Devils: A Reverse Harem Bully Romance: (The Brotherhood Book 2)

by K. M. Raya

  I hold Captain’s gaze, searching his face for any hint that he still has any affection for me at all. Since they arrived, there’s been an air of hostility that stalks me through the halls of my estate. I feel like every move I make is being judged. Every bite of food I take is laced with the blood of their fathers and every breath I breathe is a slap in the face to the men I still love more than anything in this world. I want to shake them. I want to slap them—scream at them to just wake up. Wake up and come back to me.

  ✽✽✽

  I’ve been dancing for hours and my feet are on fire. I feel like I need to take a long hot shower and scrub my body until my skin is raw after having all of these strange hands on me.

  Papa ordered me to dance with anyone who asked and to keep a smile on my face the entire time. I had no choice but to obey, though every graze of fingers against my lower back, or ever whiff of whiskey on the breath of men that are old enough to be my father made we want to hurl. I even danced with Gio for a while, and he hadn't been an exception. Despite the fact that he’s just recited his vows to love his wife forever, it didn’t stop him from inviting me to a guest room for a quickie.

  I’d feigned a blush and said no thank you, trying to be as diplomatic as possible—knowing that if I were to offend him on his wedding day, Papa would make me pay dearly. It would embarrass him, and I just can’t take the chance that he might take that anger out on Mama when the lights go down tonight.

  I can feel the eyes of my men on my back at all times—never wavering even for a second. None of them choose to dance with any of the single, eligible girls here—they just glare daggers at me every time I switch dance partners. The only one who isn’t watching me with utter loathing is Holden. He just manages to look slightly amused at my situation. He knows I have no interest in any of these clowns, but I know he can sense how fucking uncomfortable I am. I glare at him every now and then over my current partner’s shoulder, and every time he just hides a shit eating grin behind his glass.

  After too many whirls around the dance floor, I finally excuse myself with a polite nod. I take off towards the restroom but end up bypassing it entirely. I don’t know where I’m going, but as long as it’s far away from here. I pass hallways I haven't been down in years, not caring how loud the clacking of my heels are against the black marble flooring. At the end of the hall on the second floor, I see a light. I make my way towards it, only to find a door cracked open. It’s a cigar room for Papa’s men. The maids must have left the door unlocked in the hustle and bustle to get the wedding thrown together. The lights are dim and warm, and a small fire still burns in the corner fireplace.

  I take a seat on a chocolate colored leather couch and kick off my heels. My feet throb and I ache to rub them, but I know from experience that it’ll only make them swell. Looking to my left, I see a small square package, and before I can talk myself out of it, I knock a fat cigar into my palm. I know I shouldn't, but after the day I’ve had I really need something to take the edge off, and right now I can’t stomach alcohol.

  I light the tip and suck in—setting the lighter aside as I recline back on the couch. I smile to myself as I picture how furious Papa would be if he were to find me in here like this. Blue hair, shoes off with a cigar hanging from my lips—

  “What’s wrong with this picture?” drawls a deep voice from the doorway. I jolt in my seat, almost dropping the cigar in my lap. I catch myself though as recognition sweeps through me.

  Looking over, I watch as Captain and Ellis slip into the room with hands slung casually in their pockets. The look particularly delicious tonight in their expertly tailored tuxedos. As much as I’ve been known to get the warm tingles in my nether regions whenever they wear casual attire, I can’t lie and say I didn’t get instantly wet the moment I laid eyes on my dapper men. Even now, I can’t stop my eyes from roaming their bodies from their polished shoes to the top of their gelled back hair.

  “What, never seen a cigar before?” I try to sound casual and slightly bored, but if they could hear my heart thumping right now, they’d know I was full of shit.

  Ellis sits on the couch across from me, and Cap perches on the arm rest with his hands still in his pockets. A shiny wristwatch glimmers in the lamp light. Cap’s yellow hued eyes bore into me with just as much intensity that they had back at the ceremony. I try not to squirm as I press my thighs together. I hate myself for craving them the way that I do.

  “Somehow I don’t think your father would approve of his precious jewel sullying herself with tobacco,” Ellis teases with a mean looking smirk. His grey eyes twinkle in amusement. To my surprise, he’s put his piercings back in, and I have to say I like him much better like this.

  Rolling my eyes, I huff out a bemused little chuckle. “And I give a shit why?” Sucking in a small drag, I let the smoke linger in my mouth before puffing it out in small clouds of white, knowing better than to try and inhale these things. “If you haven’t learned that about me by now, then I really don’t know what to tell you.”

  Ellis snorts. “You looked good out there,” he says matter-of-factly. “Whoever picked out that dress deserves that thank you card.” His eyes scan the length of me as he sucks in his lip ring. My pussy throbs, craving the feel of that hard metal against my clit.

  I try not to preen. “I’ll be sure to tell Papa you appreciate his work.” I wink. Ellis just rolls his eyes while Cap chuckles.

  “How come you’re not out there with your people?” he asks. “I’m sure they missed you while you were way.”

  Frowning, I sit up a little straighter. “They’re not my fucking people and you know that, El.”

  He flinches slightly at my nickname for him but recovers seamlessly. “Not a fan of weddings?” He rubs a finger over his bottom lip, and I have to look away.

  “Not when the bride doesn't get a choice.”

  The guys both huff. “So it was arranged then.” Captain says.

  I nod. “I can’t remember the last wedding here that wasn’t. Trust me when I tell you that marrying for love in the mob just isn’t an option. Made men sign their lives away before they ever have a chance to know what love even feels like.”

  They’re still frowning as they mull over my words, and I can’t help but snort. They look up in confusion. “You act like that’s a fucking shock,” I laugh. “You Brotherhood pricks did the same thing.”

  “You're right,” Cap agrees. “I didn’t like it or agree with it, but it’s all the same. If it were up to me, we’d do away with the whole archaic tradition.”

  “Yeah, well you’re lucky it’ll never be up to you. I’ve seen what power like that can do to a person.” I think back on my friendship with Gio and how much he changed in such a short span of time. I shiver at the thought of any of my guys becoming that way.

  Standing up, I dust the remnants of ash from my dress and put out the butt of the cigar in the ashtray, trying not to pay attention to the way they guys are watching me. Clearing my throat, I meet their eyes. “It was nice, but I’m afraid Papa will be looking for me if I don’t get back.” I start to walk towards the door when I feel a tug on my hand.

  Losing my balance, I fall into Ellis’ lap and his arms come around me—caging me in. My heart beats wildly and I hold my breath, afraid that if breathe in his familiar scent I’ll lose every sense of right and wrong and there will be no going back. Ellis pinches my chin between his tattooed fingers and makes me face him. His pupils expand, causing his steely eyes to darken with lust. I can feel Cap watching us, and I know he’s enjoying every second of my torment.

  He brings his lips close to mine and whispers against them, “They may not know what it’s like to love… but I do.” I suck in a breath as his lips graze mine, but I refuse to kiss him. He flicks his tongue out and skims it over my bottom lip before pulling back. I just watch as his eyes trace over my face in contemplation. “I know what love feels like… but I also know what it feels like to have my heart ripped out and stomped on by the one I
chose to give it to.”

  Bile churns in my stomach. Pushing off of his chest, he lets his hands fall away as I stand and stagger away from the two of them. There’s a small, sad smile on Ellis’ face, and Captain watches me solemnly as I just stand there and stare—hurting and stripped bare. Heartbroken, I don't even have anything to say to that. Now’s not the time, I really do have to get back before Papa sends someone to look for me.

  With one last lingering look, I turn on my heel and leave the room, slamming the door behind me.

  Captain

  “Why the fuck are we here?” I grumble, following Ellis into a dark hallway filled with the stench of smoke, sweat and other bodily fluids I really don’t want to think about.

  “Stop whining, it’s not so bad if you just breathe through your mouth,” he says casually, but I can tell he’s trying not to laugh at my discomfort. He may be used to the stench of soiled bodies given his previous… occupation, but I’m definitely not.

  “Fuck you so much for this, Ellis.” I grit, and he ignores me. The hallway is lit by blacklights, which is probably the worst possible choice for a place like this. I find myself skirting the sharp corners of stained walls, curling my lip in disgust as I step over the white splatters on the carpet.

  “What the hell is Sal doing funding a shithole like this?” I grumble.

  Ellis grunts, dodging two women plastered together against a dingy wall. They look like they're sucking each other’s faces off while a slender man with sweaty hair and a rumpled looking suit just watches with a bland look in his eyes. To be honest it doesn't look like either of them are really enjoying it. Ellis grimaces along with me this time. “You honestly think Sal’s ever stepped foot in this place? Nah, he’s just the money man.”

  We’re in an STD infested hellhole. Why El picked me for this little adventure is beyond me. He knows I can’t stand this shit. I feel like I’m going to need ten showers after leaving tonight and I’ll probably have to burn these clothes. There’s gum on the wall and empty condom wrappers squishing beneath my freshly polished shoes. My chest feels tight and I can feel bile in the back of my throat. I really don’t want to have a meltdown in this gentleman’s club because like it or not, we have a job to do.

  After Fin and I discovered that Sal’s men frequent this little club in Brooklyn, we decided to look more into it. We already know that Sal’s a huge investor, but something just isn't sitting right about this whole situation. One look at the Valentino estate gives me a glimpse into Salvatore’s tastes. He’s a refined man, despite the blood staining his hands and soul. There’s just no fucking way he’s responsible for the state of Dimas.

  The hallways eventually spill out into a vast, dark room lit by strobes and spotlights. There are three stages, two on either side of the room and one in the center—all with scantily clad women grinding on poles or strutting around for men who sit in silence and watch. The whole vibe of the place gives me the shivers. It’s not like any strip club I’ve ever seen. The men aren’t jeering or cheering. They don’t toss bills on the stage or bob their head to the music. In fact, the music is barely noticeable. There's a low thump of bass rolling through the room that makes me want to grind my teeth.

  “What the fuck—” whispers Ellis. He scans the room before looking to me with his brows drawn and his eyes a dark, stormy grey. “What the shit is this place?”

  Echoing my thoughts, he forcefully relaxes his shoulders—probably trying not to seem too out of place. I don’t answer him. Spotting a bar at the end of the room, we make our way over and order two beers of no specific kind, we just need something to help us blend in and keep our hands occupied. We don’t need these Russian assholes thinking we’re narcs. The bartender just gives us a vacant stare as she places two brown bottles on the bar top and turns away without a word. Her stringy yellow hair looks like it hasn’t been washed in days and the mascara around her eyes looks crusty and smudged. There’s something hollow about the angles of her face—like she’s only half alive or something.

  I can pick up a few mumbled conversations floating around the room, but I can't make out much of what they're saying—mostly because they’re speaking Russian. The ones who don't, still have a thick accent, enough that I begin to feel incredibly out of place. A few of the men send curious looks our way, but I just meet their inquisitive stares with a hard glare that has them turning back to their conversations.

  Ellis nudges my arm. “Would you fuckin chill?” I roll my eyes and take a swig of my beer, trying not to gag. Ellis just chuckles. “You look like someone shoved a pole up your ass. C’mon, let's find a seat before someone tries to talk to us.”

  I follow my friend through the room, skirting waitresses who don’t bother stopping to take our order. Actually, they don’t even glance at the two of us as we walk by. They seem to be focused on specific men that lounge around in groupings of three and four. We find seats on a couple of questionable looking chairs, trying not to grimace as we settle in. I watch a few of the girls on stage as they twirl and writhe around like they’re trying too hard to be sexy. In any other situation they might even look comical. I don’t get the appeal myself, and to be honest, it doesn’t seem like any of the other men in the room see it either. They look bored, and that sets my nerves on edge.

  “Pretty fucked up bachelor party,” Ellis chuckles.

  Rolling my eyes, I can’t help the huff of laughter that’s really just me blowing air through my nose. “Something’s not right, man.” I shake my head.

  “Is it just me, or do these chicks look… sick,” he points out—his upper lip curling into a disgusted snarl.

  Studying them a little closer, I realize he’s exactly right. That's probably what's so off-putting about them. The woman closest to our area has skin that looks too pale for her nationality. She looks to be mixed race, probably African-American and Spanish… but her pallor is chalky with bruising beneath her sunken in eyes. Even under all that caked on makeup it’s striking. Most of the girls look the same… sick.

  A slow song begins, and some of the girls exit the stage, while others walk to the two side stages to twirl absently around the poles like robotic dolls. My stomach is rolling because it’s like watching living dead girls just going through the motions. The lights shift, glowing red and casting the room in ominous shadows. I can no longer make out the men around us, as all the focus has gone to the stage. Ellis looks at me with a deep frown—all traces of his earlier humor wiped clean.

  From the darkness of the backstage comes a blood red pair of stiletto heels attached to fishnet clad legs. Her skin is creamy white, and she wears nothing but dark red lacy lingerie that barely covers anything, though I don’t miss the flash of a ribcage—all skin and bone. As she steps into the red light and reaches out for the pole in the center of the stage, I have to stifle the curse that threatens to leave my lips. My fingernails dig into the leather arm rests. Ellis drops his beer bottle to the floor, but luckily the sound doesn’t echo given the fact that the music is now blaring. The woman swings lazily around the pole, letting her waterfall of stringy black hair swish around her shoulders.

  I stare open-mouthed at the woman for a few long seconds before my mind catches up with what I’m seeing. There’s a pit forming in my stomach as my eyes rove over the familiar angles of her pixie-like face, complete with milk white skin and expressive eyebrows of the blackest black I’ve ever seen. The woman could be Angel’s twin. The only reason I’m not on that stage ripping her away from the pole she’s hugging, are her emerald green eyes. Those aren’t my Angel’s eyes. The woman could have been beautiful, once upon a time perhaps, but the way her cheekbones jut out, and how her cracked, bloodless lips stretch into a vacant smile makes her look years older than she really is.

  She could pass for a forty-year-old easily, but I’m almost positive Sofia Valentino was supposed to be no older than thirty. Fuck.

  Angel

  A knock on my door startles me from my near nap. I haven’t been sleep
ing well these past few days, so I’m grumpy as I make my way to my locked door, but before I have the chance to make it across the room, the lock clicks and it swings open.

  My whole body locks up as Papa steps inside and shuts the door behind him with a soft click. My fight or flight instincts are kicking in and everything inside of me tells me to run. But I don’t run. Because that would be silly. And where would I go?

  “I expect you know why I’m here,” he clips. I contain a flinch.

  “No, Papa.”

  He sighs, stuffing his hands into his pockets. I study his face. He looks older than I remember—his skin lined and drawn, but still as handsome as ever. It pisses me off. I often wonder how it’s fair for a person’s insides to never reflect on their outside. How can such evil dare to be housed in such a pretty shell? Papa is all things debonair and refined, but I know better. I know what lurks beneath.

  “I need you to understand something, bella.” I grind my teeth—hating his affectionate nicknames. They're poison in my ears because they often times mean the exact opposite. He’s taunting me. “You are not here out of the kindness of my heart. You serve a purpose, and that purpose is simple.” His eyes darken as they flit over my face without emotion. “You need to get those men under control, do you hear me?”

  Frowning, I shake my head. “I don’t understand, Papa. What are you talking about, did they do something?” My stomach curdles. I don’t have to ask who he’s talking about.

  He smirks. “You are running out of time, Angel, and I am running out of patience. You should have married the Montgomery boy like a good little girl and been done with it,” he snaps. “But since you failed to seal the deal, he and the tattooed one have been haunting one of my clubs—making a mockery of me.”