Would I be this way if Iris were here?
No, we’d be fucking our way around the globe while I spoiled her to brat-status. Just throw a diamond crown on her head that says, “Sal’s Lil Princess.”
Fuck.
I glance down as the thoughts of Iris rushed all the blood from one head to the other.
Not now, you dirty slut.
After rubbing my eyes, I run my fingers through my hair as the door swings open. Emily is in a short black dress looking hotter than sin as Daisy chases in after her. “I’m sorry, Mr. Raniero, I told her you didn’t want to be disturbed.”
“It’s alright, Daisy.”
Emily cuts her a glare. “You can refrain from calling me her again.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Humored by Emily’s assertions, I flick an eyebrow up as a humbled Daisy hastily exits. “What brings my lovely fiancée here?” I give a sexy smirk.
She is walking…wait, no…she is slowly sashaying her way towards me and undoing the dress. When the fabric falls to the floor, my eyes are met with the most delicious of packages—red lace with straps and silvers clasps—a bit of Victorian bondage wear. With a spin, she says, “Do you like it?”
Jesus. Fuck. Ya.
“It’s very nice…why?”
“Invest in it.”
I furrow my brow as a puzzled look comes on. “What do you want me to invest in?”
“High quality bondage wear that is made to actually fit,” she informs, drawing an hourglass with her hands over her curves. “Real women.”
“You do realize you are a size four….”
“Sometimes, a two,” she corrects as I interrupt her business spiel. Her hands wave around as she gets flustered and scolds, “Hush!”
“Who owns it?”
“No one yet,” she says, grinning. “One of the artists, Maka Overim, at the gallery designs lingerie on the side, I asked her to make me something.”
“… You’re serious?”
“Very,” she seductively grins, dropping to her knees and crawling towards me. “I just need a bit of money.”
“… A bit?”
“… Half a million?” She tosses out the number with no concept of how much this would actually be. I can tell by the whimsical uncertainty dancing in her blue moons.
“Where are you going to sell these… scanty flesh containers?”
“Maka has orders, but not the capacity or means to fill them.”
“She needs capital…”
“And a warehouse,” she says with a bite to her lip as she kneels beside me. “She isn’t opposed to moving and I told her,” she eases, bringing her hand to undo my belt and using every bit of her magic womanly charms on me. “I happened to know a guy who has some empty warehouses.”
She slips her fingers into my trousers and caresses the hot, hard flesh of my shaft. I grin at her performance as I lap up the attention. I have to give the girl an A for effort. “Warehouses?”
“Mhmm.” She beams a bubbly wide smile, but keeps her grin shielded by those perfectly kissable red lips. It’s a common thing with Em; she gets so excited she can’t show her teeth. “So, Mr. Raniero, won’t you consider investing?”
The head of my cock is out and between us. “Miss Granger, you have a helluva persuasive tactic. I must say, I’m impressed.”
She drops the sex kitten act and says, “You are?”
“Ya,” I mutter, offering her my hand. She straddles over my lap as I closely examine the garment. “She definitely knows how to appeal to men. How do you feel in it?”
“Like a two-bit hussy!” She giggles as her inner quiet girl shows. “But sexy. It feels good.”
“Would you wear it? I mean besides when you’re trying to extort millions from your man.”
“I might,” she says, rubbing her lips together. I latch my fingers into hers and extend our arms as I take in her silhouette.
“How many more outfits do you have?”
“Maka sent every design she has made—all twelve.”
I lean forward and stutter out, “… Twelve?”
I’m not sure I can live through this.
Emily turns the tables on me and unexpectedly asks, “How does it make you feel?”
You really do not want the answer to that question.
She senses my hesitation and encourages, “Say it, Luke.”
“Like I want to bend you over and smack your ass until you beg me to fuck you.”
“So, why don’t you?”
Because you are Baby Emlee—and no matter what you do—I cannot get past that fact.
I cannot let this get out of hand, so I detour our intense innuendos as I let my business smarts override my Dominant. “Draw up a business plan. Let me see it. And we’ll talk about a loan.”
She grinds her sweet lace covered puss against my ridge. “Will there be terms and interest?”
“Yes.”
Her fingers unbutton my shirt and she runs her palms between the inked rosary and the silver chained crucifix. “And what if I don’t repay on time?”
“Then it’s cinder blocks and the sea for you.”
She laughs and my heart melts. Pulling on my belt, she says, “You won’t whip me?”
“No, baby, I won’t whip you,” I reply, noting the hurt in her eyes. “But I will take you to lunch if you put your dress back on.”
“… Sushi?”
“Japanese sounds remarkably tasty.”
We’ve been sitting in the upscale sushi place for hours as I help her with a business plan. “So, she is an artist?”
“Sculptor.”
“And her art doesn’t sell so she sews on the side?” I ask, trying to understand the motivations behind the person.
“Pretty much. We’ve done two shows of hers in the last couple of years and people just don’t buy sculptures for their homes and gardens like they once did. She sells maybe two or three, but it’s barely enough to cover her costs.”
“Do you have pictures?”
She pulls out her phone, finds the folder, and hands it to me. I study the phenomenally detailed pieces. “The problem isn’t her sculptures. It’s where she is selling them.”
“What do you mean?”
“These should be in the south—in Texas, New Mexico, Louisiana, Georgia.”
She crosses her arms on the table and says, “I said the same thing.”
“How old is Maka?”
“Forty-two,” she replies with a smile. “I’ll give you the money for the fetish wear if she’ll agree to open a fully funded gallery for a year in Sugargrove.”
Emily blinks. “Are you serious?”
“Ya,” I say, taking a drink of the chrysanthemum tea. “You can have the old Delirium warehouse in Houston for the mass operation. And if she needs more space, we can talk about moving her into the Banks Arts & Co building. But I have one stipulation, she must be willing to hire the women from Red Crow.”
“The women Amber was working with?”
“Ya.”
“But their home is out in West Texas.”
“That is just a shelter. They need someplace safe to go after there. It’s been a problem for a bit. We need to be able to take them from the shelter and show them they can have a life outside of mistreatment.”
“Holy shit,” she mutters, stunned. “You’re serious.”
“I am.” I wink. “Now, make me proud.”
“… Can I quit my job?”
“We do not need your income if that is what you are asking,” I soothe, stretching my arms across the table to hold her hands. “I don’t mind you working if you enjoy it, but you don’t have to do it. I will take care of you, Em.”
“I want to go help Maka get this whole thing up and running.”
“You’re going to be the CEO of this operation and I would expect no less.”
Her bright smile brings a joy to me that I can only describe as pure love. “I’ll turn in my letter of resignation tomorrow. Thank you, Sir.”
“You don’t have to say that, honey.”
Looking down, she fidgets with my fingers as I stare at the rock on hers. I put that there. She is my responsibility now. “There is one more thing I want to ask, but I feel like I’ve already asked for so much.”
I catch her gaze and she blinks down again, so I gently take my finger to lift under her chin. “Ask.”
“… Can I approach the boys?”
I consider her inquiry with a tilt of my head. “As long as you don’t plan on making the same pitch you gave me.”
Her wide grin blooms like a garden of grace bringing on peace and happiness everywhere she shines. “Nevah!”
27
Sticks Won’t Cushion The Drop
“Let me get this straight,” Cat says, sitting on the bed and looking at one of Maka’s garments, as I pack a bag. “Emily is starting her own kinky lingerie business in Houston?”
“Ya,” I mention, twisting my hat around and counting how many days I’ll be in Texas. “I’m going down there to square away some things.”
She’s holding the sexy dark purple piece of fetish wear like it’s a rare piece of art. “I want to invest.”
Shocked, I peer up to Cat. “… Really?”
“Yes, put me down for…I don’t know…a million or two. Cut me a decent percentage when you get the rest of the investors and let me know how much I’m down for. I don’t want to be low man on the totem pole.”
My eyes drift from side to side. “You want to try one?”
“On?” she questions with an astonished look. “With my brother?”
“No!” I give her a glower. “Hell no!” I playfully banter. “With Deacon!” She rubs the strap of my duffel between her fingers. “What’s wrong?”
“He’s…he’s…he’s seeing someone.”
I blink several times. “He’s what?”
“I messaged him a few times, and he said he has a girlfriend.”
“Who the fuck?”
“I don’t know,” she says, almost on the verge on tears. “But I screwed the pooch on that opportunity. I took too long. I wasn’t ready; he was. And I lost him.”
“Fuck that,” I mumble, turning with fervor to grab my phone off the dresser. “I’m texting him.”
“Sal… Sal… Don’t.”
“I think my submissive lover should be keeping his Dominant informed of who the hell he is sticking his dick in,” I argue, rapidly punching out a text. “I have a right to know.”
“Then you are doing this for you,” she says, glancing awkwardly around the room. “Not me.”
I hit the send on the very direct and to the point message.
“Who are you dating?”
Deacon has been spending less time in Nebraska and more and more time in Texas. I hadn’t considered the reasons were anything other than Reckless Rebellion and Trudy. I feel slightly perturbed and epically betrayed. I’m trembling as I hold the phone and wait for his response.
“I’ve just been dating around. No one specific. Why do you ask?”
I snarl, wanting to say—Why the fuck aren’t you dating Cat?—but instead I reply, “Anyone serious?”
“No.”
What the hell is wrong with my sister?
“Have you talked to Cat?”
“A little. Why?”
Stop with the fucking why’s.
“Just curious.”
The division is real.
And for the first time in a very long time, I’m more lost than ever before.
The reasons for the visit to Texas are far greater than Emily’s business, but I don’t tell anyone because it is none of their concern. I’m meeting Cas in Houston to discuss her options. Kary Vega has consulted in detail concerning the case against Cinco, Cas, Javi Neves, and Juan Neves. He is ready to eliminate them, but I’ve bought them some time by agreeing to scope it out myself.
It is a risky move for me—emotionally—to go to Texas.
I need to know, for The Unholy’s sake and Delarte Cristos, if it is time to burn bridges with Cinco. I need to make sure because even though we don’t like the things they are doing, they are serving as a nice barrier between the rest of the world and Immortal. If we eliminate our shipments with Cinco and Cristos stops backing them, the floodgates will open and no dam will ever purge the spill of demons.
My hatred of Immortal rests solely in the fact that they are the greatest contributor to the human trafficking problem the world over. They buy and sell human stock the way ranchers do cattle. I can overlook the guns and drugs, but I stop being friendly when slavery comes into play. Over fifty percent of their business is in the shipment of human cargo.
I know all of this because of Iris.
And the research I’ve recently done on Immortal.
I don’t think they took her for one reason alone—she is worth way too much—and while that may seem like it’s reason enough to nab her, the exact opposite is true. Kidnapping the Lotus Queen would signal a war breaking out between Immortal and Lotus. At this point in time, I think Lotus would win. Immortal—more specifically, Juarez “Muerte” Herrera, is a smart son-of-a-bitch and Iris isn’t geographically friendly.
Muerte went south, into Central and South America, claiming all the smaller, locally owned cartels to form his army. His growth pattern shoots directly into South Texas and Cinco’s rule. Last we knew, Iris was not only in Guam, but Lotus has branched farther than Immortal. Their franchises are popping up all over the world—North America, Europe, even the Middle East and Africa. On sheer scope and size, Lotus is in the lead despite being spread thinner. Immortal is more consolidated, centering themselves in Mexico, with several strategically placed outposts in other locales.
This is what men like my father, Campanelli, and even Morpheus are going up against. They can pick a side, forming a merger, or be gobbled up. Some of their men will then defect from the gang and some will die.
Cinco is in a bad spot. And there is a part of me—the part where I remember Kaci’s fond reflections over her childhood in South Texas—that feels terrible for them. I want to help , but not with Javi Neves taking the helm. He is no better than Muerte. My biggest fear is Javi bends to Muerte’s will and Immortal takes control over Cinco. If they stop fighting and align, we’re fucked.
The system runs better without the monopoly, which is why Lotus has done so favorably on their expansion efforts. They all funnel back to the source—The Chairman—but the independents are run on their own. And as a criminal business model, it is a thing of beauty, but they have been slowly building—block by block—for over a century. Unlike Immortal who struck it rich with the drug boom in the eighties, everyone wanted coke and they were in the right place at the right time.
What is my goal?
To keep the Lotus Queen standing.
I want out of the racket as soon as possible. The Unholy was never a permanent place, but a dismantling operation to destroy The Four Horsemen. Kaci never planned or left notes for what was supposed to happen if those horsemen evolved. The acts were set in bullet lists—do this, do that, and kill this one—but those former Gods and Kings aren’t as menacing to me as they once were. There was a time the mere mention of Delarte Cristos’ name provoked a deep fear in my soul. I now consider him a friend and an important ally in achieving my goal.
I’ve been waiting for Cas to show for over an hour.
Time is money.
And clearly, she isn’t worth it.
I pay for my tea and leave the restaurant. I call for an Uber and have them drop me off at the nearest Ford dealer. I’m driving to Brownsville and tired of renting a vehicle every damn time I come to Texas. I spot the new baby—a suped up F-250 in midnight blue with customization all around—on display. I buy it on the spot, go change my clothes, and check out of the hotel.
I didn’t go to the loft because Jaid is there with two twenty-four-hour armed security guards. I could make the guards disappear, but I cannot prevent my compass from poi
nting directly at Jaid. Our mixed up, OCD-induced, love affair won’t ever stop, but I need it to—because I need to marry Emily and get on with my life.
I’m on the road in my new favorite attire and singing along to my cranked-up sound system when my phone rings on the console. I don’t recognize the number. “Raniero.”
“Hello,” a young man says. “My name is Alex Torino.”
Pulling off on the shoulder, I do a double take and turn off the speaker. “… the quarterback?”
“Yeah,” he laughs as I don’t immediately make the connection. Thankfully, he doesn’t take but a second to do it for me. “My good friend, Map Parker, recommended you.”
“Abel?” I ask, smiling at the thought of the case with Poppy and Abel. She was a victim of domestic abuse by her husband, Kane, and fell in love with her step son, Abel. She gave Abel all of her love and attention to turn him into the professional baseball player he is today. We ended up cracking the case—Kane was providing transport of stolen girls to Nebraska where Rudy Heller was selling them. Jaid busted him. It was one of her last trafficking cases on my team and I will never forget it.
“Yes. Can you meet me?”
“What do you need?” I cautiously ask.
“Some P.I. work,” he shamefully says. “Surveillance mostly.”
“I’m headed to a meeting,” I say, thinking I didn’t bring nearly enough clothes. “But when I get back, I can do it.”
“How much?”
“We’ll talk about that later.”
Immediately, I call Cat in Boston. “I need a big favor.”
“How much of a big favor?”
“Ship my bike home to Texas.”
Her silence punctures through me. “Deacon left. And now, you are going to leave.” With a sniffle, she repeats, “Home to Texas.”
“No,” I correct, firmly. “I am not leaving, but I’m taking a case down here while I’m getting the warehouses ready for our new venture. I promised you I wouldn’t leave Boston without you by my side and I meant that—Deacon or not—he plays no role in you and I.”
She cries, “You mean that?”
“Yes.”
Every Minute I Love You (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 3) Page 22
