by Shanna Bell
Strong hands grabbed her cheeks from behind and pulled them apart. Cool liquid dripped onto her heated flesh and her heart nearly drummed out of her chest. She should’ve known they’d want that. Anal sex wasn’t particularly high on her list. Or on her list at all. But she realized she didn’t want to experience this first with anyone else but these two men.
Vince's hand clasped her left buttock and pulled it apart. She squirmed as his cock penetrated her from behind. Then a delicious game of push and pull began that had every nerve in her body flaring awake. Every time Sy pulled back, Vince pushed in, oh so slowly working his way deeper, stretching her.
A moan escaped her as her men set up a mind-blowing rhythm by alternately driving into her from both sides. Her breathing turned to panting so quickly, she knew she was going to come soon. Carmen was lost once again and it was only the beginning. By the time the morning sun showed its first glimpses through the curtains, she was exhausted.
Finally, after what had seemed like hours, they let her go. She didn’t even remember them taking off her cuffs.
I must’ve passed out somewhere in between being sandwiched.
“Rest.” It was Vince’s voice.
Two warm bodies enclosed her from the sides, and she felt safe.
“We’ve got you. You’re safe.”
“I know.” She sighed. His voice seemed to come from far away. All she wanted was to sleep.
“You will always be safe with us.”
“Not… always…” Bad memories threatened to resurface but she pushed them away. Nothing was going to kill her buzz. This dream was too good to give up.
“Not always?”
Pesky voice.
Why can’t you leave me alone?
“Sleepy,” she mumbled.
“Tell me what you’re afraid of…”
What an odd question for a dreamy voice. There were many things she feared—losing the people she loved, Franco coming back from the grave. But there was one that was most likely to happen in the near future.
“Pictures.” She yawned. “He’s got my pictures. Franco made me… How am I ever going to get them back?”
A curse burst through her little bubble, pulling her out of the warm cocoon she was nestled in. Her eyes shot open.
Seeing Vince and Sy look at her with a mixture of pity and anger was like being dumped into an ice bath. Her happy place shattered into a million pieces.
“You… you…” she sputtered. “I can’t believe you did this.” She pulled the sheets up to her chin as she felt her lips tremble.
No! Get a grip.
You can’t fall apart in front of them.
Must. Hold. It. Together.
She wanted to yell at them for taking advantage of her weak moment. Scream at them for making her tell them about her shame. Then Sy pulled her close. He tucked her head underneath his chin. It didn’t matter though. She wasn’t falling for it. She wasn’t going to yield. A kiss, so soft she almost believed she’d imagined it, was placed on her shoulder.
Vince. He inched closer and put a protective arm around her. They didn’t say anything. All they did was hold her close, until she could no longer keep her back straight.
It was as if a dam burst, flooding away all the pain she’d held inside. Pain she had deserved for not acting, making a stand, when she should have done so. No matter the soul cleansing she felt inside, the guilt, high as a mountain, was still resting on her shoulders.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
Vince kept saying the words, over and over again, so much so that they became a chorus, resonating in her heart. A heart she had lost a long time ago to him. Something she had known all along. As he kept petting her, telling her she was safe, her shoulders shook from the unshed tears she’d held inside for so long. Little by little, he was destroying the wall of resentment toward him that festered inside her.
Sy enveloped her in his muscular arms, entwined their limbs, giving her his heat from her head to her toes. It was at that moment she knew she had lost her heart again, not once, but twice. The knowledge was like a kick to the stomach, harder than any punishment Franco had doled out. His abuse she could take, because eventually it would stop, and even in her broken and bruised state, she knew she held the moral high ground. And, in a way, that had given her something to hold on to.
But here, with these men who did their best to console her, she was the evil one.
At least they don’t know about Marni…
They didn’t know how she had let that little girl down. How spineless she had been while being faced with a terrified child. They believed Franco had forced her to visit Red Velvet. They believed her to be good and selfless. If they ever found out the truth, she would lose them. Lose the comfort they gave her. Lose their respect, but most of all, lose the chance to make them love her one day in return.
And that, she couldn’t bear.
They could never know about her deepest regret.
CHAPTER 18
SY
Sy hated Mexican standoffs. Even if it wasn’t an actual standoff in the field, three factions trying to off each other at the same time was for fucking amateurs. Too many bodies to clean up afterward. Another reason why he liked being a hitman; nothing beat working in solitude. The other night at Flux proved that a three-way—and not in a good way—ended up badly. It had been a close call. If the twins hadn’t come up with reinforcements, it could have ended much worse than half of the kitchen staff getting wiped out. It was time to shake some trees, hunt some rats. No one could shoot on Bratva territory and get away with it. Not without losing a gallon of blood. Which had been why he’d volunteered to go on the cockroach hunt.
And because you didn’t want to face Carmen this morning.
Her tears, desperation, and pain were hitting him in his soul in places he’d thought long dead. He was getting too involved.
All of this went through his head as he strolled inside Kristoff’s heavily guarded mansion. If their fearless leader invited them over, it usually meant a big sting operation was about to happen. He came right in time to see that half of the Bloody Ones were already there, gearing up in tactical wear.
Angel was bitching about how difficult it was to find a new sous chef for Flux.
“No one can make beef stroganoff like Alan,” he claimed.
“Aidan,” Sy corrected him. “If you’re gonna mourn the man, at least get his name right.”
“He’s not mourning the man,” Damon clarified as he checked his gun. “He’s saying goodbye to that perfect beef."
“Then who the hell was Alan?” Angel sounded disgruntled.
“The sous chef before him. You kicked him out for putting olive oil in your rice chicken instead of using butter.”
Recognition dawned on Angel's face as he strapped on his kevlar vest. “Ah, well, maybe we can get Alan back. I’m sure he’s learned his lesson by now.”
“Can’t do,” Damon explained. “Alan got killed during the raid of a back-alley restaurant he started working at. Word on the street is that in his last breath, he cursed your name.”
A frown marred Angel’s face. “It was nice of him to think of me before dying. But, seriously, after we sort this mess, we need to get a new chef. One with knife skills that can do more than chop onions. You know, so he can keep himself alive. We don’t want people thinking that Flux has a high mortality rate.” He eyed Sy. “Didn’t I hear you say the other day that Carmen is a mean cook?”
Sy shook his head. “Never gonna happen.” Like he would ever let her near any of his friends. Yeah, they were blood brothers, but he also knew their reputations for being man whores. If any of them even looked at her the wrong way, he wouldn’t be held responsible for his actions.
Shit, that sounded a bit possessive and he didn’t do possessive. Because that would mean that she was more than a casual fuck. And he knew what a woman could do to a man when she got him by the balls.
He chin jerked at his brother, who wore his usual
scowl. There was a somewhat deranged look on his face, and Sy didn’t want to think about what—or who—had put it there. It hadn’t escaped his notice that the second things got dicey during the shooting, his brother had whisked Elena away instead of leaving her behind to fend for herself.
Of course, Sy himself had done the same for Carmen, but that was different. He had a pact with Vince. More than that, he had a deal with Carmen. They would enjoy each other for the time being and then part their ways. It always ended that way. No muss, no fuss.
Shit. He didn’t want to think about that right now. She was too innocent to be treated like a regular club pass around. And defenseless like a kitten. A kitten he sure liked to make purr. Hell. Now was not the time to think about her hot body. It was time for retaliation.
He grabbed his gun from his belt and checked it. The assault on the club had been a week ago. Some might wait to regroup, but the Bloody Ones didn’t work that way. They were always ready to wipe out some cockroaches.
Kristoff was mapping out their line of destruction.
“What about Keegan’s MC connection?” Damon asked. It was his job to know every player in town and who had their backs.
“They’re just mules for his small-time drug runs,” Viking said. “For the peanuts he’s paying, they don’t ride with him.”
First on their list was Keegan. Sy strapped on knives to his lower back and onto his ankle, then hauled his duffel bag over his shoulder.
It wasn’t too hard tracking down Keegan’s place of business. Having built an extensive net of informants, from street hustlers to hobos and chambermaids, they could basically find anyone anywhere.
Sy took a position on top of the building across the compound. Keegan had his place secured by three gunned men only. Obviously, he’d put most of them inside, or—more likely—he’d taken the remainder of his forces to protect his own hide since Morelli would be coming for him. Three men holding a sig was hardly a challenge. It was like shooting ducks in a row.
By the time he’d packed up his rifle and joined the others, they were already inside the building. He came in just in time to see the twins take down the last one of Keegan’s men standing. Whatever was left of Keegan’s security, protecting his shipment, was dead or bleeding, spread out over the floor. Kristoff and Viking were talking to the last three that were still breathing. Though talking was a bit of an overstatement. As per usual, Viking first pounded his fist in their faces, readying them up for interrogation. His brother was a firm believer in “hit first, ask questions later.” He admired that about him.
Sy put his bag on a dingy chair and went over to the containers. The old warehouse had a dozen of them stacked next to each other.
One by one, he opened the doors. Most of them were filled with crates and boxes. The twins checked them, calling out whatever weapons they found. When he reached the last container, he heard a sound. Something was off.
“Damon.”
The twins pulled out their guns and aimed it at the container as Sy slowly opened it.
The inside of the container was filled with shadows. No one came bursting out of it though. He then heard a whimper.
“Whoever the fuck you are, get out.” That’s when Sy noticed a piece of white cloth sticking out. What the hell was going on here? “Get out, or we’re gonna shoot,” he warned.
A little girl, dressed in a long white gown, wearing a veil, shuffled out of the container. She couldn’t have been more than ten years old.
“Please, sir, don’t shoot,” the girl whispered.
Five more little girls dressed up as brides came into view. There was a terrified look on each of their faces, as they squinted their eyes against the light.
His stomach rolled. He’d seen a lot in his life, but this must be one of the most vile things he’d encountered. Apparently, Keegan was in the business of selling child brides. A very lucrative business in some parts of the world, even in the States.
As if on cue, the girls dropped onto the floor, and huddled together like cattle. Faces down, none of them dared to speak, or even glance in their way. Not that Sy could blame them. Who knew how long they’d been held captive. They’d probably been trained this way. Also, the way his crew looked, they weren’t exactly screaming “safe haven.”
Kristoff’s face seemed chiseled from marble, as he took in the girls. He returned to the men whimpering before him. They sat on their knees next to each other, like dominoes, waiting to fall.
Without a preamble, Kristoff shot the first one in the crotch.
“You shot my dick! Fuck. Shit!”
Sy noticed the girls had embraced each other. The smallest one, with a cute button nose, started crying. One of the other girls immediately slapped a hand over her mouth.
Shit. He was no good with kids, but he couldn’t let the bigger girl suffocate the crying one either.
He crouched near them, hoping to appear less intimidating that way. “We’re not gonna hurt you,” he said softly.
None of the girls looked up. He repeated it, hoping the little one wouldn’t be smothered any further. It didn’t work. “Fuck. Stop strangling the crying one,” he growled. “Everyone’s hand into their laps. Now.”
The girls turned as white as their dresses, but they immediately obeyed him. So much for not appearing scary. Well, at least the choking had stopped.
With a sigh, he got up and joined Kristoff.
The gangster-turned-eunuch was screeching like a pig, holding his bleeding dick.
“What’s your name?” Kristoff sounded cool and collected, a sure sign that people were gonna die.
“You have any idea who you’re dealing with?” he yelled. Judging by his southern drawl, he wasn’t from around here.
Kristoff didn’t hesitate; he put a bullet straight between his eyes. “Not the answer to my question.” Without a word, he shot the next one in the crotch as well. What followed was more crying and yelling. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“He gets crabby when you do,” Angel helpfully explained. When Kristoff sent him a look, he said, “What? It’s true.”
Kristoff’s next bullet went into the second guy’s throat. Specks of blood flew over their feet.
Angel looked aggravated when he noticed red spots on his handmade Italian boots. “You did that on purpose,” he growled.
Damon threw the third, and final, man before Kristoff’s feet. Then he shot him straight in the balls. A hauling cry pierced the evening, resonating through the whole building.
When Kristoff cocked a brow, Damon said, “To save you time before you ran out of bullets and patience again.”
“Always the practical party pooper,” Sy complained.
The squirming man whimpered, “Danny. Name’s Danny.” His eyes were fixated on Kristoff, nearly popping out of their sockets.
“Do you know who I am?”
The man nodded. “Romanov. Kristoff fucking Romanov.”
Kristoff’s lip curled as he leaned closer to Danny. “What else do they call me?”
The man swallowed. “The Soulless One.”
“Exactly. I’m gonna ask you a question. You don’t tell me what I wanna hear, I will torture you, old-school style. And when I say old school, I mean fucking Middle Ages old. So, tell me, Dickless Danny, who’s your contact at the harbor? Which soon-to-be dead captain was going to ship these kids off behind my back?”
Danny looked frantic. “No one. They’re staying here.”
Oh crap. “They’re not moving the girls out of town,” Sy said. “He’s going to auction them off here.”
What better way to stick it to Kristoff than by trafficking children in his own town?
Judging by Kristoff’s burning eyes, he’d come to the same conclusion.
“Dickless Danny,” Angel hummed. “Now, when you say that, are you referring to him not having a dick anymore, or him having less of a dick? You know, since technically he still has one.” He eyed the growing red stain around Danny’s crotch. “I mea
n, his cheap jewels must be mangled and in pieces by now, but he still has one. You know, a partial dick.”
Kristoff emptied the gun in Danny’s crotch. Then he turned to Angel. “Dickless, as in no dick at all.”
“Ah. Thanks for the clarification.” Angel smiled smugly at his brother. “See how I used the word of the day there? You snooze, you lose. Pay up.”
Damon looked disgruntled. “Should’ve known something was up the moment you showed interest in a dick other than your own.” He pulled out some bills and shoved them into Angel’s hand.
Sy’s gaze went back to the girls. There was no way Keegan had gathered them together on his own. These girls were just merchandise. It wasn’t so much them being sold that was the problem, it was the way they were dressed. There was only one man he’d heard of who would do something that even remotely mirrored what was happening here—the elusive Bridemaker.
They hadn’t crossed paths before, each minding their own business, but now that sick shit had hit their shore.
“Find the motherfucker.”
Sy looked over at Kristoff and nodded. He’d gladly take on this job.
CHAPTER 19
CARMEN
Nothing beat a good morning workout in the gym. This time, she was going to kick Vince’s ass. Well, at least she hoped to be the one doing the kicking for a change. So far, she’d bested him once, and she was afraid that had been a pity victory. After all, her “victory” had coincided with the morning after her blabbing about the pictures.
They’d been going at it since dawn. Her tank top clung to her sweaty back and her thighs were burning. She refused to be the one to call it a day though.