Chapter Three
T he undercurrents that flowed between the men Jeter wasn’t privy to, but he trusted his brother to let him know if shit was going south. He’d escaped the life his brother and the others in his family thrived within, except he didn’t become some average man working his way up the corporate ladder. Hell, Jeter didn’t know shit about corporate businesses other than what he’d seen through his family’s dealings.
It was common knowledge that he’d been born as an afterthought, sort of like a spare. If something happened to Kendrick, they’d expected him to step up to the plate. Until then, they’d considered him useless, taking up space and his brother’s time. That life became pointless to him the older he became. At one time, his mother loved him, but then her focus shifted to her charities and shit. He thought of the last time his mother looked at him with anything other than disdain. They’d had breakfast together like normal, and all was great. Later that afternoon, she’d found him with a maid in the pool house. He’d been sixteen while the woman had been in her late twenties. She’d walked in on him while he was getting dressed. He’d dropped the towel he’d tried to cover his dick with. Jeter remembered the way she’d come up to him and palmed his balls in one hand while slipping to her knees. Easy pussy wasn’t new to him, but she’d shown him what an older woman could do with knowledge. The challenge of shoving his entire length down her throat was the woman’s idea, but his mother walking in didn’t see it that way. He’d been too close to coming and hadn’t seen or heard her enter. His entire focus narrowed to spilling his come down the maid’s throat. While his mom screamed at him, the woman licked her lips and his cock like she enjoyed putting on a show.
He shook his head, clearing his mind of the past. Their father didn’t give a shit if Jeter fucked every female he came across. Of course, he didn’t practice fidelity with his wife. Which made his mother hate the thought of sex, and seeing Jeter doing something she considered disgusting, she’d hated him from that moment on.
For a brief period, he’d hoped he and his father would become closer after the pool house scene. They’d had a meeting per his mother’s order where he’d given Jeter instructions on the dos and don’ts of sex. Basically, his father said he could fuck whoever he wanted as long as his mother didn’t see or hear about it.
“You see, boy, as long as your mother doesn’t know, she’s happy. I give her money, so she can go shopping and spend the days doing female shit with her friends without me batting an eye. She’s a frigid bitch, but if I want to fuck her, she’ll do like all the good bitches are to do and spread her thighs for me. I’ve taught her how I like it, so I’m not disappointed during those times, but again, I like variety. As your mother knows and prefers that I take care of my baser needs elsewhere.”
“You mean she’s fine with you sleeping with others?” he’d asked innocently.
His father tipped his head back and laughed. “Boy, I don’t sleep with anyone other than your mother. I get fucked and sucked by many, but I know where my loyalty lies. You’d be smart to remember that.”
After that talk, he’d screwed a lot of women. Many of whom his father sent to him. Those in their circle thought he had a charmed life growing up. The fancy cars, expensive clothes, and all the latest gadgets at his fingertips made him the envy of his peers. Jeter liked the first fifteen to sixteen years of his life, taking what had been offered to him on a silver platter as his due. There’d been no shortage of friends and girls wanting to fuck him, and he’d liked it a lot. Until he’d overheard his father talking about the waste of space, his second son had proved to be. Jeter had looked at himself through the lens of those around him. Yeah, he had everything a teen could want, but most nights, he’d been alone in the huge mansion they’d called home. His father had taken his older brother on trips and to important meetings. Hell, they didn’t trust Jeter to drive their mother to the mall. At seventeen, he’d wondered, not for the first time, what he would do with his life.
When he’d been a teen, Chicago was stifling. His family didn’t give two-shits if he’d lived or died. Knowing he didn’t stand a chance of survival on his own, Jeter did the only thing he could think that would get him a one-way ticket out of the Calderone Family. He enlisted in the Navy. It was the best fucking decision, swapping one type of family for a brotherhood. Now, staring at the men gathered around, Jeter wished his MC were with him. King would’ve pulled up a chair at the opposite end of the table. His presence would’ve made the fucker so damn uncomfortable the old bastard would’ve either pulled his gun out, wet his pants, or had one of his guys try something stupid.
While Cian appeared cordial, Jeter could see anger just under the surface. He reminded him of Kendrick to an extent. His brother was more like King, the President of the Royal Sons MC.
He let his gaze study the men around him, noticing how each man held themselves. Their clothing gave the impression they spent a good deal of time putting the pieces together, but others did that for them. In their line of work, they were to look professional but able to move easily. Which meant, none of the suits were off the rack. He’d been to tailors with his father years ago, watching him get measured and sized. Afterward, he'd instructed others to select items.
His gaze went back to Grigori. The suit surely cost about as much as Jeter’s favorite leather riding chaps. Not cheap.
Kendrick was bigger than Cian, and the other man, but Jeter had an inch on his older brother in height and at least thirty pounds of muscle. However, anyone could see the muscles beneath Kendrick's finely cut suit.
Jeter’s brother lived and breathed for the Mafia. He'd left the Navy after six years and joined the Royal Sons soon after landing in California. Nobody chose shit for him, and he sure as shit didn’t run multi-national businesses like Kendrick. Nope, he was an enforcer for a lethal MC, who enjoyed building shit in his free time.
“You going to introduce us to your—” Grigori began, waving his hand toward Jeter.
Kendrick cocked his head to the side. Jeter figured his brother was giving him the floor. “I’m Jeter.”
“What the fuck was wrong with your father to allow your mother to name the two of you those horrendous names?” Grigori asked.
Shit, if Grigori thought a dig about their names would hurt them, he was sorely mistaken. “I know, right?” Jeter said, lifting his shoulders in a shrug.
“Our mother is of none of your concern,” Kendrick said—a bite to his words. While Jeter was the bigger man in size, his brother had a deadly stare that anyone with a lick of sense could see.
“Do any of you need a refill?” Cian asked, turning toward the bar and grabbing attention away from them.
Jeter’s jaw bunched at the sight of the woman he’d told to run and hide standing on the other side of the counter. Her eyes were wide as she stared at them with defiance written on her beautiful face. Visions of him bending her over his knee filled his mind.
STUDYING EACH MAN, she wondered how the fuck she was going to get out of there alive. It was apparent who the boss was within each group, but she also knew the man who tried to order her around wasn’t some lackey. In fact, she doubted anyone ordered him around, let alone the guy he came in with. They looked like brothers. The other man appeared slightly older and not as muscular. A little more polished. Her body and mind seemed to appreciate the rougher-looking one of the two. While both sported tattoos she’d caught glimpses of beneath their expensive dress shirts, the older one had more. Not that she wanted to go up and shake either of their hands and ask them to take her out. Nope, she hadn’t lost her damn mind.
Once they’d entered the bar, she noticed how they moved. One was secure in his safety, while the other was alert for danger around them as if his safety didn’t matter. She’d seen the same actions many times growing up. Her stepfather commanded the same devotion from those around him.
Jeter. His name sounded foreign to her ears. She liked it way more than she should. No, it was stress making her delirious. From her vantage point, she raked her eyes over his large form. He was tall and muscular. His biceps stretched the suit jacket to the point she worried he’d hulk out if he flexed too hard. A glance down his length showed his legs were every bit as muscular. Tori was a sucker for a well-built man, and this one ticked all the boxes. His slacks skimmed down his thighs, hugging and showcasing the firm body beneath. If his jacket wasn’t covering his ass, there was no doubt in her mind that, too, would be a showstopper. , get your mind out of the gutter and focus.
“Tori, you good?” Cian asked, jerking her back to her senses.
She cleared her throat, looked up into his green eyes, and found him standing beside her. “Uh, yeah. What can I get you to drink?”
Tori wanted Cian to move away from her for reasons she didn't want to identify. His presence used to give her a sense of comfort, like an older brother. Now, she sensed danger lurking all around. That category included him now, which didn’t sit well with her, but seeing him and the others together has shed a light on them she’d been too blind to notice before. Being foolish was a term she hated.
Cian lifted his hand, making her flinch backward. His arm dropped. “I would never hurt you. Hell, Kendra would have my balls in a glass jar on display for all to see if I so much as fucked up one piece of your hair and made you cry, let alone lifted a hand to harm you. Don’t flinch from me, a chara.”
Her eyes watered at the term she’d learned meant friend in Irish. Kendra had told her they only called those they truly considered one of their own such endearments. If they’d thought so highly of her, surely they wouldn’t have hidden the fact they were—she couldn’t go there. No, the Hoolihans were not like the Masseria Family.
“I see all kinds of thoughts flitting through that mind of yours, a chara. Trust me when I say you’re wrong about most of them,” Cian said in a low whisper.
She gave a stiff nod, moving toward the ice chest. The bottle of vodka came into view as she stared down through glassy eyes. For all her protests, she was acting like a whiney little bitch. Blinking several times helped get her tears at bay before she turned back around. Cian had the rest of the drinks poured. His eyes widened in surprise at her composure. Good, she wanted to keep them on their toes. Kendra always said Cian was the best poker player because he could hide his expressions behind an icy mask. Right then, the man was doing a shit job of hiding what he was thinking.
He ran a knuckle down her cheek, concern evident. “You’re safe,” he said.
She wanted to laugh at his words. The man had no clue how unsafe she was. The name they tossed out so casually moments ago wasn’t just a simple person. No, it was the devil in her world. If there was one thing Tori knew all too well, it was Gino Masseria didn’t like to lose. While she might not have been his daughter biologically, he still considered her his possession. His to do with as he saw fit. In his words, he’d raised her from the age of three to eighteen. That’s fifteen years she owed him. As the daughter of a Masseria, there was an unspoken rule: her stepfather controlled what schools she attended. He allowed her to go to certain parties and decided what friends she could and couldn’t have. At the end of the day, he was the law. Once she became a teenager and developed boobs, her stepfather chose her clothing. It was as if he became obsessed with her in a sick and twisted way. Everything she had, was thanks to him. At one time, she’d feared the man he’d chosen for her to marry would be her stepbrother, Geovani. Her stomach rolled, bile rising at the thought of the two of them being married. A memory she’d buried rushed forward.