by Coralee June
“Patience, princess.”
After grabbing a condom from my pocket, I slipped my pants off, nearly tripping like a fucking juvenile when I stepped out of the pile of fabric at my feet. She laughed at my slight stumble but all humor fled her the moment I fisted my dick and pressed it against her entrance.
I paused. “You want this?” I asked, while looking her in the eye. I wanted her to feel in control, and I had every intention of asking her every damn time if that made her feel like she called the shots. I was more than happy to push whatever buttons she wanted or sit back and let her do the pushing. She was in control of this, always.
“Hell yes, I do. Fuck me already,” she pleaded.
What my girl wants, she gets.
I thrust inside of her and fucked her hard, right next to a half-eaten plate of waffles and a cup of black coffee that splashed every time I moved. And when she came, she gushed so hard on my cock that I was practically drowning in her pleasure, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I came right after her, with a hiss of breath between my teeth as I leaned forward and sucked on her bottom lip, licking the syrup that had been teasing me all throughout breakfast.
We panted against each other, coming back down from our mutual high. She felt perfect. She was perfect, and I was already craving more.
Just as I placed a kiss on her forehead, I heard a knock against the front door before it swiftly opened and footsteps could be heard down the hall.
Rachel squeaked and shoved at my chest. I quickly pulled out of her, stripped off the condom and was in the process of yanking my pants back up when Beau Fucking Boedecker’s voice called out. “Rachel?”
“Shit,” Rachel hissed. “I don’t want him to see me like this.”
I pulled her off the table and set her on her feet, making sure my shirt covered her. I didn’t want him to see her period, but it kind of pissed me off that she wanted to keep us a secret. “Run upstairs to get dressed. I’ll deal with him.”
She eyed me suspiciously. “Play nice.”
I smacked her on the ass to get her to move. “I always play. But I’m not always nice.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Rachel
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I heard Beau ask as I tugged at the tight jeans I found in a dresser saved for such occassions and pulled them over my hips. I sprinted down the hall of the safe house, determined to intercept them before punches were thrown.
“I think the better question is what the fuck were you doing leaving Rachel alone last night at the Salvador bar?” Godfrey’s accusatory tone made me pause, and I pressed myself against the wall, eager to hear Beau’s answer.
I knew he’d put on airs for me, would spin his excuses in a charming way to try and convince me that he’d left for a good reason. I hadn’t had time to stop and think about what happened with Beau, but now that I thought about it, it made me even angrier. I get that he had tried to get me to leave for my own safety, but knowing my history, he never should’ve put hands on me.
“Your buddy sucker punched me and told me to leave with the threat of his blade.”
“Because you put hands on her. You’re supposedly her friend, right? Then you would know she’s stubborn. You should’ve called Rocco but gone inside with her because that’s what she needed.”
“Fuck you,” Beau spat as I leaned against the wall of the hall, trying to keep my breath quiet as I continued to listen. “What she needed was to get far fucking away before Eddie got there.”
Godfrey paused. “How did you know Eddie would go there?”
“What?”
I moved so I could finally bring them into view, seeing their profiles as they faced each other in the kitchen. Two of my dad’s guards stood sentry by the front door and nodded to me as I made my way toward Godfrey and Beau.
Godfrey took a menacing step forward. “I said, how did you know Eddie would be there?”
Beau blanched a bit. “Rachel told me.”
“No, I didn’t,” I said, coming forward and making both of them swivel their heads to look at me.
“Yeah, you did.”
I shook my head and stood beside Godfrey. I could tell it bothered Beau by the tic in his jaw. “No. I told you that I’d heard some Macon members would be there, but I wasn’t sure, and I never said Eddie’s name. I didn’t even know it yet.”
“It was a guess. I assumed he’d be there.”
Godfrey narrowed his eyes. “You’re fucking lying.”
I looked at Beau, I mean really looked at him. I saw an ambitious guy, willing to abandon his family for cutting cash. I saw someone that said all the right things, made all the right moves, but had he ever actually felt right? I frowned at the thought. My instincts had always warned me off of him, despite my attempt at convincing myself to try to take things further. Maybe it was time I paid attention to my gut and figure out why.
“Why do you know who Eddie is, Beau?” I asked.
“Everyone knows who he is,” he replied with a shrug, but the movement looked forced. His hazel eyes, usually smooth as honey, were shifting side to side. He couldn’t pull off the calm and collected effect like Godfrey. Never could. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m not the enemy here,” he snapped, growing angry. “Godfrey was the one hired to fucking kill you.”
I blinked in surprise. Beau Boedecker just showed his hand, and he’d been trying to stack the fucking deck.
“How the hell did you know that? Are you working both sides of the fence, fucker?” Godfrey asked while surging forward. He grabbed the collar of Beau’s shirt, gripping it so tightly his knuckles went white. Normally, I would have stepped in to stop him, but electrified dread was zapping me firmly in place.
“Let go of me!” he yelled before shoving at Godfrey’s chest. My perfect Heir didn’t stumble. Hard and solid as a rock, he stayed right there, absorbing the shock like it was nothing.
My dad’s guards came rushing in, but I stopped them from intervening by raising my hand.
I turned back to Beau and tilted my head as my mind pieced together information. “Dad never brought new people in. Everyone is loyal to him. And he was always careful about his warehouse locations. He changed them up every week to keep JJ off our trail,” I murmured, connecting all the dots so they spelled out his betrayal. “That day I went to meet my dad at the warehouse—no one else knew he was there that day. You were the one who picked up the cash to be brought to the middlemen. You told JJ, didn’t you? That’s how he knew where to find us that day. It was you.”
There. My accusation seeped into Beau’s and Godfrey’s expressions. Godfrey looked like he was ready to snap his neck, while Beau looked sick. I had him cornered with the sharpness of truth, and there was nothing he could do but impale his traitorous heart on it. “That’s why you didn’t want to go into the club. Not to protect me, but because you didn’t want to run into any Macon Mob members and have your dirty secret out in the open.”
I took another step closer to him while Godfrey kept him still. Picking up a dull knife left over from breakfast, I tested the weight of it in my hand. His eyes widened as he stuttered. “I-I didn’t know you were gonna be there, Rach, I swear! The deal was for Rocco only. JJ was supposed to kill him, take over the counterfeit job and give me a bigger cut of the business. It was only supposed to be him. You weren’t supposed to be there!” he said in a desperate frenzy, his eyes gone wild.
Godfrey slammed Beau’s head down on the counter, his skull hitting the granite with a loud crack. “You fucking son of a bitch!” Godfrey growled.
“My dad trusted you. He treated you like a son. He took you in when you wanted to leave your dad’s business,” I said, my words flat and furious.
I walked over to the stove as I watched Godfrey slam Beau’s face against the granite again, his face contorted in pain. I knew he would bruise, but it wasn’t enough. He betrayed my father. He betrayed me. It was because of him that everything had happened. My innocence, m
y joy, had been taken away from me just like that. All because of a greedy, selfish betrayer.
“He wouldn’t fucking let me have you!”
“What?”
“I’ve always loved you since we first met. But Rocco turned me down. Said I was too dirty for his girl.” Beau spat out blood from where Godfrey had the side of his face smashed against the countertop, his entire body slumped over on it. “Fucking rich, coming from a gangster who runs dirty money.”
Godfrey and I shared a look, and I blanched. “So you decided having my own father murdered would be the way to get me?”
Dad’s men inched closer, murder evident on their faces, but I had a better idea in mind. Godfrey, the man who always knew what I needed, gave them a stern look, wordlessly warning them not to come any closer and interfere. Turning on the burner, I set the metal knife in the fire before spinning around to face the man responsible for getting me captured in the first place.
“We were friends, Beau. I trusted you. He trusted you,” I whispered. My anger was laced with intense sadness. I thought of every time Beau said he cared about me, and tainted that memory with what he’d done—what he’d tried to do. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and choked on the smoke of hell rising in my belly. “You’ve been chasing cash for so long, you lost yourself. This wasn’t about me. This was about you always wanting more than you had. I should’ve seen it before. You’re a greedy, conniving, disloyal little prick. No wonder your dad was glad to see you gone,” I said, twirling the knife over the flame on the stove. “They took me because you made us vulnerable.”
“I’m so sorr—” Godfrey lifted up his head and slammed it back on the counter before he could finish his sentence. I heard his teeth clash as blood pooled in his mouth, marking his apology with crimson blood that wasn’t flowing nearly enough. Oh, he’d bleed. They’d all fucking bleed.
I knew just how long it took a knife to heat up. I’d seen it with my own eyes, counted my breaths until the spoke was glowing. JJ’s brand on my shoulder seemed to burn hot at the reminder. “And after all of that, you still pursued me,” I said with an incredulous shake of my head. “Did you get off on knowing all the twisted, fucked up things I’d endured?” I asked, while grabbing an old oven mitt from a nearby drawer. “You said you liked my new look. Did it make you hard, knowing the darkness inside of me was because of you?”
I knew Beau wasn’t Eddie, and he wasn’t JJ. But he was like a dealer, tossing me a bad hand and leaving me to the worst game of my life. “I didn’t…” His voice was slurred. I knew if Godfrey knocked his skull again, he’d pass out, and I didn’t want him unconscious. I wanted him to feel the pain I was about to deliver.
Once again he writhed, trying desperately to get out of Godfrey’s grip. But his hands were bound behind his back, and Godfrey used all of his weight to keep him firmly in place. When I turned around, I noticed that the knife wasn’t glowing yet, so I stared at it. Watching. Waiting for that pivotal moment it would become the weapon I needed. “I told you how JJ branded me,” I whispered. “I explained in gory detail, opened up about my trauma, thinking I could trust you. But you already knew.” The knife turned hot, and I smiled while putting the mitten on my hand.
“Rachel, I never wanted to hurt you,” he pleaded one last time. I couldn’t wait to hear him cry.
“Well,” I began, before picking up the knife and stalking back to where Godfrey was holding him down. “You did. And now I’m going to mark you up with my own special brand, Beau. I’m going to give you something you’ll have to see every damn day. And when you look at your fucked up face, I hope you think of me.”
Without another word, I placed the hot metal on his cheek, the tip of the blade burning his closed eyelid. His screams filled the kitchen as he struggled desperately, trying to get away, and the smell of burning flesh assaulted my nose. It reminded me of my own branding, but that flashback just made me press the blade harder, sinking the scalding metal through layers of flesh until blood started dripping down. My dad’s men watched warily from their spots behind me, and Beau kept screaming while Godfrey continued to hold him down, but I didn’t let up until the metal cooled and he passed out from the pain. I kept it there even then, staring at his bloodied and burned face from his brow to his cheek, until Godfrey let go and his body sunk to the floor with a thud.
I was shaking with adrenaline as I stared at his prone form, the knife still in my hand.
“Princess,” Godfrey cooed before coming up and wrapping his strong arms around me. He held me tightly against his warm body, but there was a chill in my bones I couldn’t shake. I couldn’t feel his touch. I couldn’t feel anything. I was a nothing and everything all at once, covered in the stains of Beau’s bloody betrayal and filled with the stench of what I’d done.
“I want to burn him again,” I whispered. “I want to burn them all.”
Godfrey pulled away but kept his arms wrapped around my back now coated with a sheen of sweat. “We will, princess. We will.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Rachel
Everything was set up. Forty-One set the stage perfectly, even managed to get me a backstage pass to the show.
We set up at one of Dad’s warehouses—specifically the one that I was captured from. My creative hit man liked the vibe and symbolism, said the bones of the old building would set the scene. I got to sit safely behind a one-sided mirror Dad had installed, it was his one demand. I got to participate in the kill, but only if I was out of sight and tucked away in a bullet proof tomb.
I didn’t fight him on it, mostly because I was just so damn ready to finally be done with all of this. “I got the gun,” Godfrey said while entering the small holding room I was sitting in.
The plan was simple. Dad called Mr. Taylor, offering him a deal in the cash business in exchange for help dealing with Eddie. And like the predictable fucker Mr. Taylor was, he called Eddie the first chance he got, preening like a damn peacock at the opportunity to offer the Macon Mob my dad on a silver platter. We wanted them to arrive together; it was the only way it would work.
Forty-One stopped setting up the chess set, a personal touch I had appreciated, and addressed Godfrey. “You sure it’s registered to your father?” he asked.
“Positive. Made sure to grab his favorite one, too. Has his fingerprints all over it.” Godfrey picked up a plastic bag containing the pistol and handed it to Forty-One. I still couldn’t figure out if Godfrey liked my eccentric hit man or not. When we met about a week ago to finalize things, he’d puffed out his chest like a territorial asshole. Forty-One didn’t seemed bothered, just gave him that teasing smile I’d come to expect from him and dove into the logistics of the hit.
Forty-One popped his cloves against his wrist before handling the gun, bouncing it in his palm before checking each component of the weapon, checking to make sure it was fully functional. Judge Palmisano even had a couple officers sitting on traffic nearby, that way they’d be close for once the trigger was pulled. “It’s a shame this will end up in an evidence locker somewhere. Such a pretty pistol,” Forty-One said longingly while staring at it.
Godfrey gave him an unamused scowl before turning to address me. “According to the trackers Bonham put on their cars, they’ll be here in about fifteen minutes. Rocco is at the back of the warehouse, chomping at the bit to come inside. You sure you don’t want him here, princess?” he asked, and I shook my head. I didn’t have to explain myself, Godfrey just knew. I’d let Dad participate, but this was my time. My revenge. My conclusion to a fucked up story.
Godfrey let out a puff of air before responding. “Okay.”
That fifteen minutes went by like a quick eternity.
Forty-One was in position inside the warehouse while Godfrey and I were inside the room. Godfrey’s phone was on a stool between our chairs, allowing us to hear everything going on outside where my dad was positioned.
“Taylor’s here.”
I swallowed at my dad’s voice over the
speaker and exchanged a look with Godfrey. He gave me a nod, and then we heard the sound of a car engine, followed by the closing of a door. This was the tricky part; we knew Eddie wouldn’t come alone. He wasn’t stupid enough to think he was invincible. Dad gladly promised to make his men disappear. The only thing the cops would see when they showed up was Eddie’s dead body and a passed out Taylor holding the gun.
Eddie might have brought his men, but my Dad hired an army—an army ready to end the Macon reign once and for all.
“Nomar,” Gerald Taylor’s voice came smoothly out in greeting.
“Good to officially meet you,” my dad replied.
They exchanged pleasantries for a few moments, and all of my nervous energy came out through the sole of my foot as I bounced it up and down.
“He’s fishing,” Godfrey mumbled, and I realized right away he was right. Mr. Taylor was asking about the counterfeit business now, about locations and cash flow. My dad kept dodging his questions, and Mr. Taylor kept circling back.
But then we heard the telltale sound of car engines and my dad’s voice. “Betrayal so soon, Taylor? We haven’t even made a deal, yet,” my dad drawled.
“Did you really expect me to switch sides for you?” Mr. Taylor replied.
Car doors shut. Feet walked over hard gravel. And then my dad, calm as ever, said, “No. I didn’t.”
That was probably the moment Mr. Taylor knew he was fucked.
My dad must have given the signal, because in the next moment, we heard the sound of guns going off. Shouting came over in the phone’s speaker, and I started chewing on my fingers, biting them away like my anxiety would peel away with my nail.
An instant later, the sound of guns stopped, and everything went eerily quiet. With every second that I didn’t hear my dad’s voice, my anxiousness rose up to a higher level.
Maybe our plan to take out Eddie’s men hadn’t worked. Maybe they somehow got the upper hand. Maybe—