Risqué: Mafia Romance (Beautiful Sinner Series Book 5)
Page 1
Summary
I’m the new KING of London, but it’s her body I crave to CONQUER.
Her enemies have become my own. Her body is my favorite toy.
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We were never supposed to meet, but then there she was across the bar sitting beside my cousin’s newest obsession. A small little beauty with a grin on her sweet lips and a low-cut top meant to tease—to destroy a man’s self-control. She didn’t see me, but I took in every sensual inch while placing a target on her head.
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Our paths will cross, and she’ll fight, but I’m a man of my convictions. My vow is unbreakable.
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I’ll be back for you, my Venus.
RISQUE
(Beautiful Sinner Series) Book 5
was written by Elena M. Reyes
Copyright 2021 ©Elena M. Reyes
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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This work is copyrighted. All rights are reserved. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the author.
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Cover Design: T.E. Black Designs
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Editor: Marti Lynch
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Publication Date: August 30th 2021
Genre: FICTION/Romance/Erotica Suspense/Contemporary
Copyright © 2020 Elena M. Reyes
All rights reserved.
Contents
Summary
Acknowledgements
1. Callum
2. Callum
3. Aliana
4. Callum
5. Callum
6. Aliana
7. Callum
8. Aliana
9. Callum
10. Aliana
11. Callum
12. Callum
13. Callum
14. Callum
15. Aliana
16. Callum
17. Aliana
18. Callum
19. Callum
20. Aliana
21. Callum
22. Aliana
23. Callum
24. Callum
25. Aliana
26. Aliana
27. Callum
28. Callum
29. Aliana
30. Aliana
31. Aliana
32. Callum
33. Aliana
34. Callum
35. Callum
36. Callum
Epilogue #1
Epilogue #2
Beautiful Sinner #6
Little Lies
BEAUTIFUL SINNER SERIES
About the Author
ALSO, BY ELENA M. REYES
Acknowledgements
Before we get into RISQUE and its yumminess, I need to thank a few people that I adore:
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K.I. Lynn, C.M. Steele, and Mary B. Moore: My girls. My chicas. My Boos. You are a huge part of my life/success and I’m beyond blessed to have you as my peeps. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for being in my corner, for pushing me when I get stubborn, and for never letting me settle. You are such a huge part of my life and I’m thankful to have you in my corner. I love you.
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Marti Lynch: I can never say THANK YOU enough! Seriously, you have the patience of a saint with me and always come through. You are the best editor and friend an author could ask for.
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T.E. Black Designs: BEST. COVER. EVER. Seriously, I can’t stop staring at my pretty. Thank you!
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Michelle Myers: Babe, I legit can’t thank you enough for the amount of work you did with me on this. You rode with me to the end, the long days, and made my baby so much better. Thank you for loving these characters and helping me become a better author. Love you!
* * *
Elena’s Marked Girls: You guys keep me going and always give me a reason to smile. Thank you for everything, for your unconditional support and encouragement. Please know that I love you—that you mean everything to me.
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Hubs and Kiddo: You are my heart. My entire world. Everything I do, I do it for you.
1
“Dispose of the two separately.”
“The two?” the man on his knees asks. These whimpered words slip through busted lips, the sound is amusing—a little whimsical—and I smile down at him. This is someone I’ve known my entire life, I grew up with the bloke, but greed is a dangerous disease and he let it consume him.
You don’t steal from a Jameson.
You don’t run from one either.
My family has a certain code we live by, and Jonathan Bryce broke every commandment.
Outside of his connection to me, he’s no one of real importance, a normal man working a boring desk job with a wife who’s pregnant and a dog who bares his teeth at him each time he walks through the door. The animal is a good judge of character. Can smell the bollocks that reek from this man’s pores while he lies to his wife about where he’s been and with whom.
He’s useless, yet many overlook the shortcoming; the flat he lives in belongs to her, while the car he drives was a gift from me on his last birthday. His employment is another gift he didn’t deserve then, and much less now as the family business isn’t worth shit under his care.
Three simple responsibilities he couldn’t provide for himself, and it stems from a gambling problem he refuses to accept.
Bryce loves football yet chooses the wrong team each bloody time, and as a mate, I’ve bailed him out more than a handful of times. Killed so he would be spared. I gave my protection because I felt bad for those he’d leave behind if a bookmaker took back a failed payment in blood.
He shared meals with the Jamesons.
He was allowed perks that weren’t his to imbibe in.
And yet, he bit the hand that feeds.
Jonathan Bryce stole from me, and all for a night of basic sex with a whore’s used pussy.
At the sight of my smirk, John pisses himself once again. Disgusting. “Please, Callum. It doesn’t have to end like this, brother. Let me work this off. Or better yet, let me just call Mum. My family’s good for it, and she’ll wire you—”
His mouth snaps shut after kissing the two large rings on my fingers, the skin further tearing from the blow. “This is your mess, mate. Not theirs.”
“Please.” It’s low. A cry. “It’s not that big of a deal. Ezra was in on it. He—”
“No.” Another plea sits heavily on his bloodied tongue, but I shake my head. He’s afraid and has every reason to be. My friendship was an honest one, no strings attached on my end, but he abused the power it came with. I let him live in my shadow, and now I’ll take away his right to breathe just the same. “You knew the consequences and took the risk anyway. Did you think someone loyal to the family, a hacker of all fucking things, wouldn’t protect himself? I’ve seen the video. I heard every word that came out of your mouth.”
His eyes drop to the ground, expression contrite. Too late. “I’m sorry.”
“Lying to me will only make this worse.”
“I don’t want to die.”
“And yet you’ve failed to give me a single reason why I should take pity, Jonathan.”
“My unborn daughter.” Bloody spittle lands on
my trousers while I finger the edge of the blade in my hand. It slices the pad of my thumb, a few drops dripping down the metal and onto the handle while he watches, unmoving. Paralyzed. “She will need me.”
“How sure are you about this?” I scratch my jaw. “What are you willing to bet?”
From the corner of my eye, I see one of the cleaners with me stop a few steps to my right with a familiar briefcase in hand. I’m not the only one who notices his presence, and I chuckle at the sight of Jonathan moving closer to me. An idiot move. I’m the reaper. His executioner. Jonathan’s bloodied face tips up, his hands gripping my pant leg while tears roll down each cheek.
A true disappointment.
“She will need me.”
“You can do better than that, arsehole.”
For every action, there is an equal consequence you must accept and confront with pride. In my world, to hide, beg, or cry is a disrespect. More so than the offense that led you to your sentencing.
“I’m their sole provider. Neither would survive—”
Pursing my lips, I tilt my head to the side and give him a small sense of hope. As if I’m considering his idiocy—pretending for those few seconds that I don’t know the kind of pathetic wanker he grew up to be. He’s mistaken my friendship for something it’s not, and even if he were family, I’d slit his throat just the same after a betrayal of any kind.
There’s nothing above loyalty. Not even familial ties.
“Liar,” I spit out through clenched teeth, and he stumbles back on his haunches, trying to crawl away but the stomp of my boot on his left knee stops him. Four times, and a scream rends the air; he’s quick to grab the injured leg but stops when the tip of the knife in my right hand presses against his forehead, digging in just enough to bring blood to the surface of the small incision. “You’re not worthy of the family you had, Jonathan. Melissa deserves better than you, and I’ll make sure they’re both taken care of. She’ll never work two jobs again, nor will she continue to pay for your mistakes.”
“If I don’t return home, she’ll call the cops. There’s a file—” He trails off when the briefcase is opened and a second later a manila folder is tossed at his feet. He makes no move to grab it, but tears do fall when a few seconds later a dial tone fills the warm building I own a few hours outside of London. The area is all private farmland, almost two hundred acres of untouched property with a few buildings at the center that I use for personal storage. There’s one road in and one out with security around the clock to take care of my cars, a few small planes, and my private collection of war memorabilia—weapons used throughout history to be exact, including a tank used during the Gulf War.
“That file?” The knife’s tip digs in a little deeper.
His expression is one of disbelief—betrayal—but that soon turns to abject horror when his pregnant wife’s voice comes through the line. “Is it done, Callum?”
“Not yet,” I say before slicing down from forehead to cheek while puncturing his eyeball.
“Fuck!” His scream, full of anguish, makes pleasurable goose bumps rise across my flesh. The darkness within my soul is feeding off the echoes that surround us in the large, open space. The cut isn’t deep enough to cause blindness, not that he’ll be alive to enjoy the sights and sounds of life outside these walls, but enough to make him hiss in pain and tear up—each track down his cheek turns a reddish-brown as the dirt on his face mixes with his blood. “No more. I’ve learned my lesson.”
“We have a request I must oblige.” Maybe it’s because of the cut or the realization that he’s truly dispensable, but Jonathan’s face drops and his shoulders slump. He’s the poster child for someone who’s disingenuously ashamed, yet either way, I pat his head like one would a dog and wag the knife in his face as one would a finger. “Someone needs to hear the verbal confirmation of your blessing.”
“Are you taking the piss?” Her laugh is sardonic, completely ignoring his pain-filled yell, but I can still make out her tears. The anguish Jonathan has caused. “Do my words really matter?”
“Yes.” Yet I’m not the one she’s asking. Her question is directed to the piece of shit on his knees crying like a git. “Give me your vote.”
She takes a deep breath, and I plunge the blade of my knife from one cheek to the other and leave it there while her husband whimpers. Paints the ground red with his blood one drop at a time, the sprinkling reminding me of one of those designs made by a macabre artist I admire from Seattle. “I’ve been a widow since the day after we said I do. It’s time to recoup my full freedom.”
“No!” Jonathan yells out without thinking, ripping the flesh on each cheek apart. His mouth fills with blood, it rolls down his neck and onto the dirty collar of the light pink polo he’s wearing. “Love, please. Please don’t abandon me. You’re my—”
“I’m tired of bailing you out,” she says lowly, the words full of so much hurt, and for the first time, I see true repentance on his face. Too late. “Your family’s legacy is gone because of your selfishness, you bloody bastard. The dealerships are under insolvency proceedings, the houses are being sold to pay back the money you stole, and all while your mum had a heart attack at the care home after finding out what you did. While you were busy shagging...” She chokes on a sob, the pain raw, and if I had a better conscience, I’d forgive him for her. But I don’t. I won’t. “She’s been in a coma while you were busy bending over a woman that isn’t the one you promised to love and cherish.”
“I’m sorry.” His split lip wobbles, his entire frame shaking. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“No. You’re not.”
“Melissa, I know I’ve hurt you. That I’ve—”
“Wasted enough years of my life.” The woman on the other end takes in a deep breath, the silence looming from the line before a painful sigh escapes her. “I can’t do this anymore, and neither can your mum. You can go in peace knowing we’ll be better off.”
“I’ll make this right. Just please—”
“You’re only sorry you were caught, Jonathan. Goodbye.” The dial tone follows, and the sorrowful scream that leaves him shakes his entire frame. And I’m humanitarian enough to give him a second to come to terms with his reality. His death sentence was handed out by the same person to whom he tied his life to, and then proceeded to hurt by breaking each of those sacred vows.
And while I’m not a man who believes in love or spending my life with one woman, I respect those who do. I respect those vows. I’ve seen in my life what a good woman can do for a man in my aunt and uncle’s relationship, my own parents not being the best example, but those two made it work. She was his true right hand before he stepped down and Casper took over as the head of our family.
Classy and poised—nothing like the women that cross my path.
They want an easy fuck with the hopes of taming my cock and bank account. To become a Jameson.
I fuck and leave. No strings attached. No commitment.
Pussy doesn’t rule my life. I scratch the itch when the need arises and that’s as far as it goes.
“Call her back.” It’s no more than a whisper, but I hear, and I also don’t respond. “Call her!”
My hand extends out, palm side up while my eyes hold his. His anger is rising, and I find the false bravado amusing to an extent. It also doesn’t last long as a second later my favorite toy is placed in my hand by the cleaner just slightly behind me.
The heavy leather feels good in my palm, centers me, and I breathe in deeply while letting its coiled length fall to the ground. The slapping sound isn’t muted, and the subtle hint of a clink makes Jonathan’s ire lose all strength, going from hot to a shivering form sitting atop his own mess.
He knows what this is. He was with me when I acquired the specially made whip.
“Vest off.”
“I’ll leave the country. I’ll disappear.”
“Shirt. Off,” I spit out from between clenched teeth, and the guard who’s been standing at the rea
dy to help dispose of Jonathan comes forward. Within seconds, he rips the bloody garment from Jonathan’s body, the fabric digging into his skin and my old friend hisses, feebly attempting to push my employee’s hands away. But then again, he’s always been a weak man. Once done, the guard looks at me, and I nod in appreciation. “Stand back.”
“Yes, sir.”
My thumb rubs against the handle, feeling the small button there, but I refrain from pressing it.
Instead, I take two steps back while dragging the thick leather against the harsh concrete, my eyes on the man I once called family. There are cuts and bruises, the holes on his cheek are a nasty color already, and his chest bears the brunt of an earlier kick to his sternum.
“Don’t. Come on, mate...not—” He doesn’t get to finish as my wrist flicks forward and the first lash lands across his upper torso, the skin there welting and in some spots ripping. And this was a soft strike. No real force was applied. The second and third are much the same, but now his abused body crawls away from me—he drags himself toward a door to the left he’ll never make it to.