25. Callahan
TWENTY-FIVE
callahan
The fury wraps tight around my insides, egging me on to tear this fucker’s head off his squirming body.
I don’t know who the fuck he is, this asshole who dared touch my wife.
I don’t know him personally, anyway.
I know he’s mafia but not from a family I’m planning on doing business with.
“Well?” I hiss, aware we’re being watched, not that I give a fuck.
“Callahan, stop.”
Her voice is like cool nectar that whispers through me, but I don’t let up.
I can see this guy’s a piece of shit, the type who doesn’t respect, that steals and touches out of turn.
“It’s not that you put your hand on her, it’s how you did it, your intent, scumbag. That’s what you deserve to be punished for.”
The guy gurgles and I squeeze again.
“The thing you need to understand is Lucia is mine.”
“Callahan, please.” Her whispered plea turns from nectar to vinegar and my blood ices in my veins.
Is this…? Is this the fuck that almost got her virginity?
The one who got her to taste his dick?
I squeeze harder, gritting my teeth .
“Why, Lucie? Why the fuck do you care?”
“Because people are watching. And don’t… don’t kill someone for me. Please. I don’t think he’s worth it.”
The others in here are all part of the criminal underworld.
It’s one of those neutral places where turf wars aren’t tolerated, but a beef over a girl?
Now that’s a different thing.
A frustrated sigh rattles my chest and I let the man down, but I don’t release him.
“Put hands on her in any way again, and I will kill you.”
I release the fucker and turn my back on him in disgust. A commotion follows, and two of the bouncers lead him out.
I’ll get his name later and ban him when I own this place.
Or maybe I’ll have him killed.
I haven’t decided. The rage beats hard, a new reality for me.
Lucie stares up at me, her beautiful face a sea of emotion.
She’s seen me do worse things, so I don’t understand either her expression or my reaction.
It shouldn’t matter one bit that her eyes are wide, fearful—for me.
And I think it’s the one thing I can’t fucking stand.
Not from the girl with balls of steel.
Not from Lucie Joy.
Because it does something to me.
I think it might be the vulnerability.
She makes me scared for her.
Worse, she makes me want to be what I’m not.
A better person. For her.
I drag her out, lifting a hand at the current owner on my way.
We’ll do a deal tomorrow, sign papers, the whole thing.
Diversification is key to success in business.
If I think of work, I’ll stay in the safe zone because I’m dangerously close to losing control.
She half struggles until I turn to her, and then she stops.
Outside, away from the mass of people and loud music I only like to listen to when running, I spot Clive, who’s keeping an eye on things.
He nods and I lead her to the car.
When we take off, Lucie tries to speak, but I put a finger against her soft, plump lips.
“I wouldn’t.”
I don’t speak to her or my brothers as I pull her upstairs at home, and even Arnold whines as we pass.
The kind of whine that’s a soft growl and believe me, I get it.
Yeah, I definitely get it, but it doesn’t stop me.
She’s a fever in my veins, this woman, a fever I’m not sure I want.
But I know I’ll kill any fucking bastard who thinks of putting a finger on her.
She’s mine.
Mine.
“What is your?—?”
I kiss her, take her face and slam my mouth against hers, invading the depths, fucking her with my tongue, and her moan vibrates through me, down to the tip of my dick.
Walking her backward, I push my hand on the wall as I push her into it.
Her mouth is something I could feast on all fucking day.
But there are other things I need, other?—
I break that kiss and we’re both panting as I stare into her eyes.
“I will kill anyone, anywhere, anytime if they try and do what that fuck did. Do you know him?”
“Not really.” Her hazel eyes flash anger and indignation, and it just turns me on more.
“What does that mean?” I slide a hand under her skirt and run my fingers over those tight, plump lips as I nudge the material of her panties aside.
I’d rather feel the slick heat of her, the wetness, uncovered.
She swallows a moan.
“He was at the wedding, apparently.”
“Lucie.” I push a finger into her wet heat, and I work it inside her, working that little mass of nerve endings until she’s rocking on me.
“Are you telling me everything?”
“Y-yes,” she pushes out.
“I don’t know him. I… Oh God, please…”
I want to fuck her.
There’s nothing finer than pushing into her tightness, the spread of her, the way her cunt grips and tries to milk me.
But I need more. I stopped myself from inflicting violence for her.
She owes me.
I withdraw my hand.
“On your knees.”
She slides down so quickly, my cock gets even harder.
Lucie runs her fingers over my hard-on, tracing along the lines of the piercings in the material as my dick strains and that light, feathery touch is almost more than I can take.
I rip open my pants and pull my cock out, fisting it, running a finger over the tip and dragging her closer with one hand in her hair as I smear the precum over her lips.
And fucking Lucie licks it up.
A shudder passes through me as I slap her cheek lightly with my cock.
In the past, I’d feel out the amount of roughness by reaction.
I’d seek out good, hard fucks.
Filthy, sordid fucks.
The type that teeters on pain and pleasure.
But Lucie? I don’t want to treat her like that, don’t want her to experience something she doesn’t like.
I’ve been rough with her, plunging deep, fucking my way into her cunt, ass, and mouth.
But there are lines and there are lines.
I’ll dance on the soft ones and maybe cross to test waters, but the hard ones?
That’s not her.
She’s not into the degradation, because those girls play into it, and when Lucie Joy runs from me, pushes and taunts, she wants something else .
I take a breath. Settle myself.
I can’t let myself come all over the place the moment my dick enters that hot mouth of hers.
So I tug her hair, slap lightly again, and she moans.
Perfection.
“Lucie, open your pretty mouth and lay your tongue flat. When I penetrate, I want you to lick along the bottom of my dick.”
“But you’re too big…” And bless her sweet heart, she blushes.
“I can barely get you in.”
“That’s a lie. There’s just enough room for new tricks there.”
And I keep pumping in front of her face.
She opens her mouth.
Tongue flat.
I push in.
Fuck. Her lips stretch, then tighten, and the flicker of her tongue is fucking heaven.
Tiny flutters that send me almost batshit insane.
Each rung slides over her teeth, and that heavy drag is a shot of desire, pleasure, all wrapped up in one.
And that tongue.
Holy fuck.
She’s licking, sucking, and I get in deep and stay, letting her mouth do its job on me.
Everything is taut, aching, the pressure building.
My cock is so fucking hard, and my balls are high, so tight.
Her magic is found in the streak of her genuine nature.
That eagerness to learn and to please, her finding her own comfort zone.
She likes it rough with blow jobs, but she likes to get herself to the point that drives me crazy with need.
Sometimes, I want to fuck her face like it’s her ass or pussy; other times, I let her find her way.
Right now, I want to slam deep.
But I can feel her need to bring the pleasure to me.
So I let her.
I always fucking let her .
What’s wrong with me?
She’s just a girl, she’s?—
“Oh, Jesus, Lucie.”
Without warning, she impales herself on me, swallowing me down, and as she chokes, she starts to bob on the head of my cock.
My Lucie’s fucking talented.
“Yes…”
She’s choking herself, her throat swallowing, over and over like she’s trying to take me deeper, like she’s gagging, and it’s such fucked-up bliss.
I want to come.
I want to grab her harder, pull her even farther against me so my cock’s as far down her throat as I can get it.
I don’t even care if she can breathe in that wild, insane moment.
But I don’t.
Instead, I pull her off me and drag her to the bed, throwing her down.
“Ass or cunt?”
“Ass.”
“Fuck, Lucie. Are you trying to win awards?”
But I don’t waste time.
I pull her to the edge of the bed and part her legs, pushing them up and back.
She holds them for me.
Without me asking. Fuck.
I drop, ripping off her underwear, and I thrust my tongue deep into her pussy.
I fuck her with it, using my fingers to toy with her asshole as I suck on her clit.
Standing, I plunge deep into her cunt.
Balls deep, and she cries out.
But it’s not enough.
I rip the dress so I can see her, and as I pull out, I watch her stomach, how when I plunge back in it bulges a little from my dick.
I do this over and over a few times, and then I pull out as the tiny ripples of pre-orgasm stir deep within her.
I push back on her calves so I can see her ass, her wet cunt, swollen, red, slightly open from my tongue.
It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen, next to Lucie’s face.
After I’ve prepped her tight hole with my fingers, I push into her ass, holding her in a position where she has to take me.
I could hammer into her like I’m pile driving if I pushed back on her legs a little more, but I don’t.
Instead, I ease in until I’m buried in her.
“Next time, Lucie, I’m taking you on all fours. From behind.”
“Shut up and fuck me.”
“Dirty little slapper.”
Her glazed eyes narrow.
“I’m assuming that’s mean.”
And I pump into her, coming down over her so I can taste her lips, so I can taste me, and she can taste herself.
A reciprocal sexual round robin.
“Oh, it is.” I kiss her again, she’s so fucking delicious.
“But I don’t mean it.”
I stop talking because she’s moving as much as she can, pushing her hips up to fuck me, too.
I suddenly roll us so she’s on top, legs on either side, and I hold her hips.
“Do your best, Lucie.”
And she fucking does.
She takes me slow, like she’s reveling in each rung of my ladder, like she’s savoring the push and pull of my cock as she rides it.
She’s got a cruel streak, a natural born sadist as she takes it so slow it’s borderline hurting because I’m on the edge of coming; only my tattered control is holding me back.
Rising and falling, Lucie takes us on a journey and she adds some rocking to it, pulling at my nipple piercings.
From somewhere there’s a whine, but I ignore it as she looks at me.
“Help, please. I can’t… I can’t…”
“What, Lucie Joy?”
“I can’t quite come. ”
Her words are an invite, one I take.
And I grab her hips, digging my fingers in as I fuck up into her hard.
I angle her so she’s back slightly, and I can feel the start of her orgasm.
Her pussy starts to clench, sending waves through her ass and on my cock, and I move one hand, stroking and pulling at her clit to make her lose her mind.
She does. Lucie cries out, shaking, shuddering, eyes rolling back, and as she shatters, my cock swells.
The rush of release shoots down my spine, through my balls and dick, and I throb inside her, spurting ropes of cum deep inside her.
I’m lost, and so is she.
I pull her down, take her mouth, and kiss her without any reason other than I need to.
When we’re done, the waves settling, I pull out and get dressed as Lucie gets up to shower.
The whining is back, and I go to the door and open it.
I look down.
Arnold.
The black rat of a cat scampers in and Arnold whines again, then looks at me and barks softly, padding in.
With a sigh of resignation, I shut the door behind the menagerie.
“Arnold, I’ll put up with your cockblocking at my door. But that scrap of fur? It has to go.”
And Clawzilla hisses.
George Fabiani is nothing but a small-time outfit.
With Russian bratva ties.
Just outliers, no one big that I can tell, but still…
I’ve sent word I want a meeting.
We’re in deep Brooklyn, checking over shipments.
The area’s empty, apart from our people.
This shipment isn’t ours, it’s one we’re making .
“When’s this gobshite meant to turn up?” Declan asks.
I sign an order form and hand it to the driver.
“Good to go.” Then I turn to Dec, and as the driver heads to his truck, I look at my watch.
“Half an hour ago.”
“Are we going to wait?”
“Fuck no. We’re finishing our work, and then we’re out of here.”
As we continue sending the trucks out, I know that this Fabiani turning up is a long shot.
This has the feel of an assassination.
But while I do want to feed him his own dick, it isn’t about the other night.
I want to know about ties that aren’t known.
Like with Vincent de Rosa.
Or say… Paddy. Those are the types of things people might keep under wraps.
I send off the last truck when something prickles against my senses and I pull my gun, holding it low.
“Dec? Get in the car and get down.”
He knows that tone and does what’s asked.
Our car’s armored, but?—
There, to the right, across the road from the warehouse and lot, I catch a glint of metal in the sun.
I drop to the ground just as a bullet whizzes by.
Without wasting a moment, I do the one thing the shooter doesn’t expect.
I charge, running in a zigzag and shooting, not really aiming to kill or hit, but to stop them from shooting.
I reach the van that’s parked right as a bullet shoots up bits of gravel.
I crouch and peer under the vehicle.
Boots head my way. I wait.
The muzzle of a gun appears, and I slam my gun into it, jumping back, and then I charge again, crashing into the man.
That’s when a bullet hits the man in the head, and he falls to the ground, dead.
“Fuck, Dec. I told you to stay in the car.”
“Oh, sorry for saving your life. ”
We both look down as Declan lowers himself to the ground, looking for an ID.
There are keys, but the guy’s clean, and the car behind the van is clean, too.
That’s when I see the tattoo.
“Paddy’s little gang,” I mutter as I see the god-awful sickle and four-leaf clover.
“Shit.”
We call the cleanup crew, and I think of putting a hit on Fabiani but rethink it.
The guy’s small fry.
Probably sold my location to save his skin.
I’ll take him out when I get a chance, but I’m not wasting resources.
“Should we see the Russians?”
“Which ones?” I ask with a roll of my eyes.
“No. They aren’t involved. They always make it known when they are, and we haven’t crossed into their territory or stepped on toes. They’ve got no beef with us. If it’s Paddy, these are hometown issues and mine to deal with.”
We pack up as soon as cleanup arrives and head home.
I’m going to need to talk to de Rosa.
It seems things are sliding sideways since we signed everything.
Which doesn’t make sense since he’s getting what he wants and we’re not even asking for much in return.
Yet.
I’m leaning toward just using his name going forward to open my own doors.
But I need to know who planted the bomb and if de Rosa was involved, which I doubt.
I’ve been wrong before, though.
I clench and unclench my fingers.
No, the bomb has Paddy written all over it.
As we hit the West Village, I notice a car tailing us.
One that I think I saw back in Brooklyn.
“Clive, pull over and let me out. Go the long way.”
He nods, and I ignore Declan as he starts to shout.
I just get out and slam the door.
I’m armed, I can take care of myself .
I light a cigarette and wait.
Sure enough, the car parks alongside the curb.
And a familiar face hidden by a beard gets out.
Familiar by picture, anyway.
He comes up. “Callahan Murphy?”
I narrow my eyes at the fucker. Headley.