Authors: Bethany-Kris
Jordyn did her part.
They had a deal.
“Like I said, now’s not the time,” Ron repeated quieter.
“Is it Will?” she asked, a wariness and hesitance starting to seep in. “Is that it?”
Will Vetta was the President of the Brooklyn chapter of The Sons of Hell, and as far as Jordyn understood it, pulled a high rank in the club in its entirety. Jordyn wasn’t entirely sure why, although she suspected it had something to do with her mother, but the man hated her guts. It seemed like he would even go out of his way to make a day particularly difficult on her if he could.
Jordyn didn’t mind standing up to any member of The Sons of Hell. They didn’t scare her—she was so much better than any of them. But, Will? Will Vetta scared the living shit out of her.
That kind of thing could happen to a girl when a man holds a gun to a thirteen-year-old who just found her mother dead not hours before and says, “You say nothing. You’re
ours
, now. Do you understand me, kid?”
Oh, Jordyn understood.
“Is this about him?” she asked again.
Ron frowned, some of the anger disappearing from his gaze. Turning over his shoulder, he muttered something inside the room before opening the door wider. Raine, Ron’s old lady and one of two bartenders for Legs, slipped out without a word or glance in Jordyn’s direction.
“Inside, now,” he ordered Jordyn.
With the door closed, Jordyn finally felt like she could breathe a little better. “You can’t make me get on one of those stages and dance, Ron. I won’t do it.”
“Would you rather be working the streets like one of his regular fucking whores, then?”
Dread slipped through Jordyn’s veins, swift and destructive. “What?”
“That’s about what it’s come to, you know. Will’s a bastard. I know like any other Son does. It just happens to be he’s an even worse one when it comes to you, kiddo. Sure would have helped you a great deal if that mother of yours had just given him what he wanted all those years ago.”
“I still don’t know what that is,” she admitted.
Ron nodded. “Yeah, we know.”
And they wouldn’t tell her, Jordyn knew. It didn’t matter how many times she asked.
“But I’m Gabe’s—”
“Gabe’s dead, Jord.”
There was a painful quality in Ron’s voice as he said those seemingly simple words. Jordyn knew they were anything but easy for him to say. His son Gabe had been the same age as Jordyn. He was the first person to take notice of the oddly cruel treatment Will gave to her.
They were just young, only teens, but it had been damn easy for them. It certainly wasn’t love, but it worked. Gabe got a steady girl he felt like he was taking care of, and in a way he was, all the while he could do as he pleased with all the other females who hung around the club’s joints and houses without her complaining. For her side of it, Jordyn had her protection, considering he was the VP of the club’s son. Because of Will’s inability to keep a woman long enough to have a kid, Gabe was looking good to be the next President, eventually.
“He’s been dead for over a year,” Ron continued, not noticing her wandering stare. “Being an old lady doesn’t help when the one guy in the club who protects you is gone and the highest one up is gunnin’ on you something awful. I can’t even tell you to run, because it sure won’t do you any good, but you can do this.”
God, she knew running wouldn’t get her anywhere but six feet under in a makeshift grave. That one thing had been made perfectly clear the entire time she spent inside the impenetrable walls of The Sons of Hell.
“This. You mean strip,” she whispered. “Take my clothes off for them—those pigs. Him, too.”
Ron shrugged as if it didn’t make a difference. “Call it dancing if it makes you feel better.”
“It doesn’t. Will wants to humiliate me and see how far he can push before I break.”
“At least you know what’s coming,” Ron replied dully. “Listen, my son cared a lot about you, kiddo. I know he did, and that’s why I’ve done all that I could for you up until this point. I convinced him I’d get you dancing, so you’d be bringing in more cash. That’s all I can do. I have to take a step back now, Jord. I’m sorry.”
“What can I do?” she asked.
“Aside from finding another member to claim you as his old lady and marking your skin up like Gabe did, nada.”
By marking her skin up, Ron meant the script tattoo along her hip bone of Gabe’s name with Sons of Hell written underneath. She’d only been sixteen, but that tattoo saved her life and body on more than one occasion. No one was allowed to touch what was someone else’s.
That someone else didn’t exist anymore.
“Give me a week,” Jordyn pleaded.
“That’s just about all I can afford, maybe a little more, seeing as how he’s in hiding because of that casino mess right now. You got a week.”
Jordyn walked out of the office without thanking him. There wasn’t a thing to be thankful for.
“Get out of your head, would you?”
Lucian’s head popped up at his father’s frustrated tone. “Sorry?”
The driver took a left, giving Lucian a break from his father’s scrutiny as he checked out the window to see where they were and how close to their destination the place was. Usually Dante would accompany Antony in his car while Gio and Lucian followed behind, but not today.
Lately, too much of his parents’ attention was focused on him. He couldn’t even have a day alone at his apartment without his mother or father showing up. Sure, being Italian meant their family was closer than the norm, and everyone was in everyone else’s business, but lately it was just more frustrating than ever.
“Ever since church last week, you’ve been out of it,” his father continued, turning back to stare at his son. “I need you here, Lucian, especially tonight. Dante is always focused on learning from me instead of watching his own back. Gio is too busy trying to figure out what he’s doing, or what he isn’t doing, for that matter. But, you? You’re the one with your head on straight. Your eyes are watching everything. You know when something is going to go down before anyone else does. I need that from you with this. If you can’t do it, I need to know right now.”
Lucian sighed. “I’m here. I’m fine.”
“You’re acting like a
cafone
,” Antony replied tiredly. “Whatever it is, get it out before we arrive at this dump tonight.”
The dump in question was a strip club owned and operated by one of The Sons of Hell’s higher ranking members. All requests for a meeting between the Marcello crime family and the motorcycle club went unanswered. Antony and his sons weren’t ones to accept a dismissal. Clearly the bikers didn’t understand how real organized crime worked. If your neighbors weren’t happy, you weren’t happy.
The Marcellos were not happy.
The best time to show up to a strip club was when it was open and business was live. That was their plan, anyway. Antony wanted to cause a stir of his own making and his sons were more than happy to oblige.
“It’s nothing,” Lucian finally said.
“I hate it when you lie to me, Lucian. You’re awful at it.”
“How many of our guys are inside the joint?” he asked, attempting to distract his father.
“Six. Dante got word most of the patrons are club members, but there are a few regular customers. I better not go home smelling like a strip club or your mother will be in a right fit.”
Lucian smirked. “I didn’t realize you could smell like a stripper.”
“Sure you didn’t,” Antony muttered half-heartedly. “Stop deflecting.”
“
Christo, Papà
. I’m not deflecting, there’s just nothing to say.”
“Did you work at all this week, besides looking out for your crew?”
No, he hadn’t. Lucian owned a half of a dozen restaurants across New York and a few office buildings businesses rented from him for their own purposes. Sure, he had a great deal of people working under him to take care of all his commerce, but he had to do his part, too.
His father and brothers both had their hands in real-estate development, both residential as well as business, and in the casinos. Sometimes Lucian dabbled in something with them as a partnership, but he preferred working alone more often than not.
It certainly helped with the crime aspects of their family business when they had legitimate things to pillow, or hide, the illegal activities elsewhere.
“I can take a vacation every once in a while, Dad.”
“As long as I get your tribute every month on time, sure.”
Lucian tried not to frown, but he couldn’t help it. “I just needed a break. Time to think.”
About a blue-eyed girl he didn’t know from Eve. Every day and night. Even a heavy dose of weed and whiskey couldn’t divert his attention long enough to stop thinking about her. Lucian still wanted to know the mysterious girl.
The dreams he was having almost nightly definitely weren’t helping Lucian to move on from his thoughts of the girl. If they were just dreams, he might have been able to move on from those, too. They were anything but innocent.
A hot mouth tight around his cock, wetting him with her tongue. Lips as soft as crushed velvet, plump and smooth, sucking him all the way to the base. Eyes the color of a raging sea, staring up at him through thick, dark lashes while she grinned almost teasingly against the tip of his dick.
Lucian could practically feel how silky her curls would be in his shaking hands as he fisted her hair and fucked her mouth. Her name, one he didn’t know, stuck in the back of his throat because even noise wasn’t possible with her on her knees like she was. The sweat that would gather along his spine while she sucked him into a beautiful oblivion.
Then, just as fast as the fantasy had come, it would change to something different. Her riding him, or her on her knees with him behind her. She was always, always, looking at him, though. Straight on with those eyes of hers, or over her shoulder with his name falling into thick air in a breathy moan.
Jesus … Lucian was losing it.
The dreams always stopped, too. Right before he came, while his groin was burning hot and his stomach muscles were tense with the oncoming orgasm …
Dio
, he’d be so damned close to losing it and then like a snap, Lucian was awake and more frustrated than ever.
At least those dreams were providing him with more than enough material to finish himself off … in a painfully cold shower.
“Is this about some of those women you’re running around with?” Antony asked, drawing Lucian from his thoughts.
Lucian forced himself not to groan, shifting in the seat to hide the goddamned erection he now sported thanks to his overactive mind and the dreams it wouldn’t forget. “I don’t
run around
with females. That would imply I’m having a relationship with someone, or more than one, and I’m not.”
“You don’t consider having sex, even if it isn’t committed, a relationship?”
“No,” Lucian said through his teeth, his frustration starting to show again. “I consider that
fucking
. Those women know what I want, and it’s the same damn thing they want.”
“Yeah, I get it,” Antony replied with a shake of his head. “I don’t know where in the hell I went wrong with you three boys. You’ve never watched me mess around on your mother. I’ve always been devoted and honorable to her. I don’t understand why none of you are interested in settling down and finding a wife to start a family of your own with.”
“
Dante
needs to find a wife,” Lucian retorted hotly. “He’s going to be the Don after you. That’s required of him for the Commission to be more likable to him taking over when you’re done. That’s his responsibility, not mine. Neither Gio, nor I, need to find a wife just because. It has nothing to do with you or Mom.”
“Why don’t I believe that, then?”
Lucian knew exactly why. Antony Marcello was one of those most vicious, ruthless crime bosses this side of North America. The man who killed his own father-in-law and then took the man’s throne as if it had always been his. He ran his Cosa Nostra family with an iron fist, and accepted nothing less than perfection from all his men. He was known for many things, including going as far as taking care of the messier, more violent sides of their business just to make a point that he could and would.
But, Antony Marcello was also the father of three sons. Boys he raised and loved.
His
boys.
Lucian wouldn’t tell his father why he worried like he did. It would only take him out of the zone he was currently in.
“I don’t know, but it’s true. It’s not about you or Cecelia. Leave it alone.”
• • •
Getting through the security at the front of the strip club was stupidly easy. The two bulldog lookalike men didn’t even bother to check any of the Marcello men. Lucian figured that was more out of habit than anything else. The MC members likely all carried weapons of many sorts, so checking was pointless.
It wasn’t like anyone was going to actually give up their gun or weapon if it was found.
The sons allowed their father to lead the way through the club to find the table or booth he wanted. Lucian suspected his father would pick one that allowed his back to be against a wall, while giving him a view of the entire floor, or most of it. He was correct. Antony quickly picked a corner booth with fading leather and tears in every direction to slip into. Lucian, Dante, and Gio all fit themselves in as well once their father was settled.
“I don’t trust this place to drink,” Dante said under his breath.
“Certainly isn’t one of Gio’s clubs,” Lucian agreed.
“Gio doesn’t have females dancing naked in his clubs, son. Thank
Dio
for small miracles.”
Gio grinned salaciously, earning him chuckles from both brothers. “Not yet, you mean.”
Antony tilted his head to the side, cocking a single brow. “Is that a case of arson I smell in your near future? I wonder how many burnt clubs it would take before the authorities became suspicious.”
“Or better yet,” Lucian added from the side, leaning back into the booth. “How much it would cost to pay the bastards off when they did get suspicious.”
“Good one,” Dante said, laughing.
Gio glared at the wall. “Fine, no strip clubs.”
“Thank you, son. I always enjoy these discussions of ours.”
Lucian took a quick inventory of the club’s floor and the people within view. Easily, he picked out the six men his father mentioned earlier. The well-dressed boys almost looked out of place next to all the big, muscled bikers with their denim and leather. They weren’t attracting attention, though.
Probably because these idiots were either too drunk or too high already to really notice.
The girls who were on three of the five stages did little to hold Lucian’s interest, but he took note of them for his own personal survey of the place. He didn’t mind the tattoos on their bodies, or the leather ensembles they were slowing taking off whilst grinding along the poles. The blank, high look in most of their eyes was of a serious concern.
These were not healthy girls.
At another back corner, half sectioned off by fading red ropes, three men sat with their backs to the rest of the room. Even with the shitty lighting, Lucian easily picked out the glint of metal sticking out of the back of all of the men’s jeans.
Guns, likely.
They probably had a few knives stashed, too.
“What are you holding tonight?” Lucian asked Dante.
“.22. Nothing fancy, but it’ll get the job done from twenty yards and it only gets worse the closer I get. You?”
“What else?”
“His Mark XIX,” Gio said, so sure of himself.
“The Eagle? Jesus, why do you always have to bring in the big guns?” Dante asked.
“Because,” Antony put in, smirking, “… just the sight of it alone scares people. He likes that.”
Lucian’s father knew him so well.
Antony sighed. “I’d like to not spill blood tonight, boys. Just make a point.”
“Three over in the corner in a roped off section. All are carrying, and blatantly, I might add,” Lucian said, filling in the rest for their own benefit. “I take it they are not concerned about police or getting raided. Maybe someone is on their payroll, but that’s doubtful, considering they’ve killed four cops in six months. It could be that coming in here is a last resort for cops. Likely a dangerous thing as it is. The guys were right, most of these patrons are club members. So you can bet your ass they’re all carrying something.
“Take a good look around,” Lucian continued, giving a slight nod towards the many pool tables and booths. “This place is not meant for public consumption. Tables on their last legs. Rips in all the seats. Half of the light bulbs are blown out and there are even holes in the walls. More than one brawl has gone down here. I would hate to take a black light and see what would come up. This place is a dive. The bartenders serve the bikers first, always. Even if a regular customer was standing at the bar for five minutes already. Not to mention, I’ve already seen three MC members, if the emblems on the back of their vests are any indication, take to the back with two dancers. No money in hand. And two of which went with one girl, I might add. The strippers are high out of their minds. I’d say this is probably a usual favorite of Will Vetta’s, even if it weren’t owned by his VP.”
“Yet, he isn’t here,” Antony noted.
“No,” Lucian replied, positive of that fact. “Essentially, we are in their zone, and I suggest everyone be aware of that fact now before we go any further. I suspect the customers are likely acquaintances of the club, or trying to get in. There were only two vehicles that weren’t motorcycles in the parking lot. Why else would you party at a place like this? It isn’t for those women. If something were to happen, they will not be calling the cops, and they won’t be helping us. We are severely outnumbered, but only in the numbers.”
“Good to see your head is back in place, son.”