Chapter 23

TWENTY-THREE

“Do either of you know what happens when you are stopped at a crossroad?”

Great another riddle.

“Well, I’ll tell you, and no Ms. Ramos, this story doesn’t end in choosing the route that will get your pussy licked or teased to oblivion,” the woman continues, crass and blunt as ever. “You see, when you are rendered motionless, faced with two options, neither of which you know the outcome for, a decision must be made. Often that decision is done with the best intentions, but that’s the thing with intentions. They don’t always work out.”

A welcomed pause occurs. No more riddles. No more tidbits of information being thrown at us that we need to decipher. Silence sweeps over us as the masked woman sharpens the document being projected.

“I, Victor Ramos, promise my daughter, Raiden Gabriella Ramos, to Colson Gregor Demonio, in order to form an alliance between the Ramos and Demonio families, in retaliation against the Moretti organization for their allegiance to Alistair Cromwell.”

I mouth the words, allowing the document in front of me to fully register, since it didn’t when it was presented to us in the box from before.

“This arrangement was made with the best of intentions. However, neither of your fathers were aware of the level of corruption they were up against. You see, Colson, the man who raised you as his own, didn’t do it out of love or the kindness of his own heart. He always knew you weren’t his, and he was willing to accept that. But what he was not willing to accept was your mom leaving him for his brother. Well, stepbrother technically but it was still a blow to the old ego and lord knows it didn’t take much to bruise that fuckers fragile ego. Gregor knew all of Alistair’s secrets. How he used to take advantage of women at his elite parties in the basement. How he was a predator who had connections with law enforcement that forever turned a blind eye.”

“Wait a fucking second. Stepbrother?” Colson croaks out in anger, which I know is masking the utter betrayal he must be feeling right now.

“Correct. Your grandfather adopted Gregor when he married your grandmother. Though Gregor never felt or was treated like a Cromwell, so he emancipated himself once he turned eighteen, changing his last name back to Demonio, his biological father’s last name. Knowing that it’d piss off your grandfather since Gregor’s biological father was the one who exposed the Cromwell’s for who they truly are,” the woman reveals in yet another mindfuck.

“Which is?” I ask, figuring I’ll help Colson out a bit since he’s breathing so loud, it sounds like his lungs are going to burst.

“Scum of the earth. See, Pastor Alistair Cromwell, Sr., the man who was so devoted to god that he found a biblical loophole to justify his ritual of taking advantage of those he deemed ‘sinners.’ It’s how Alistair Jr. got the idea to carry on the sick tradition at his basement parties. Gregor was the fallen angel of the family. He saw the evil that lingered within the bloodline he was forced into and the hypocrisy that ensued, and he cast himself out of the Cromwell fortune. Except there was one problem,” the woman pauses, creating an obnoxious cliffhanger.

“Do tell us,” I huff, wanting to get this over with.

“For whatever reason, Alistair Cromwell, the man who raised you, left you in the will. Maybe it was guilt, or maybe it was a fuck-you to his brother, so you would go on in your life never knowing the truth. And then, here’s where it gets really fun.” Another dramatic pause.

The projector is no longer blank. Grainy footage plays in slow motion as Brett Cromwell hands a wad of cash to a tall man dressed in a hoodie and plain blue jeans. The man’s back is turned as he takes the money and stows it inside his sweatshirt.

Pausing the video, the woman speaks again. “Now, getting back to the audio I played for you both before. Brett over here, accidentally stumbled upon this snag in the family tree, and once he was faced with the reality that he would have to share the money with his bastard brother, well, douchebag over here was not having that. Which is why he hired this man.”

The footage resumes, still faced with the man’s backside. It isn’t until he turns around that I feel the color drain from my face.

It’s Carmine.

“No,” I gasp, slamming my palms to my mouth, nausea rattling me.

“That’s right, Ms. Ramos. Brett Cromwell, in a last-ditch effort to maintain some semblance of his reputation–and fortune–tried to bribe your cousin with an absurd amount of money to have both you and Colson killed. Offering him the alliance that was supposed to be formed between Demonio and Ramos. Except no Demonio or Ramos would be alive to see it.”

A shriek breaks my lips, adding to the tension in the air, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the strident, hoarse roar sounding deep in Colson’s throat. His inked fist pounds against the glass, one violent thrust after the other. “I’m going to fucking kill you!” Colson’s threats appear to do little to Brett, whose swollen and battered face still manages to smile at Colson’s molten rage.

“It’s okay,” the woman motions with her hands for Colson to settle, but he’s wound up more than I’ve ever seen him.

“Carmine cannot be bought,” she states, and I know deep in my heart, she’s right.

“But he took the money that this fucking piece of shit gave him!” Colson pounds again on the glass.

“True, but who wouldn’t take a large lump sum from a desperate jackass they’re planning on taking down anyway? It’s a win-win situation. Get said jackass’s money,” she stops to point at Brett’s bound body. He’s fighting that gag so hard. “And then do what needs to be done next. Exterminate the problem,” she seals her sentiment with a cackle, but it still doesn’t do a damn thing to calm Colson down.

I move to Colson’s side, instinctively running my hand down his broad back. His temper doesn’t settle at my touch. If anything, I can feel his pulse skyrocket.

The woman charges over to where Brett is seated, still bound. She raises her gloved hand to him, smacking the bloodied flesh of his cheek. “Contéstale,” she demands, lifting her hand for a second before smacking him again. Blood and drool slip from his mouth as he slowly parts his lips to respond. “I don’t know what the fuck you said, you crazy bitch,” he spits. Bad move, because the slaps to the face she gave him are nothing compared to the pain he must be feeling as she drives a forceful kick to his balls.

As Brett moans in pain, I address him, keeping my hand propped up on his brother. “She told you to answer her.”

“The fuck,” he stops, fighting back crocodile tears. “Just kill me already,” he breaks, pitifully.

As much as I want nothing more than for him to croak, it feels too easy. This prick before us deserves to rot, certainly, but not before he endures just a sliver of the torture he’s inflicted on others.

“So, Brett, how does it feel to know that your plan backfired? That all your scheming literally did nothing but bite you in the ass?” I seal my taunt with a shrill laugh, but he doesn’t respond, he just cries even more.

My lips part as my imagination runs wild trying to catch up with my mouth so I can unleash a host of cruel taunts against him, but Colson stops me.

“I’m not surprised. You always were a sore loser, you’ve always seen me as a threat instead of a brother,” Colson begins, and I can sense a shift in him. “Thing is, I let you win half the time, so I didn’t have to deal with how whiny and miserable you were. I let you be you, just so I could have some peace. But that wasn’t good enough for you, was it?” His question is rhetorical, as his raspy baritone continues with added vigor to it. “I can accept that you hate me. I can even understand why you wanted me dead. You’re weak, of course you did. But newsflash, asshole, I don’t care about the money, the power, or my fucking life. Want to know what I do care about?” he asks another rhetorical question. “Well, I’ll fucking tell you.” He pauses. Pivoting toward me, he closes the menial space between us. Reaching for my chin, he captures it in his suddenly possessive grip. “I care about watching you suffer,” he says to Brett, but his eyes are on me. “I care about watching your ego burst into a million little pathetic pieces while you watch, helplessly, as the two people you wanted dead more than anything fuck right in front of you, enjoying every second of it, knowing that once my cum is coating her pussy,” he stops to turn his head to look at a whimpering Brett. “Excuse me, my pussy,” he corrects himself, lowering his hand to cup my center, “we are going to gift you with a brutal, prolonged, and agonizing send-off to where you belong…in the fucking ground.” He spits at the ground, looking at his pitiful brother, and I’ve never been so fucking turned on in my life from his possessive declaration.

Anger suddenly paints Brett’s already crimson face, but he’s not looking at me, he’s looking at his brother. “Of course, that’s the part that has you upset. Not the part about mom cheating with an enemy of our family or that she betrayed the man that raised you, you ungrateful fuck. It’s that I was going to have that piece of pussy killed. You two deserve each other,” he spits.

“Don’t you fucking talk about her like that,” Colson seethes, pressing his calloused palm harshly against mine.

“Ha, which one, your whore mother or the whore that won’t let you get past hand holding? You’re pathetic, Colson. You don’t deserve the Cromwell name.”

Colson’s lips part, but I don’t give him the opportunity to speak before I yank him to me. Without hesitation, our lips crash and find a home in one another. In an instant, I feel the torment swarming every inch of Colson’s body melt, directing that anger, angst, and betrayal to me, where it belongs, instead of fighting a pointless battle with his brother.

I’m faintly aware of Brett saying something, but neither of us turn our heads. All we can focus on is our lips dancing together. My mouth falls open just enough for his tongue to dart in. Finding my barbell piercing, his gentle kiss shifts as he pulls at my tongue, sucking it into his mouth.

Heat pools at my center. I’ve never been so aroused by a simple kiss, but just as I’m about to lose myself in it, he pulls away, releasing me.

He presses his forehead against mine, reminding me of how much bigger he is than me. He towers over me.

“I’m not going to let him get away with this,” he breathes before pressing an unexpectedly gentle kiss on my forehead that sends a violent throb to my clit. Stepping away, I bring my hand to his stubbled jawline, tipping his head so his gray eyes lock with mine.

“I know, but not right now,” I grin, squeezing his beautiful fucking face so my nails dig into his skin. “Fuck first, kill after.”

A primal grunt escapes his lips, which is enough to make me want to come right here and now. But I won’t, not until his lips or cock are in place to capture my release.

“I love how bold you are,” he hums.

“Says the man who just said he owns my pussy that he’s going to coat in his cum.”

“I do,” he breathes, running his thumb at my lips, keeping me close to him.

“Colson, please. That arrangement is just a piece of paper, get a grip,” I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the butterflies he’s giving me making me uncharacteristically giddy.

His finger brushes my chin. “No, Raiden, I do own that pussy of yours. I’ve owned it since the first day we saw each other, and you know it.”

“How can you own it if you haven’t properly fucked me yet?” I point out, trying to not pant.

Leaning into my lips, he hovers over them. “Is that what you want? For me to fuck, you? Claim you? Prove to you that you are mine?” he asks with a swoon-worthy level of cockiness that suits him.

I shake my head, pulling him closer. It’s not lost on me how crazy this is, how we’re literally prolonging our escape–and his brother’s death–just so we can fuck, but this release, this moment we’ve been tip-toeing around for far too long, is worth it.

There are so many unanswered questions swirling in my head. But the one thing I do know is that we were predestined to each other. Not by paper, or even circumstance but by fate. Because without knowing what our father’s planned for us, we still gravitated to one another.

Our mouths teasing each other, I dart out my tongue, showing off the surgical steel bar. I flick my tongue against his lip. “Yes,” I whisper. I’ve wanted nothing more than to submit to him, so I can finally lose myself in someone and something other than what I’m forced to always be…in control.

Slowly, Colson steps back, creating space between us. “I’m warning you,” he breathes, continuing to grab the chair in the corner of the room. “Once I fuck you, it’s over.” His voice trails off as the chair’s legs grate against the floor.

Lip between my teeth, I chomp on the plump flesh, mulling over his words. “What will be over?”

He doesn’t respond as he centers the chair in the middle of the room, angling it so it’s well within Brett’s view. I glance over at the glass, and the masked woman is no longer there, but Brett is. As he sits there with the gag back in his mouth, I can tell from his bulging eyes that he’s dreading what’s about to unfold before him. Not because he gives a fuck about me–I mean nothing to him. But his brother? He’s a threat to his ego. And to witness Colson fucking what used to be his, well, that’s enough for the poor fucker to combust.

“You wasting your time pretending that you don’t want to have me take care of you like you deserve. Like I want to. There isn’t a part of you that I don’t want to be tortured by or consumed by. I want every inch of you, even if it kills me,” he professes, bold and unapologetically truthful.

“You sure about that?” I playfully ask, even though my heart is fluttering at how he can simultaneously be so sexy and adorable all at once.

“Yes,” he rasps, without hesitation. “Tell me you want me,” he demands, voice smooth yet commanding.

“I want you,” I breathe, excitement inflating my lungs, my heartbeat a violent thud.

“Good. Now, show me how much you want me,” he challenges.

“So much,” I wave my head back and forth teasingly, but his stoic expression is unwavering. Shimmying the lace of my panties down my thighs and past my knees, I lift my leg to free myself of them, baring my wet and ready pussy to him. Colson’s eyes focus on my center, and a hunger like I’ve never seen before erupts from his face. I go to walk closer to him, but he lifts his hand, signaling for me to stop. My eyes roll. He can’t be doing this now.

He clicks his tongue, unimpressed. Clearly my playful retort isn’t good enough.

“I said to show me how much you want me,” he repeats, this time a command.

I scoff out of desperation for him to shut up and fuck me already.

“Of course, even now, my beautiful little liar insists on being stubborn. But I can be stubborn too, especially if it involves getting something I want.”

He grins in silence, pointing to the floor. “If you want to be mine, you’re going to have to crawl for it.”