edge. “I’ll keep working, I promise.”
My release comes closer. Closer. Like my sperm is on speed and I’m racing to the edge.
“How long do you think you’ll need?”
“Mm.” She chokes on a sob and smacks her own ass. Once. Twice. “I don’t know. There was a thing here last night where Tim had to kick a couple of people out. And the night before, he shut the bar down early and ran out to help a friend.”
I wrap her hair around my wrist and pull tighter. “Which friend?”
“I don’t know.” Her back arches, her breath races, and when I shove her hand aside and smack her myself, she comes around to slide her fingers inside her pussy. “He didn’t say who.”
“So you’ve been here a month and wasted my fucking time?”
“No, I—”
Unforgiving, I bring my blade across her throat and open her artery until a gallon of blood sprays across the bookshelf.
Like a painting, a gift I prepared for my beloved older brother.
I get another thrust before her body realizes she’s dead. One last sting of pleasure before I let her fall to the floor soaked in red.
Shaking my head, I turn away from the woman lying in a crumpled mess, and taking a square of cloth Tim has left in here on some occasion, I wipe my right hand clean of her blood and toss the fabric down when I’m done.
“Fuckin’ waste.”And I forgot to ask her how many pills she slipped him last night.Tucking my cock away and grabbing the folder from the desk labeled‘business,’I go to the safe door and open it using the key panel on the wall.
Inching the steel enclosure open, I peek into the hall and check again to make sure all is quiet, then when I deem it safe, I step out and close the door at my back. Blood tracks onto the floor beneath my feet as I head toward the bottom of the staircase leading up.
I’m tempted to go to Tim’s apartment and search for anything else I could bring back to our father, but I don’t know how deep he’s under, and it would be foolish of me to think he isn’t as lethal as always.
Tim was the heir. Born, bred, trained, and groomed to take over where our father leaves off. I was merely the spare whose training went into high gear after two of ours broke away and chose freedom over family.
We’ve let them have that freedom for now. We let them believe they’ve found a new paradise on the other side of the country. But little do they know our father is in poor health, which means my time is coming.
My chance to lead us all.
But first, I have loose ends to tie up, and brothers whose loyalty must be tested.
ARCHER
“Carlton Cohen?” I show my badge on the other side of a wire door that is damn near impossible for visitors to see through. But the occupant of the home, no doubt, sees us just fine. “My name is Detective Archer Malone.” Then I point to Fletch. “My partner, Detective Charlie Fletcher. We’re from Copeland PD and we were hoping we could speak to you about an investigation we’re currently leading.”
“Uh… Sure.” Nervous, he unlocks the door and pushes it wide to reveal a man who stands about seven feet tall, with a bald head but a long, red beard coming down to the middle of his chest. He’s broader than Fletch and me, with tree trunks for arms and legs, and striking blue eyes that burn the side of my face as he steps back to make room for us to come in. “What’s this about, Officers?”
“Detectives.” I move through the hall and stop in the middle of his living room, then turning back, I wait for Fletch and Cohen to follow me in. “We’re here to talk about Melissa Boyd.”
Carlton tilts his head for a moment. “Who?”
Bad memory, or an aversion to helping the cops?