Chapter 5
T he Black Steam Café has live entertainment when I walk in today. There aren’t too many people sitting inside, but those who are have their eyes on the scene unfolding in the corner of the shop.
Naturally, the first thing I catch sight of is the loose, cherry-brown curls that are always pulled back in a low ponytail. Amaris is turned away from everyone else, showing only a sliver of her face while the lanky man in front of her throws a temper tantrum. He looks like he walked right off of Wall Street, but is acting like Mommy took away his new toy.
Tears seem likely here.
“I was thinking about you the whole time, babe. We can work this out,” I hear him say as he reaches for her hand.
This should be good . Leaning my 6’5 frame against the wall closest to me, I watch from the shadows.
She steps back before he can grab her and bursts into a fit of laughter, angering the man in front of her—if his reddening face is any indication. “Duke, I get more of a reaction when I pull a muscle than I do in bed with you. This is the last time I’ll say it, get out and leave. Me. Alone.”
Before she can fully turn to walk away, he latches onto her arm, halting her. I almost move from my spot. Wait, why do I care?
“This isn’t over yet, your shit is still at the apartment. You’ll have to come back for it eventually,” he says with a shit-eating grin.
Jerking her arm back, she continues walking away and throws over her shoulder, “Already took my stuff out.” Ignoring watchful eyes, she rounds the counter and shines a saccharine smile at him. “I left you a surprise, too.”
Her smile takes over her face as the color drains from his. She looks downright menacing and something tells me he has a good idea of what she’s talking about. Without another word, he straightens his spine, pushes his hair back with his hand, and looks around the room. Eyes on the ground, he walks to the front door and then takes off in a sprint when he’s outside.
I’m assuming that is—or rather, was—Amaris’ little boyfriend. The guy looks like he had a silver spoon up his ass. How the hell did she end up with him? If the way he handles her in public is any indication, I would hate to find out how he acts behind closed doors.
There’s a spark of annoyance at the thought of anyone else besides me bringing her pain, but I shove that down.
The worker who was flirting with me the last time I was here is leaving the register as Amaris walks in that direction. Blondie bumps her shoulder in an obvious way when she passes by and snickers to herself.
Catfight.
Amaris narrows her eyes and whips her head back. “I can do a lot worse than that black eye, bitch.”
The girl doesn’t turn or respond, just goes straight into the kitchen. I didn’t get a good look at her face, but I believe she does in fact have a black eye. Amaris has a strong and lean body, plus I know she likes boxing.
Focused on the screen in front of her, she doesn’t notice me approaching the register.
“What kind of name is Duke ? That sounds like the shit I leave in the toilet.”
Startled by my presence she jumps, but quickly composes herself and rolls her eyes, muttering, “I am surrounded by idiots.” Turning her glare on me now, she snaps, “Fuck you, Kylo.”
“I bet you would love that sweetheart, but unfortunately you’re not my cup of tea. Or coffee.” I shoot her a wink.
“You couldn’t get the chance to fuck me in your wildest dreams.”
My lips tip in a smirk. “You wanna bet on that?”
Hand on her chest, feigning sympathy, she says, “Bless your delusional ass heart.”
“No, it all makes sense now.”
“What makes sense?”
“It makes sense why you’re always so moody—you aren’t even getting fucked properly.”
Her breath hitches and right on cue the tips of her ears turn red. She’s getting fired up. I lean in towards her on my forearms when she doesn’t answer and lower my voice.
“All this time you’ve probably just needed a good fuck, then you won’t be so pissy all the time.” Her expression doesn’t change, but she unintentionally leans closer to me. “A man who knows how to really please you. Own you and use you until you’re begging for mercy. That’s what you need, don’t you?”
The pattern of her breathing sped up at some point when I was talking. She shakes herself out of it and holds her head high.
“You wouldn’t know what I needed if I drew you up a map leading to my clit. Are you going to order something or not? There’s a customer waiting behind you.”
“I know what you need and I know you won’t get it.” I turn on my heel without waiting for her response, but it follows me anyway.
“I hope you get everything you want and realize it’s not enough,” she calls out.
I sit outside on my bike, waiting for the location of where the next job is, when I see an older lady walk out with a café T-shirt instead of an apron.
“Excuse me, miss.” She startles at my rough voice, so I turn up the charm when she gives me her attention. “You wouldn’t happen to know if the owner of this café is around, would you?” I smile at her.
Her expression is skeptical as she contemplates answering. “Yes, that would be me, Mr. Kincaid. Is there a problem?”
“I love the place and the coffee, but there is a worker, I think her name is Amaris, and she might be a problem. Whenever I come by, I've noticed she’s rude to customers, myself included. I think someone needs to correct that.”
The lady furrows her brows in thought then says, “Yes, of course. I will make sure to have a word with her immediately.”
Nodding my head, I thank her and check my phone to see the location came through. Sinful Sanctuary, the nightclub run by my cousin. Perfect, I know how to get there by heart.
I kick the stand and take off on my bike, letting the wind soothe me as much as possible before I arrive.
It’s still too early for anyone to be inside the club when I get there aside from the bartender and some workers running around. The place is spacious, but once the lights go off people swarm the room until security kicks them out.
A shot of whiskey slides down my throat, stirring the dormant buzz of excitement in my core. The only way into the dungeon is through a spiral staircase in one of the back rooms. This part of the building reminds me of a medieval castle, completely at odds with the main floor.
No one heard me when I entered, so I take a moment to survey the room. My cousin isn’t here yet, but another capo, Dario, is here alongside two soldiers. Strapped to two separate wooden chairs are the goons we are tasked to get answers out of. We can do anything to them, but they have to stay alive at the end.
Bummer.
My distinct whistle announces my arrival and draws all heads in the room to me. Dario claps his hands and howls, “Now the real fun begins.”
“Where is Luciano?”
“Who knows? All I know is he won’t be here until after the doors open, so they are all ours.” He hikes a thumb over his shoulder to the restrained men, each wearing a stoic guise. Let's see how long that lasts.
Without bothering to use any special devices, I tower over one of the men with Dario following suit beside me.
“Who paid you to misplace the newest shipment?” The man facing me doesn’t falter. His friend is a different story, though.
In my periphery I see his lip twitch. Not a second after, Dario is plunging a knife into his thigh and twisting it. Over the years I learned not to question Dario. He is the most unhinged one out of all of us, and that’s saying a lot. He once walked into a room empty-handed and pulled out a saw. Don’t ask me where the fuck he got that from.
“You won’t even flinch when your friend here cries in your ear?” I shake my head condescendingly. “Should’ve directed that loyalty to us.” Both of their hands and feet are tied together and there’s a rope strapping them to the chair by their chest.
In my next breath I’m behind him, picking a random finger and bending it past the point of breaking. His loud whimpers seem to spur Dario on. He instructs one of the soldiers to lift up the man's shirt and that demented glint in his eye gives him away—to me at least.
“One of you are gonna answer, one way or another,” Dario laughs. Removing his knife from the man's thigh, he wipes it clean on the opposite thigh and begins slicing into the man’s stomach, deep enough for him to feel the pain, but not deep enough for it to be fatal. He watched a documentary on lingchi when he was twelve and has been obsessed ever since.
Both men are now babbling incoherently, the man before me only having two fingers left that aren’t broken. But neither has said a name—that’s all I care about. Blood-curdling screams ricochet off the walls and echo back at them.
Searching the room my eyes land on a bucket near the sink in the opposite corner of the room. Dario follows my line of vision and smirks, turning to the man with broken fingers. “Your turn,” he says in a sing-song voice, proceeding to slice him up while I leave to fill the bucket with water.
Two rags drop in the bucket. On my way back to the men, I signal the two soldiers to drop the guys on the floor. They cut the ropes holding them in place and pin them to the ground.
Passing Dario a rag, I place the bucket between us and take my rag out, holding it over the man's face. I pour some water over his covered face, then pass the bucket to Dario before removing the rag.
“Are you ready to cough up a name?” I ask as he struggles to catch his breath. He gives no indication he’ll give me the answer I want yet, so I continue to pour the water over his covered face intermittently. They will experience the burning sensation of drowning, without any actual drowning, until I get a name.
It didn’t take long before Dario's guy tapped out first and gave us the name.
“I-it was Gabriel,” he managed to choke out. I raise a brow at Dario and he shrugs. We cover their faces one more time and leave them to the soldiers.
“Not bad, boss.” Dario claps me on the shoulder and jogs up the stairs ahead of me. That kid has too much energy.
Boss . I’m the underboss now, but soon enough I will be king of New York. I don’t even know how I got here.
Time doesn’t exist underground. When I walk back into the main room, the club is in full swing. Colorful flashing lights, bass vibrating the walls, and glow-in-the-dark paint on people’s clothes or bodies makes up the room. There are four elevated stripper poles in each corner, all currently occupied with their own small crowd. The DJ booth is set up against the center of the back wall, overlooking the rest of the room.
Dario and I slip through the throng of glowing, sweaty bodies and set out for the bar. I’m halfway through my second round when a curvy, blonde girl passes by us. Dario sets his sights on her, leaving me in the corner alone. From here I’m able to observe everyone on the dance floor moving freely. I take the last swig of my drink and stand to leave.
As I’m walking, a tall, curly-headed brunette distractedly bumps into me while talking to her friend. An apology is flying out her mouth until she gets a good look at my face and unabashedly checks me out. She lightly grabs my forearm and leans in so I can hear her better.
“I am sorry, but I don’t regret running into you. How about you let me make it up to you? I can buy you a drink.”
Olive-green eyes fix me with a hopeful countenance and my attention drops to her full, glossy lips that chew on her bottom lip. I take in her short, gray dress and matching heels before leisurely bringing my eyes back to hers.
It’s not like I have anywhere else I need to be.
“How about we skip that drink and you let me show you what a good time really is?” My deep voice tempts in her ear.
She turns to her friend to let her know she’ll meet back up with her later, then turns back to me. “I’m all yours,” she says, smiling up at me. I take her hand and guide her to one of the private rooms we have in the back.