Chapter 3
Three
Con
B astian and Dante peer out over the bar we own looking bored as fuck.
I don’t blame them. We’ve been here a few days wrapping up business with a few local club owners that will bring fresh blood to all our establishments. After days of meetings, all our nerves are edging toward being shot.
This week is just another one in a long string of weeks that look pretty much the same no matter which way you look at them.
Contracts, bickering, negotiating, and more contracts. I scrub a hand over my face feeling the weight of so many people in my space.
“You make our reservation at The Gilded Key Society?”
Dante nods. “They’ll be calling to confirm when the suite is ready in a little bit.”
His attention moves back to something on his phone. Probably scouting other locations for our next acquisition. Slowly but surely, we are establishing our mark beyond Seattle. But this place, only a few streets over from Bourbon Street, is a new venture in a new city. Dante and Bastian both think we are not strong enough to branch out so far from home, but the only way to grow stronger is to forge connections. And that is what we are doing. The Society is just the first alliance. They will filter clients to us and we’ll do the same for them. Everyone loves good music, a place to feel safe and let loose. And on the flip side, everyone here wants to take the party someplace where their kinks will be satisfied, again in a safe environment.
Money flows, needs are satisfied, and no one gets hurt. Once we are done here, we will move on to another city, and forge connections there. Rinse and repeat until we have the respect, power, and wealth to protect everyone under us.
The only thing we fear is weakness itself. Our fathers were weak men. It’s why they failed to build the legacy they wanted so badly. Each of them was unable to protect those under them. My sister was murdered for revenge and Bastian’s mother was kidnapped and beaten. She survived but was never the same.
Our fathers couldn’t protect those who counted on them, so they let those stronger than them take everything they worked for. All the territory they earned for themselves.
That will not be us. Every step has been a blood fight but Dante, Bastian, and myself have regained what our father’s lost and now we are creating our own legacy.
I bump my knuckles against Dante’s who looks up. “What?”
A vein at his temple starts to throb with irritation until he sees what I’m seeing.
A softer version of Harley Quinn minus the fishnet stockings and pigtails walks our way.
“Little birdie looks like she’s wanting to play with the big boys.”
I agree. She’s playing like an easy ride, but a layer of innocence permeates the air around her. She wants to make it seem like she’s got plenty of experience at seducing men under her belt, but I would bet my sizable bank account she’s never experienced having a man between her thighs. Not a real man anyway.
She’s trouble and not what we need right now. Large breasts, wide hips, beautiful eyes, and a smile that teases a man’s cock. She’s a dream.
“ Devstvennitsa ?” A virgin? Bastian throws back a finger’s worth of chilled vodka. He leans against the back of his chair with an ankle over his knee. To the outside world, he looks like a man enjoying a drink in the back of the bar. But what tells me he’s anything but relaxed is the way the asshole knocks the band of his skull ring on the glass.
He does it to dig under my skin, but I shake it off tonight. I’m not interested in his games.
I regard Trouble’s long, bare legs and the way the unraveled edge of her cutoffs brush against her upper thighs. Supple, creamy, and shapely. If she were to turn around and bend over there wouldn’t be much keeping us from seeing all the sweetness under such little clothing. If those fringes fray anymore, she will be wearing strings instead of clothes.
“Could be fun.” The words sound foreign coming out of my mouth. It’s been all about work and no play for us for so damn long that I think I’ve forgotten the definition.
Beside me, Dante’s eyes darken with curiosity I haven’t seen in those steel-colored eyes in a long time. The same thing goes for him. Fun isn’t in our vocabulary. All three of us eat, sleep, and breathe the daily grind. And it’s paying off, but we still have a ways to go before we are “there”. The top of the heap. But we are climbing up one rung at a time. We’ve fought for every inch of success we are enjoying but the fight isn’t over yet. Part of the game of climbing the ladder is the enemies left behind. It’s unavoidable and right now too many weaker families are sore about losing territory to us. They’d rather see us all ruined and dead. It doesn’t matter that Dante, Bastian, and myself have plans on how we can all survive and make money. For most, it’s a power struggle and one I am damn sure going to win. There can only be one family at the head, and it will be ours.
“I’m up for a little fun. I’m curious to see if that forearm tattoo goes all the way up.”
It is sexy. Colorful hearts with vines twining around them stick out among the blacks and grays of the surrounding ink.
Seeing Dante interested in a little downtime is good and bad. It means he’s not totally dead inside. But like the rest of us, my childhood friend has a dark side that not many women understand.
And the trouble walking our way fits his description of a good time. Innocent with a glint of wickedness in her pretty brown eyes. A girl he can warp and bend to all his darker tastes.
We don’t have a type other than willing. But it’s been a while since any of us have entertained the idea of inviting a woman between us. Nearly two years. So to hear my blood brothers considering playtime makes me wonder what the hell happened between Seattle and here. Not that I’m complaining.
Dante brushes his hand through his dark hair and mirrors Bastian’s relaxed posture. Ankle kicked up, eyes hooded. Only instead of a ring like Bastian, the bastard is playing with his knife—a four-inch stainless-steel blade he normally keeps tucked into his belt. Snakes engraved in the silver give it a badass look but it’s the man wielding the weapon that should have people worried. Where I like a quick exit from a dangerous situation, Dante takes pleasure in making his enemies bleed for him.
When neither man speaks up with their opinion, I roll a shoulder with a warped perspective in mind when it comes to the trouble walking our way. “Look at it this way. If we don’t take her up on the silent offer, someone else will.” I mean why else would she be coming toward us?
“At least we know she’s safe with us.”
Bastian scoffs at Dante around a mouthful of his drink. “Safe? Where are you going to leave your knife tonight, brother?” He turns an eye on Dante whose smile grows as he swishes the dregs of his vodka.
“Where I always do. In my belt.”
“Stop all the back-and-forth shit already. She’s almost here.”
Dante straightens beside me, leaning his elbows on the table, his knife presumably put away since I don’t see it in his hand. He shoves the empty glass out of the way and interlocks his fingers under his chin. The move bulges his thick arms against the confinement of his long sleeves as Trouble arrives at our feet looking irresistible.
“Hey boys, you have room for one more between the three of you?”
I rise and my brothers join me.
I breathe in and it’s not the alcohol or cigar smoke I’m smelling anymore. It’s her. Clean. A hint of vanilla and maybe jasmine. I don’t know or care. It etches into my brain, and I know ten years from now I’ll look back on this moment and remember her.
I fill my lungs again. God, her fucking scent curls through me. I take her hand in mine and nearly fucking groan at how soft her skin is over mine. She’s strong but tender. Brave but scared as fuck, too.
“There’s always room for someone as beautiful as you,” I lean in and speak over the music. Based on the response of her pupils dilating and not even the darkness of this place can hide the hard tips of her nipples stressing the material of her top.
Bastian moves in and wraps his fingers around her other hand, bringing his lips to brush over her knuckles.
Fucker. He thinks he’s Casanova reincarnated. Dante pulls up another chair and slides it between us with Bastian moving to give all his focus on her instead of the dance floor.
“I’m not interrupting a bromance date, am I?” She takes in my clean-shaven jaw, Dante’s long hair, and Bastian’s black eyes.
There’s a hint of a smirk on her lips that draws all three of our gazes. Her knee starts to bounce with obvious nerves. I can’t imagine someone her age bar hopping regularly or picking up flings. Despite the bad-girl outfit, this isn’t her scene. I make reading people my business and this girl would rather be in bed with a book. But she’s here for something and we’re willing to give it.
“Maybe a little, but I get tired of all the shit talk and chest-thumping. I’d rather hear your voice in my ears all night long than theirs.”
Her cheeks warm visibly at what Dante says.
“Have you been here before?” Bastian signals for a fresh glass and pours her a drink.
“Thank you. Umm… to New Orleans or Dante’s?”
Bastian takes her hand again and I see her knee stop bouncing on contact. Interesting. “Both,” he says smoothly.
“No. First time for both.”
“Oh, we have a virgin on our hands, moy brat ,” Bastian’s words roll off his tongue and it hangs between all four of us as the window of opportunity he intended. He’s never been known for keeping his thoughts to himself, so I’m not surprised by what comes out of his mouth anymore.
Nor is our guest, it seems. I know what Bastian is trying to do, but she’s not playing.
“My friend and I are passing through. We will be gone in the morning.” She points in the direction of a good friend of ours, Reaper. He’s the president of a motorcycle gang that’s trying to do good in the world. The irony is they don’t mind getting dirty in order to accomplish that goal.
“Is that your friend sitting with him?”
Her gaze tracks mine, her body leaning my way. I’m hit with another dose of her scent, and it tells my dick to get ready.
“Hmm-hmm. It is. Arabelle. She’s a delicate thing in need of some roughing up.”
“Arabelle is in good hands. Reaper is a good man.”
“How do you know him?” I see worry inch across her expression for her friend, but it’s Dante who answers for me.
“He’s a friend of ours. Has been for a while. He’s former military and comes from a deep-rooted family back in Tennessee.”
Her shoulders relax and those pretty, big brown eyes glimmer with relief.
I sit up and settle my larger hand over hers where she plays with the untouched vodka.
“Is your friend the only delicate little birdie in need of ‘roughing up’?” I ask, holding her eyes with my own. “Are you sure you want to do this, baby bird?”
Soft brown eyes come up to meet mine and she tucks the edge of her lip between her teeth before releasing it a second later. She plays the bad girl dying to fuck you game pretty well. It would work on someone a little younger and a lot less in control of themselves.
I tip her chin my way. “We all know what’s going on here. There’s no need to pussyfoot around.”
My touch gives her pause before she shakes her head. “She’s not the only one.”
“Do you have someone waiting for you back home?”
She turns her attention to Bastian. “Does it matter?”
Con releases her hair from the bun she has pinned high on her head. Long, thick locks of dark hair tumble around her shoulders and down her back. Some fall over the deep cleavage offering a sweet view of her breasts.
That’s a shame.
“It does to us, little birdie.”
Her tongue sweeps over her bottom lip. I can almost see her spread out on a large bed, the three of us devouring her body, claiming her in ways only multiple men can, and that pretty pink on her cheeks flushing her entire body.
Would she run from us, or would she crave the danger we offer?
I move a little too close and the darkness of her pupils swallows the light brown of her eyes. Her bottom lip trembles and the brave facade she hides behind glitches. I trace the outline of her jaw with a gentle stroke. “How old are you?”
A pretty brow arches. “Again, does it matter?”
“We have reputations to protect and have no desire to take underage girls to bed.”
The pink on her cheeks turns a lovely red but the smirk on her lips says she’s the trouble I pegged her for.
“Twenty-two. Twenty-three on Christmas.” Her pretty eyes sparkle with defiance.
Dante’s phone goes off with a text message. He stands and pulls it out of his pocket.
“It’s The Society. They want to know if we are keeping our reservation for the suite?”
We don’t come to New Orleans often. When we do, we usually stay in the upstairs apartment attached to this bar. Since we own both, it makes sense. But we lent the apartment to our friend over there and our word is our bond. So we found other arrangements.
I slide the cute brunette into my lap and trace the sexy lines of the tattoo covering her left arm. Her gasp of surprise calls to the animal in me, but I push the need for the taste of her on my tongue for later.
My hand slides over her hip and I let her feel the hardening length of my cock against her ass.
She shivers against me, and those lashes are back to falling closed.
“ Kak tebya zovut, krasavitsa? Your name, beautiful?”
She swallows, her lips part and her eyes hold mine. “Laila.” There’s not a quiver in her voice. Nor a hint of fear.
Intricate lines weave into flowers, vines, hearts, and butterflies and I can’t stop tracing every single one of the inked lines on her arm. Each detail reveals a bit of her soul, just like the ones I share with my brothers. Not blood brothers, but they might as well be for all the horror we’ve shared in life.
Dante moves his chair to my left, pushing me toward the middle of our trio. He links fingers with our new plaything and kisses the inside of her wrist as she settles into his embrace. Black lashes fall over perfect skin tinged with light pink. Bar lighting always sucks but I can take in every detail that matters. She wants this and likes the idea of three men wanting her.
“Come with us.” Bastian pulls a leg to rest over his knee, spreading her thighs just enough to have her shorts ride higher. Leaning into Dante, sitting on my lap, and held in place by Bastian, she’s damn hard trouble to pass up on.
“I am Con. The one massaging your calves is Bastian and Dante’s the one about to kiss you.”
My friend sweeps in, taking our guest’s mouth. She gasps and groans around my friend’s lips. The tip of his finger keeps her chin tilted up so he can devour her freely. She parts her lips for him, and I marvel at the way she so easily follows his lead. She’ll do well when we have her between us.
He breaks away and they are both panting.
“Where are we going? The Gilded Key Society?” Fire and need add a hint of husk to her melodic voice and the sound drives straight to my cock.
“If you feel you are safe enough with us.”
Her fingers dig into my shirt. “I know who you are. You’re known for a lot of shit, but you’re not known for killing women.”
True. Men who steal, violate our terms, or fuck us over are a whole other topic for another day. But I am curious as to how she knows who we are.
“What are we known for?”
Her expression turns smug. “You want to talk about all your criminal records or are we going to The Society?”
“Call them back, Dante. Tell them we are bringing a guest.”