15. Weston
WESTON
Watching Dax with all her men was better than any porn I could have imagined.
When the woman you loved more than anything was getting hit with orgasms left and right to the point she passed the fuck out, it was pure magic.
I came just from watching that last round, my cum coating my hand as I worked my cock to the point of pain.
In a way, it was good that she passed out because I felt like she needed a breather after something like that.
When Cam went for it, Cognac had to hold me back from yanking him off her.
It was too much, too fast. Yeah, I’d warmed her up, and the brothers fucked her, but that wasn’t nearly enough to prepare for a double-vag to happen.
“Easy, bro,” Cognac said, gripping my arm. “Just give her a minute. If she didn’t want this, she would have happily kicked Cam right in the face.”
He’d been right. Dax had zero problem telling any of us to kick rocks if she wasn’t interested.
Sprocket joined in soothing her, and it seemed to do the trick.
While I’d always assumed I knew Dax better than anyone, it didn’t take me long to figure out that each of them understood a part of her.
Shortcake and I were a team. We’d always been that way, able to predict what the other was going to do.
Now we were out of our carefully constructed empire, and the rules had changed.
When Eagle pulled us all together and told us the plan he’d been cooking up while left alone in the hospital, I thought he was nuts.
Then Picasso told us about the crew wanting to bring her into the fold, so I decided to reconsider my stance.
Working through this choice and putting her at the center of it was what finally got us all to see eye to eye on a few things.
I glanced over at Cameron, who was combing his fingers through her sweat-soaked hair as she rested.
That man loved her more than life, but he was shit at working with others that were on equal footing, which was why he kept trying to prove he was above us.
As we talked the first two days, it was spent mostly on getting him to pull his head out of his ass.
Unbeknownst to Dax, there’d been a fist fight or two that we’d brushed the bruises off on training because she never missed a detail about us all.
For the most part, we settled the big issues, but the one thing Cam refused to discuss was what really happened between them.
His gaze would turn hard, and he’d give the same response.
“That’s more Dax’s story to tell, not mine, and I won’t share it if she hasn’t.
All I will say is we were young, dumb, and woefully un-prepared to deal with the disappointment that came to everyone.
Some just stick with you longer than others. ”
Part of me wanted to rage at him because I’d had to clean up his mess.
She’d lost two people she loved back to back, and I wasn’t going to be the next person who walked away from the self-destructive woman she turned into.
Instead, I did everything in my power to support her, even giving up the whole life I’d had planned, devoting it to Dax.
It was a choice I would never regret for as long as I lived.
She was worth it. So if learning to find a balance between the seven of us was the price to be paid, so be it.
I stepped out to clean up in the bathroom down the hall.
For how many people lived in this house, only having a single bathroom upstairs was tricky.
Thankfully, none of us guys were that shy and could manage, but damn, I didn’t want this to be forever.
Dax had been dropping hints left and right that we needed to add on or find a new place to live.
I wholeheartedly agreed with her on that.
This place had been great for the five guys, but now with eight of us, it was too small.
As I was heading back to the room, I heard a knock on the front door.
Frowning, I grabbed a towel from the bathroom and headed down.
Something in my gut told me this wasn’t just someone telling us to keep it down, so I grabbed the gun I knew was stashed in the side table near the couch.
Sideling up beside the front door, I moved the blinds to see who it was.
From this angle, I couldn’t see anyone, so I waited and listened for any sound.
If a person really needed us, it would have been urgent, and they’d bang on the door again.
Outside there was just the low thudding beat of music coming from the clubhouse.
No creaking of wood from someone standing outside on the porch or breathing that I could make out.
Dropping down, so I was squatting next to the door, my back to the wall, I turned the doorknob and cracked it.
Holding my breath, I waited, but nothing happened.
If someone had been looking to kill one of us, they most likely would have shot through the door, or a friendly would have spoken up.
Gripping the knob, I yanked the door open, still keeping off to the side as I whirled on the balls of my feet, pointing the gun out the door.
There was nothing but night and the soft glow of the porch lights illuminating the entrance.
I glanced down and spotted a manilla envelope with Queen of the Hidden Empire written on the front.
Searching the area once more, I picked it up slowly, making sure some booby trap wasn’t attached to it.
Breathing out a sigh of relief, I stood, and closed the door, moving to the breakfast counter, and flipped on the light.
“What is it?” Sprocket asked from behind me.
Whirling around, gun raised before my brain caught up to who spoke. “Jesus fucking Christ, Sprocket. I could have shot you,” I snapped, lowering the gun and flicking the safety on so I didn’t make a horrible mistake.
“Sorry, I thought you saw me coming down the stairs before you opened the door,” he answered, setting his own gun on the counter. “Came down to get her some water and saw you at the door. What happened?”
“Heard someone knocking and with all that’s gone on tonight, I figured it was either something fucking important or someone trying to kill us,” I answered. “Seems they just had a package to deliver.”
Sprocket picked up the envelope and examined it in the light, but it was too thick to see through it.
The top wasn’t sealed all the way, just secured with the silver tabs through the single hole.
“We need to open it before she sees it,” I decided.
“Who the fuck knows what that could be, but my gut is telling me it's not good.”
“Have we heard anything from Harper lately?” Sprocket asked, reading my mind.
I shook my head. “They talked right after they got out of Russia to figure out where they were going to place Prim once they got to New York. I assumed it would take them about two days, if not three of driving to get where they needed to meet for the flight out. Everyone agreed it was best to keep silent until they were stateside once more.”
“Alright, we look at this first, but no matter what is in here, we tell her about it,” Sprocket ordered, pinning me with his fierce gaze.
“I agree,” I answered.
Slowly, he opened the envelope and slid out two documents and a picture.
There was also a handwritten note that was stuck to the inside of the envelope that I grabbed.
Scanning the documents, I frowned, none of this making any sense.
It was adoption papers with some guy's name on them that I’d never heard of before.
The photo turned out to be two, one of Diego De León holding a baby in his arms with a woman smiling down at the baby.
Diego actually looked happy as he smiled broadly at the camera as any proud father would be.
The second image was of a man in his thirties who was the spitting image of Diego.
“What is all this?” I murmured, flipping the family picture over.
Written on the back was a note that looked like the same handwriting as the letter I’d yet to read.
The true heir to the cartel is still out there.
“The fuck?” I blurted. “What does any of this have to do with us?”
When Sprocket didn’t answer, I looked over to see him reading the letter, utterly absorbed in it.
Setting the picture down, I waited, glancing over the adoption papers again.
The boy had been given up at what they guessed was around six months.
He’d been found on the steps of a fire station in Boston.
All he’d been left with was a note that said his name pinned to his blanket, Tommaso.
The boy had been adopted shortly after into an affluent family who I knew had ties to the Italian mafia.
They were no friend to the De León Cartel, but something had always held them back from making a move to take over.
Now it had me wondering if it was because of Marco being the true puppet master.
“Whoever this is, really doesn’t want Diego in power.
They just handed everything needed to make an official coup d’état happen over who rules the East Coast,” Sprocket explained.
“This boy is Diego’s oldest son from his first wife he married, who I might add was the daughter to an incredibly important person in the Italian mafia.
It was a way to broker peace, but when his wife suddenly showed up dead and the child gone missing, war broke out.
This letter says that’s when he sold his soul to Marco so he could keep his hold over the East Coast. Now it has me thinking his second wife has a connection to Marco in some way.
Which is why only those kids take his last name and can inherit. ”