Chapter 5

FIVE

What the actual fuck Raiden—Sally—whoever the fuck I am right now.

Shaking my head, I internally scold myself. That was too close. Not to mention pathetic. Numbnuts is gone for not even a full five seconds and here I am practically giving his brother a handy through his pants like it’s my job. I pinch my eyes shut as I refocus my thoughts, trying to remind myself why I’m here. Pretending I’m into Brett with his dry as sand personality and mediocre dick is part of my job. Colson has nothing to do with it. Unfortunately.

Pulling myself from my internal spiraling, I force my gaze down to where Brett’s five o’clock shadow is scratching at the side of my face. “That was weird,” Brett breathes as he trails dull kisses onto my cheek, not igniting any emotion within me whatsoever.

No shit, Sherlock.

“Ready for dessert?” His question sends a jolt of disgust to my gut as he starts to kiss down my neck. “Daddy wants you,” he adds, which usually would make me gag but now, with the view of his brother’s broad shoulders slipping from my view, stirs a different reaction within me. Suddenly the lackluster pecks pressing into my flesh send a misplaced fire to my core.

Heat spreads across my cheeks as I fantasize about how it would feel to call Colson Cromwell, the fine as hell, easily aggravated, most unchill stoner I’ve ever met, daddy – or papi–, instead of his douchebag brother. It’d roll right off my tongue, as would a host of other obscenities I’d like to spill into his ear while riding what I can only imagine is his huge, thick cock, judging from the handful I just helped myself to.

But I can’t. Messing with him –well, more than I already do – would only mess with why I was sent here. Colson is risky. He’s too suspicious of things, and I can tell behind the lust-filled gaze he always shoots my way that he questions my presence in their lives—that he questions me. Cromwells run in tight, rich circles. Everyone knows everyone, and I’m no one in their world.

I still don’t understand why this job is so important to Carmine. Other than mildly alluding to the Cromwell’s trying to take over a section of our distribution area, he’s been very vague. Which makes no sense, because as far as I know, since Carmine has taken over the family business in place of his father, we dominate the city and most of Westchester, Putnam, and Dutchess counties in drug distribution. The only thing I can think of – when I started snooping more into the Cromwell’s – is a couple years back, Alistair Cromwell made Carmine an offer to buy the warehouse we use outside of the city. Since the warehouse is where we store our extra product and use the incinerator for some of our pesky clients, Carmine declined. But other than that, these Cromwell men just seem like stuck up trust fund boys. Fun to fuck with but that’s about it.

“Fuck, you’re such a little minx,” Brett groans, pulling me from my internal thoughts as he sloppily flicks his tongue at my neck. Confused as to what he’s talking about, I look down between my legs. I nearly have a heart attack when I see my garter exposed––syringe, knife, and all––as he casts my dress aside so he can dip into my arousal. “You’re so fucking wet for me,” he rasps.

Wet? Yes. For you? No.

Taking a step forward, I quickly shift my dress back in place. “I think you’ve had enough of this,” I say through a forced smile as I reach for his glass and place it back down on the table. Thankfully, he doesn’t put up a fight, but I’m still dreading what I know will come next. Still, I’d rather get this moving because the quicker I oblige his nightly vanilla needs, the quicker I can jab him with the sedative tucked in my garter and get to work.

I peer down at my watch, looking at the time. Carmine will be expecting an update from me soon, so I need to move this along. “Ready to go upstairs?” I suggest.

He doesn’t answer. His breath reeks of the booze he’s been slugging and whatever cigar he smoked earlier. Again, fighting the urge to gag or even punch this man for simply existing, I put on my fake charm and do what kills me inside––grin and bear it.

Brett lowers his calloused palm for me to latch onto. Just as I’m about to oblige him by bringing my hand to his, he reaches for my hair. My stomach turns, hoping my wig survives the way he’s yanking at the loose tendrils of fake blonde hair that have fallen past where the rest lay in place behind my shoulder.

I hold my breath as he twirls the hair around his finger. “I’ve been ready, Sally,” he says as he drones on about god knows what, but all I can focus on is him not moving my wig out of place.

“Sally?” Brett repeats, this time as a question.

Swallowing a lump in my throat, I turn my attention back to him. “Yeah, babe?” the singsong tone of my voice nauseates me.

“I was talking to you,” he quips. His voice is low, although not quite the raspy baritone of his brother, but the way he’s speaking to me now, ripe with reprimand, is reminiscent of Colson’s voice, and a part of me likes it.

“Sorry, daddy,” I blurt, shocking not only myself, but Brett as well.

Ew. Why did I call him that? I never call him that.

Hating myself more than I usually do, I force myself to play along. He pulls me in closer to him, pressing his lips at my cleavage. “Fuck, you never call me that,” he groans between kisses.

I know. Don’t remind me.

“You want daddy to feed you dessert, dirty girl?”

Gag. Jesus fucking Christ, what a damn mess.

“Mhm,” I lie, begrudgingly leaning into the hold his mouth has on my tits.

Temptation riddles my veins, making me want to reach for the sedatives I brought with me special for tonight. I need him relaxed and vulnerable with his balls drained so when I jab it into his femoral artery the sedative travels through his body faster. Doing it right now is way too risky. Not to mention that Numbnuts Number Two could reappear at any minute, and something tells me he would use me knocking his brother out—despite their mutual hatred for one another—as ammo to do what he does best: toy with me.

Usually when I come over at night, Colson isn’t home. I assume he’s off fucking who knows what or picking up Brett’s slack at Cromwell Corp. The “business” is all a front. Brett maintains the legit side well, but I’m sure all the unsavory aspects go through Colson. It makes me wonder why Carmine is so focused on just taking Brett down and not the two of them, but I don’t question it. As long as I get to snoop around and kill, I’m satisfied.

“Fuck,” Brett murmurs, his mouth vibrating my cleavage. “What did I do to deserve you?”

Be the son of a corrupt motherfucker who makes the career criminals I work for look like saints, that’s what.

Before I have the opportunity to say something I’d likely regret, he removes himself from my chest and captures my hand in his as he leads the way out of the dining room.

We walk down the long hall in silence, moving toward the grand staircase that leads into the foyer and up to the bedrooms. “Stay right here, babe.”

Fighting the urge to roll my eyes, I respond with a nod.

“I just need to grab something,” he says with a wink, already turning around to head back towards the kitchen.

Brett is a creature of habit. Every night that I’m here, we have dinner together or hang out for a bit, all while he throws back copious amounts of bourbon or whiskey or any liquor really. Which always leads to him wanting to take me upstairs so he can lick whipped cream off my tits before I suck him off or we fuck. I love a little food play once in a while, but Brett makes even that dull. Unfortunately for him, this routine, predictable as it may be, allows me to slip him a little nighttime medicine. That way he can drift off, and I can get to work and hopefully find where the flash drive is hidden.

Basking in Brett’s absence, I discreetly thread my fingers over the smooth fabric of my dress, feeling for the knife and syringe I keep in my garter. My fingers curl around the concealed edges of both weapons, double checking that they’re secured in place and didn’t shift during my little encounter with Colson back in the dining room. Or when Brett slid his hand between my legs thinking my wetness was because of him.

My hand drops, settling my dress back in place when the phone in my bra vibrates against my chest. Making sure Brett’s still out of view, I retrieve it.

Carmine: Library.

Me: Wow, Carmie. You didn’t strike me as much of a reader =P

Carmine: Cut the shit, Sally.

Carmine: It’s in the library

Me: You sure?

A grin plasters itself on my face seeing the image Carmine sends in response. There in front of my eyes is Alistair Cromwell’s lifeless body on a slab of concrete, blood coating his face like a fucking mural, with Carmine in view snapping a selfie.

Carmine: I’d say so. Took some convincing but I got it out of him.

Me: Cool, where about in the library?

Carmine: I did my job. Now you do yours.

Carmine: Report back after. I’ll be waiting.

Me: Got it, boss.

Carmine: And shame on you…

Me: ???

Carmine: Of course I read. How do you think I’m so good at pleasing my wife?

Me: Ewww. Gross. Did not need to know that.

Carmine: S. Schelectro is my favorite author

Me: She’s your wife, of course she’s your favorite.

Carmine: Talent is talent…even if I sleep with it =)

Me: GAG.

Carmine: Get to work

Me: It’ll be my pleasure. *eggplant emoji*

Carmine: Ewww. Gross. Do what you gotta do but make it fast.

Me: He always is. I’ll report back soon.

Tucking my phone back into my bra, I decide to relax a bit and mentally prepare myself for tonight’s task, all while enjoying the last few moments of not being in Brett’s grating presence. Moving toward the bottom of the grand staircase, I swoop the flowing train of my dress into my palm, gathering it to sit down. Adjusting it, I peer up at the shadow in the foyer window.

Heat simmers in my veins, bringing with it a prickling sensation that attaches itself to my spine as a plume of smoke swirls around Colson’s frame. The strong, earthy scent of weed trickles past the sealed windows, making me want nothing more than to steal a hit from the blunt he has pinched between his lips.

All my hungry eyes can do is slowly take in every inch of his tall figure, fantasizing about what lies under those black dress pants that hug the muscles of his thighs—not to mention whatever he’s packing between his legs. Ah, I hate how even a simple all-black button up that barely reveals the sea of ink I know is underneath makes him look fucking edible.

The piercing in my tongue dances behind my lips as I watch the way his large, veiny hand rises to his mouth. His inked fingers crawl to the edge of the brown paper that nears his lips. I get lost in the way his scruffy cheeks hollow, sucking in a harsh rip from the dwindling roach as his eyes slide closed. Drool pools at the corners of my lips as I fantasize about what those strong hands and that foul mouth of his could do to me, wishing they would do everything Brett doesn’t…or can’t. I’m no stranger to weed. Hell, I usually join in. But this…this stupid motherfucker turns me on just from the simple act of watching him get high? Pathetic.

Wisps of smoke gather around him, momentarily blocking my view. Like a fucking idiot, I inch closer for a better look, enchanted by this pendejo outside. So enchanted, in fact, that I forget the bottom of my dress is a tad too long for me even with heels on. Another scoot forward, and the delicate silk snags on the edge of my shoe as I lose my balance and fall.

Heat rushes to my cheeks. Even with the distance and glass between us, I can feel him staring. My skin crawls from top to bottom, every inch tingling under his dark, steely stare.

I swallow thickly, preparing to meet his eyes. But to my horror, when I come out of this momentary daydream, the lace of my garter is peeking out from beneath my dress...again. I need to pull it together. Reality slaps me in the face, showing me that all this work I’ve done could be ruined, all because I can’t stop thinking with my pussy.

My pulse drums in my ears as I rise to my feet. Everything feels like it’s happening in slow motion as I readjust my dress. I hesitate, suddenly unsure if I should look up at him or make a beeline for the kitchen and distract myself with Brett’s ever-unpleasant presence. But a decision has been made for me. Colson is standing on the other side of the window, looking angrier than I have ever seen him before.

Mouth falling agape, my motionless body remains frozen, watching him lower all but his middle finger inward. I squint in confusion as he drags his extended middle finger down the pad of his tongue.

Whatever he’s doing, it isn’t helping to soothe the growing ache in my center. Still, I can’t look away. I don’t want to. He’s a train wreck waiting to happen, and I am the conductor who will willingly sacrifice herself in a crash just so I can experience his chaos, consequences be damned.

Again…pathetic. So damn pathetic how these immature games we play are more addicting than any drug I’ve ever had. And as he steps closer to the window that separates us, parting his lips to blow a gust of warm air onto the glass, I don’t think he can stop either.

Condensation collects on the window, providing him with a palette to write me a message. A downward stroke followed by two shorter horizontal lines reveal a sloppily written “F,” followed by an even larger “U”. He drops his hand into a dismissive wave before he angles himself in the opposite direction, but he doesn’t move fast enough. I catch a glimpse of the smirk he’s trying so hard to hide.

Flustered, I take a deep inhale, repositioning myself at the stairs so my back is now facing the window. Brett’s footsteps fill the grand foyer moments later, forcing me back into the role I’ve had to play.

“Sorry that took so long,” he slurs, with what looks like a freshly poured bourbon along with the canister of whipped cream in hand. “Thought this would go good with our dessert,” he winks.

It takes everything in my power to stop looking at Colson. He’s so fucking pretty to stare at. Strong and sexy, yes, but objectively so damn pretty. Especially when he gets mad, like he is now, it oddly suits him, only adding to his allure.

Brett presses a kiss on my cheek, and I take that as my cue to stop thinking about his brother and fall back into girlfriend mode.

“I like how you’re thinking,” I lie. Running my hand up his tie, I reach for the knot and yank it downward, positioning myself at his ear and biting down on his lobe, kneading it with my teeth. I’ll admit I’m a little too harsh, but I make sure to act like I enjoy it, for Colson’s sake, since I can still see him through my periphery staring like a creep.

“Come on baby,” I hum, lowering my hand to his hardening cock. A moan slips from his lips as my hand rubs him over his pants like I did to his brother not too long ago. “This dick isn’t going to suck itself,” I whimper, angling myself so Colson is no longer in my periphery but looking right at me.

Brett takes my hand in his as he leads the way up the stairs. Hunger stirs within me with each step we take, as I play out how I will time sucking Brett off and then injecting him with the sedative. I don’t think I’ve ever been this excited to suck a dick before. Probably because it won’t be Brett’s dick I’ll be thinking about. It’ll be Colson’s.