His Brother's Wife

by Mia Ford

“No problem,” Butch said, cracking his thick knuckles. “I’ll watch him like a fucking hawk.”

  A hawk. I needed Butch to be a pit bull. Not a fucking hawk.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and glanced at the clock. I hated doing business after midnight. “Get Archie to the hospital and get that hand fixed. No painkillers. I don’t need him jacked up on something else.”

  “Ah, Richie, I ain’t jacked up.”

  I stared at the scratches on his arm, where he’d been digging at himself with his raggedy fingernails.. “Sure you’re not.” I leaned forward. “I’m serious as a heart attack here, Arch. No painkillers. I don’t care if you have to put a stick between your teeth. You hear me?”

  Archie nodded miserably.

  “Now get out of here.” I reached toward my desk drawer for my bottle of scotch.

  “One other thing, boss.”

  Huffing out a sigh, I glanced up to find Butch shuffling his feet. There was something he didn’t want to tell me, but he would—because he was a good little soldier. “What?”

  “The dude…he saw Hannah, out on the stairs.”

  Jesus Christ. As though I didn’t have enough trouble. If that little bitch was sneaking around stirring up those dancers again about better pay and shit, she was going to find herself in a world of hurt. The last time I’d lost three of my best girls, along with some of my best-paying clientele. If these cunts wanted health benefits, they were in the wrong place. Let them try to find another job with no skills but big bouncy tits, cocksucking lips, and a damp pussy.

  “What the fuck was she doing out there?” I asked.

  “Don’t know.” He cracked his knuckles again, his mind obviously still on O’Shea. “She was wearing that ratty old robe that looks like shit.”

  “Hmm…” If she hadn’t been dressed, she probably wasn’t stirring shit up, at least not tonight. “Hungry I guess. Did she have food?”

  “Not that I saw.”

  “So did they talk?”

  “A couple words I guess,” Butch said. “She looked flustered, but I didn’t like the way they were looking at each other.”

  “And how was that?”

  “All cow-eyed and giggly. Made me want to puke.”

  “You’re just jealous,” Archie muttered.

  Butch turned on Archie so fast the smaller man stumbled and fell back against the desk. He cried out and clutched his hand tighter.

  “Shut your goddamned mouth, you fucking junkie piece of shit.”

  “Down, Butch,” I said with a sigh that let them know I was getting bored with their sit. “It’s no secret around here you’ve got a massive hard-on for my little sis. It’s a done deal, you’ll be family. She’ll come around…eventually. You just gotta be patient. Gotta catch that sexy fly with honey, and the way I see it, what you been dishing out ain’t honey.”

  “I try,” Butch said, sulking.

  I’d been watching Butch pant after Hannah for years, even since she sprouted tits at fourteen and started smelling like pussy instead of peanut butter and Kool-Aid. Did I want Butch as a brother-in-law? No fucking way. But I needed someone in the family to keep Hannah under control. There was only so much a brother could do. She needed a firmer hand, and though I never minded a bit of violence, I’d promised my dead mother I’d never hurt her little girl. A promise was a promise.

  Archie whimpered. “Damn, Richie, can I get this hand looked at? I can’t feel my fingers anymore.”

  “Then why are you whining so much, you cunt?” Butch snarled.

  “Shut up,” Archie whispered.

  “Boys, boys, I’m starting to feel like a referee here, and that isn’t a good look for me. Hate stripes.” I adjusted my plain red tie.

  “Let me follow him now and put him out of our misery.” There he was. Finally. Butch, the pit bull with a bone.

  I waved my hand, holding on to my patience by a thread. “Not tonight. I wanna see where this leads.”

  “It’s leading to disaster,” Butch said. “I can smell it.”

  “What you smell is the stench of your own envy, Butchie boy.”

  Butch narrowed his eyes, seething. I really shouldn’t goad him, but these two were wearing on my temper. Trying to look like I didn’t give a fuck about this new guy had given me a migraine. It pulsed just beneath the skin on my temple and threatened to erupt full force. What I wanted was my bottle of scotch and some hot, wet pussy. Maybe Jacklyn. I could bury my face in her plump cunt and inhale. The scent of pussy always calmed my nerves.

  “I don’t like him,” Butch said.

  “I got that,” I said. “Noted. In bright red crayon. Now get the fuck out of here before I decide I need different lackeys.”

  They skedaddled after that. They knew when they’d pushed the final button and I was ready to blow.

  I yanked the bottle out of my drawer and drank right from the bottle.

  Goddamn, my head hurt. Hannah better not become a problem. I’d loved my mother for the short time I had her and wanted to keep my word, but that girl could only push me so far. I had a business and reputation at stake, and no one—not even a little sis—was going to bring me down.

  Chapter Six: Danny

  I’d met a lot of dicks in my life, but Richie Silvestri took the prize. Just being in the same room with him made me feel dirty and tainted, and I’d spent a lot of time in the company of junkies, gangbangers, and whores. I think part of my distaste came from the fact that Richie Silvestri wasn’t stupid.

  So many of the people I’d come across in this line of work had never had any opportunity to rise above the station of their birth due to either circumstances, poverty, or actual stupidity. Richie had come from money—his family owned several legitimate businesses in Chicago and the Midwest—had political clout, and had educational opportunities up the ass. Still he’d chosen to be part of the problem instead of the solution.

  I, however, was part of the solution, and I had a score to settle. I was tired of the drugs polluting young minds, the gangbangers ruining the lives of decent citizens, the men who thought they were above the law and no one could touch them. I was the law in this city, and I was determined to make it safe for my neighbors and friends. To do that, I’d decided to play a game—think like them, act like them, become them. When I looked in the mirror, I sometimes cringed because I was in so deep now that I often saw my worst nightmare.

  But then, something would happen to make it worthwhile. I’d manage to get a junkie to rehab. I’d find a young kid on the street and get him into a sports program. I’d help a young mother find a job that didn’t involve stripping or prostituting herself. Those days were good days.

  But today… today had been exceptional. I’d turned around and seen a glimpse of beauty, a flash of sunshine in my drab, dreary, pain-filled world.

  Hannah Silvestri.

  Raven hair, light blue eyes, dark olive skin that shone with health, and a rockin’ body, even in that ratty old bathrobe. I saw a glimpse of her cleavage when her robe dipped, and my cock ached to squeeze between those tits and pump away until I spilled cum into the deep valley.

  But I was getting ahead of myself. I thought I’d made an impression, but hopefully I’d get a chance to get up close and personal with Miss Hannah and see what happened between us. Was it smart? Hell no. Richie would blow a gasket, as all Italian brothers would, and that Frankenstein monster Richie kept a leash on—Butch Collette—would probably be up my ass in a heartbeat. Before I made it back to the club, I did a quick glance behind me, hoping for another glimpse of Hannah, only to find that behemoth staring at her like a free buffet. So, no, the last thing I should do, for my health, sanity, or survival, was put the moves on Hannah.

  But I was playing a role, and in my view, Danny O’Shea was the sort of man who might hit on the most beautiful girl in the joint, no matter the consequences. Boss’s sister or not, Hannah would be that girl. There was no doubt about that. Plus, I wanted her.

  That little giggle in the hall
way had done something to me, brought me back, for a split second, to reality in which pretty girls were happy, filled with hope. My cock had perked up, eager and willing to add to that sense of happiness and bring that girl to a world of delights she had never known, a festival of carnal pleasures.

  Was she happy? No clue. Did I care? I wasn’t sure yet. I was pretty good at determining the worth of a person right off the bat. Few surprised me, but I hadn’t spoken enough words with Hannah to know for sure how she led her life or whether it made her happy. I hadn’t seen despair in Hannah’s eyes, so I had no idea how good or bad her life was, but exploration was in the cards. If she wanted some attention, I was more than willing to toss some in her direction.

  I got back in my car to head to my undercover shithole a couple miles away. When I was in deep, I kept as far away from my real life as possible. I pulled my burner phone from my pocket. It was pretty damn late, but I needed to check in.

  My commander answered on the first ring.

  “Domino’s,” he said with a sleepy tone. “May I take your order?”

  “I’m in,” I said.

  “Good,” he said. “Keep me posted.”

  There was no need for chit chat. The message had been relayed. I hung up and made another call to my dad. Pops would want to know how the evening had gone.

  When I heard him pick up the phone, I pulled out into the street.

  “Hey, Pops. I’m in.”

  “Good, Danny. That’s great. I knew that idea would work.”

  “Yeah, thanks. Stan came through like gangbusters.”

  “Stan was a good cop. One of the best under my command.”

  “You shouldn’t have retired, Pops. We could have taken Silvestri down together.”

  “I’ve had enough dirt on my hands to last a lifetime. Gotta keep my hands clean now for the grandkids. Got one on every branch of the tree but yours.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I sing-songed. “You’re starting to sound like Ma.”

  Both of us fell silent for a minute. My mother had been dead only six months, and every mention of her still caught us off guard. For a split second, the pain was so intense at the mention of her name that neither of us could breathe.

  I stopped at a red light, trying to find any words to say to make this better. The quiet between us was palpable, painful.

  “Damn,” Pops said finally. “I miss her.”

  “I know,” I murmured. “Me too. Sorry I brought it up.”

  “No, never apologize,” he said suddenly, firmly. “We need to bring her up. We need the grandkids to see her as we saw her. The most beautiful, brave, loving goddamned woman in the universe.”

  “She was.” My words were quiet, barely there. Pops was quiet again as I traveled down three blocks of flashing neon and corners filled with losers. I’d finally reached my street and was able to find a parking space only because the tenements on this street held very few licensed drivers and even fewer people with cars.

  “Danny…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Be careful, son.” It was Thomas Dutton giving me a direct order, both as my former commander and my dad.

  “Always, Pops.”

  “And check in.”

  “I know the drill. Tell everyone hi, and tell Moira I’m sorry I missed her birthday. I got her that pony set she wanted though. I left it in my hall closet, wrapped in pink, so you’ll do that for me?”

  “Consider it done. Night, Danny.”

  “Night, Pops.”

  I hung up the phone, got out of the car, and left it unlocked. There was nothing of value in it, save some change in the cup holder, and it kept scavengers from breaking my window to find out. I glanced at my fourth-floor window.

  “Home crap home.”

  I used my key on each of the front door’s four separate locks and let myself in, trudging up the stairs, avoiding fast food wrapper, used needles, and a couple of people passed out on the landings.

  My apartment smelled like piss and old farts. I wouldn’t have dropped my worst enemy into it, even with a gas mask. I opened the window to let in the lovely aroma of car exhaust and greasy fried food. It was the best alternative I had. The furniture looked like it might have been new in the early fifties, not that nice retro furniture you saw in high-end thrift shops but the kind that had literally been picked out of an old dump.

  I dropped my clothes where I stood, did my business in the bathroom, and then fell onto the stained messy mattress. I’d covered it with sheets I got at the used store down the street because it was good for my rep to be seen poking around the neighborhood shops. The musty smell wafting up from the sheets was probably better than that of the mattress, but not by much.

  The clock on the nicked nightstand read 1:30 AM.

  I had to be at Pussy Whipped in a bit over ten hours.

  Plenty of time for a good night’s sleep in my craptastic studio apartment in the ass-end of Chicago.

  Good night, Danny O’Shea, you dirty Irish bastard.

  Chapter Seven: Hannah

  I couldn’t help it. I looked at the clock again. 1:30 AM. Man, it sucked to be me. I had an eight-to-six shift tomorrow, and I had Butch coming to the apartment at seven thirty. Chances are, after what he’d seen on the stairs, he was not going to be happy. Did I care? Not really. But would I pay the consequences for his displeasure? Probably. That I did care about.

  Still, I wouldn’t have traded that experience for anything. I could still feel the pressure and heat of those lips on my hand, sense that little tingle that had traveled up my spine, and that clenching of my pussy could not be forgotten so easily either. I hadn’t felt that in a long while. I wasn’t a virgin by any stretch, and I’d certainly slept around enough, but I was cautious about who I slept with because Richie kept his eyes on me, and dating the right man was important. He couldn’t be trash, and yet he couldn’t be too rich, powerful, or influential in the town. He had to be “good enough” without being competition.

  I had to date a pure Goldilocks. Someone with a decent, stable job, but no money. Someone who was reasonably smart, but had no degree or ambition. Someone who wasn’t ugly—it wouldn’t do to create ugly children—but couldn’t be better looking than my freaking brother. Basically, I had to date Johnny Middle-of-the-Road when it came to any aspect of his life. You’d think average men were a dime a dozen, but believe me, when it came down to finding a decent “average man,” it was a lot harder than it sounded.

  Danny O’Shea. I couldn’t count him as average. He was too good looking. He seemed to have a sense of humor. He might even be smart. I guess we’d find out how fast he learned during training, not that any moron couldn’t be a bouncer because Butch was proof of that. You needed muscle and a set of eyes. Brains optional.

  I closed my eyes. I wanted to sleep, but thoughts of Danny kept intruding in the darkness. Those deep eyes had stared into mine with an intensity that made my breath quicken. The promise in those eyes caused me to sigh now and arch my body with a moan. I clenched my pussy muscles because I could practically feel his tongue on my clit, flicking and tapping against the taut bud and dipping down into my leaking cunt. How would he make me come after he’d teased and stroked and licked? Would he suck on my clit, or would he spear my pussy with his tongue? Would he scrape his teeth across my tender flesh, or would he stroke me from ass to cunt to clit?

  I wanted to find out. In the meantime, all I had was my own hand.

  I slipped my hand into my panties and very gently stroked my finger over the swelling bud. It tightened up beneath my touch, and my body gave a little jerk. After a few soft circles, I dipped below to stick my finger into my pussy. I was wet, the juices hot and dripping already. The mere thought of what Danny might do to me had turned me on so much that I knew I could come within moments.

  I jammed my finger deeper, curling my finger and stroking, searching for my G-spot. When I found it, I pressed and began to pump my fingers. But I wanted to come hard. I wished I had someone to roll
my nipples, to pull on them and twist, but I needed my other hand for my clit. As I continued to rub my G-spot, I rubbed my clit, gently at first and then harder and faster, over and over, until my breath stuttered in my chest and my back arched. My entire body shuddered as huge swells of pleasure rolled out from my clit and bright spikes of sensation crested through me. My pussy spasmed, once, twice, three times, then pulsed against my fingers. My clit burned and ached and throbbed as I kept rubbing, circling and circling until my body stopped trembling. I gasped as all the tension in my body simply released in a huge wave, like an atomic blast finally running out of energy and leaving a wake of destruction in its path.

  In my case, though, the wake of destruction was simply a sense of completion, of having had every ounce of energy torn from my body, leaving me limp, useless, incapable of doing anything but turning over and closing my eyes.

  My heartbeat slowed down as my breathing returned to normal.

  No one had ever given me a better orgasm than I gave myself. It was both a delight and a curse. A delight for me because I was never unsatisfied, but a curse to any man I dated because I never needed a man to come.

  I thought again of Danny O’Shea. He looked like a man who might give me a run for my money. If I could find a man who made me come harder or gave me more pleasure than I could give myself, that man would own my heart forever.

  Average my ass. I wanted exceptional.

  * * * *

  A bit of morning sun filtered through the haze, indicating another blistering Chicago dawn and brutal day. The heat index threatened to be over 100 today, just a shade hotter than the grueling morning we’d had the day before. Despite having the windows open and a fan blowing across my bed, a sheen of sweat covered every inch of my body, and my teddy was plastered to my skin. I could have slept naked, but even with all the locks on my door, I never felt comfortable enough to do that. With the kinds of men who came to the club each night—not to mention Butch—I was reluctant to add to my vulnerability. The baseball bat I kept under my pillows was a deterrent, but some men couldn’t be deterred when they’d already hit rock bottom.