Chapter 6 Matei
MATEI
Ilean back in my leather desk chair, and it makes the creaking sound leather makes when it shifts.
The tablet glows in front of me, displaying the intel I've compiled for my eldest brother, Lucian.
We've hit two more stops that the Bulgarians controlled. Now, I'd say they're wounded, but not dead.
That's our main problem. Wounded men scatter like roaches, regroup in the shadows, and plan their revenge.
I expect retaliation by now on the areas we've gained. A drive-by, a bomb, shit, even something desperate.
Instead, there's silence, and that bothers me. When people act, they make themselves known. It's the stillness that puts you on edge.
I swipe through the data again. Their operations have fractured, with no clear leadership or coordinated response. However, they're still moving product and holding territory in pockets across the city.
Disorganized doesn't mean harmless, as our father would say.
I type out a message to Lucian, keeping it brief. He doesn't need my theories, just the facts. The Bulgarians are weak but not broken. Their suppliers are still feeding them. The Russians might be involved, but I don't have confirmation yet.
I also attach the preliminary report that came back this afternoon about this Siberian Ice. It's a synthetic stimulant with mild hallucinogenic properties derived from a variation of MDMA, and it can be highly addictive.
As I finish up the message to Lucian, my phone vibrates on the mahogany desk, the screen lighting up with a notification.
I pick it up and look at it.
SillySexyKat143 Is Live
I freeze.
I put the tablet down, my message to my brother forgotten. Everything narrows to that single notification.
I registered for the alert the night I got the background on her. She hadn't been on in some time, but just in case, I thought it best to make an account to keep tabs on her.
I press the notification.
The page loads, and there she is.
Jordan Robertson.
She's wearing pink lace that barely qualifies as clothing. The bright white light on her washes out her features slightly, but I recognize her immediately. The same dark hair. The same soft curve of her lips.
She leans forward, smiling at the camera, her voice sweet.
"Hey guys. Did you miss me?"
Suddenly, messages flash across my screen.
OMG SHE'S BACK
Show us those perfect tits
$50 to moan my name, Kat.
My jaw tightens.
These fucking basement-dwelling peasants. They think they have the right to speak to her like that.
Why is she even doing this anyway? She must be desperate.
She laughs, and it sounds too good. Like it's practiced.
"You guys are so sweet tonight."
Then a $50 text flashes across the screen.
Welcome back, princess
She thanks someone, her voice dripping with artificial affection.
I watch as she stands, the camera catching the curve of her hips, the lace riding up her thighs. The chat scrolls faster.
Stand up
Turn around
Take off the bra
She turns slowly, giving them exactly what they want.
My cock stirs.
I hate that I'm aroused. Hate that I'm watching her perform for strangers. Hate that she's in this position at all.
But I can't look away.
What she really needs to be doing is answering my questions about what she was doing with those vials, not this.
She bends over slightly, adjusting something off-screen, and the chat goes wild.
Fuck that.
LoneWolf88 tipped $100: Private show?
My hand tightens around the phone.
No.
Not him.
Not anyone.
I tap the private room request, my fingers moving faster than she can remove clothing. I type out the amount.
$15,000.
Except my hand fumbles, and I miss the 1 and enter $5,000.
I hit send before I realize the mistake.
Her face goes still. Just for a second. Then her smile widens.
"Okay, User182. You win."
The chat floods with complaints, but I don't care. Fuck them.
A payment box pops up, asking me to confirm the transaction. I try to change the amount, to correct it to $15,000, but the system won't let me.
I select Apple Pay.
A loading icon pops up, and the charge comes in.
$5,000.
I swipe the notification away as the screen reloads, and suddenly it's just the two of us.
No one else.
She adjusts the camera, tilting her head slightly. "Hey there, User182. What do you want to see tonight?"
I stare at her.
She smiles, waiting. "Come on, baby. For 5k, what are you after?"
I lick my lips and type.
You.
Her smile softens. "Like these?" She cups her breasts, massaging them through the lace.
I set my phone on the desk and lean over it, typing with one hand.
Yes.
She keeps rubbing, her fingers pressing into the soft flesh, and my cock twitches.
"You know you can use voice, right?" she says, her tone playful. "You don't have to type. I want to hear your sexy voice, baby."
Not a chance.
I type again.
Text is fine.
She pouts. "Oh, fine. You want me to beg? Please, baby."
She hooks her fingers under the lace bra and pulls it down, exposing her perfect breasts.
My dick swells, hard and aching. I reach for my zipper before I even realize what I'm doing.
"Okay, if you're not going to talk, at least tell me you're going to pull your cock out and stroke it for me."
I type.
Yes.
I unzip my pants and pull my cock free, wrapping my hand around it. The contact sends a jolt through me, and I start stroking slowly.
"Mmm, that's right. Stroke it for me. Are you stroking it for me?" she asks, her voice breathy.
Yes.
I stroke faster, my eyes locked on the screen. She's so fucking beautiful. Even through the camera, even performing for money, she's stunning.
"I wish I could see it. See how big it is, baby," she says.
I'd fuck you with every inch of it, fluture, I think, the words sitting in my throat, unspoken.
"Since you've been so generous with me, let me be with you," she says, pushing away from the camera.
She lifts her legs, resting them on the edge of the chair, spreading them slightly.
"You want to see my pussy, baby?" she asks, running her hands up and down the front of her panties.
I stroke my cock faster, my left hand fumbling to type.
Yes.
She pulls the fabric to the side, revealing her perfect pussy.
She licks her fingers and starts rubbing herself, her eyes half-closed.
"This is for you, baby," she says. "I wish I could feel you."
I lose it.
My hand moves faster, harder, stroking my cock with punishing rhythm. My eyes stay locked on her, on the way her fingers move, the way her lips part.
I keep going.
"Come for me. Will you do that for me, baby?" she asks, but I can't type anything. I'm too focused on her, too close to the edge to do anything else but stroke my cock.
She slides a finger inside her, and I fucking lose it.
I come with a growl, my orgasm ripping through me. I reach for the bar cart, grabbing cocktail napkins and wiping the come from my hands.
She's still rubbing herself, her breathing heavier now.
I come down from the high, my heart still pounding.
And then something shifts.
The post-orgasm clarity hits like a sledgehammer, and fury floods in to replace the arousal.
She's alone in her apartment, doing this.
Other men are going to see her like this once this session ends.
She's selling pieces of herself because she has no other choice. Over my dead body. I call the shots for Jordan Robertson now.
The rage builds, hot and sharp, until I can't contain it.
I grab my phone and hurl it against the wall. The screen shatters, glass scattering across the floor.
"No one else sees her like this again. Not as long as I'm fucking breathing."
I zip up and storm out of my office, past the security detail stationed in the hallway.
"Preg?ti?i un SUV," I snap. "We're leaving."
One of my men straightens. "Where to?"
"To collect my debt. Acum. Now."