Degrade: A Dark Mafia Romance (DeLancy Crime Family Book 1)

by Elizabeth Knox

  Degrade

  DeLancy Crime Family Book 1

  E.C. Land

  Elizabeth Knox

  Degrade

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblances to persons, organizations, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

  Degrade. Copyright © 2021 by Elizabeth Knox & E.C. Land. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used in articles or reviews. For information contact E. Knox & E. Land.

  Cover Design: Clarise Tan, CT Cover Creations

  Editing: Kim Lubbers, Knox Publishing

  Proofreading: Jackie Ziegler, Knox Publishing

  Formatting: E.C. Land, Knox Publishing

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Félix

  Three months ago . . .

  I sit in the booth and watch as the woman walks into the diner I stopped at for breakfast and coffee. I’d only just sat down myself when my eyes fall upon her.

  She’s a small woman who looks extremely exhausted. I know who she is, though I’ve only seen a picture of her from a distance. Now I understand why she’s called Tiny, the name suits her in every way. She barely stands more than five foot two, maybe five foot three tops. The woman’s also the ol’ lady of the very same man I’ll be meeting later this evening.

  My brothers and I decided it’s time for a change, that we should finally get away from our father’s way of handling business. The DeLancy family name is renowned in Louisiana, we’re known as one of the most feared families thanks to my father, Delano DeLancy. Now that he’s more or less gone insane it’s time for his reign as the king of New Orleans to come to an end. My brothers and I will take his place, as it’s our birthright.

  My father took over for my grandfather, ultimately doing the exact same thing I intend to. As the eldest of my siblings it’s my duty. He’s my family, and thus it’s my responsibility to put an end to the tormenting of my father and his atrocious ways.

  Rémy, Tristan, Nicholas, and I all agreed it was for the best. Not just for us but our sisters as well. After our father married his now deceased wife, Deanna, who’s the same age as me, life wasn’t the same in our home. Things in our house became even more of a toxic environment and it took the four of us to protect our sisters from the hell they were living in.

  I could kiss the woman who put a bullet in Deanna. I’m drawn from my thoughts as the very same woman, who indeed made it possible for my sisters to breathe easier, places an order of toast in with the waitress behind the counter.

  A sense of unease filters through me and so I slide out of the booth I’m sitting in and go over to the table she now sits at, now sitting directly across from her.

  Tiny’s eyes glance to me with a mixture of fear as well as sadness in them. I don’t hold back striking up a conversation with Tiny, telling her she has nothing to worry about where my family is concerned. After a few moments pass, Chains, a prominent member of the Inferno’s Clutch MC and also Tiny’s man, storms into the diner. I don’t know what’s going on between the two of them, but anyone could taste the tension rolling off Tiny as Chains sits next to her.

  Chains whispers something that only Tiny can hear then turns his attention to me. I knew we weren’t meeting until later in the evening and I intended to keep my meeting with him for that time. I’d come to Eden Isle before dawn since I arranged earlier to meet a woman to grab the supplies I need for properly ending my father’s life.

  I’ll be heading back home for a bit after I leave here but I need coffee, terribly. I hate mornings and despised having to be up before seven this morning. It doesn’t help I’m normally not in bed until well after three in the morning, on some nights it’s not until around four.

  After letting Chains know I’ll see him later in the evening for our meet, I leave the two of them alone and head for my car.

  It’s time for me to be in my office. My work is never done, and I need to go over things with Rémy about the new strip club we’re opening up. We have two strip clubs already, one being a cover for the brothel within, while the other’s a club in Shreveport near one of the casinos. Along with the strip clubs we also own a construction company, a few rental properties, as well as the dock that’s used for importing and exporting. This made my father’s life smooth as butter. After the initial scans of the reports and the shipping containers are checked, he was able to have his men put the product in. It didn’t matter whether it be women, drugs, or guns.

  I park my car in front of the office and get out. I pull out my phone and head inside while scrolling through the emails. As I step into my office, I spot Rémy waiting on me.

  “Did you get it?” he asks from his position on my couch dressed in the same clothes as the day before. Either he worked all night and crashed in here for a bit, or he just got here from a one nighter. From the look of the wrinkles in his shirt, I’m willing to bet on him leaving his one nighter.

  Lucky bastard.

  I need to find time to get laid or at least get my cock sucked.

  “Of course, I got it. I’ll slip it in his bourbon tonight when I get back from the meet with Chains.” I go on to inform him about running into Chains and his ol’ lady while stopping at a diner.

  Nodding, Rémy and I begin discussing the new strip club. We decided to make this one different than the others, breaking it into sections. Since it’ll be in a renovated warehouse, we’re able to split and divide as we want. My brother will be managing the place so his office is going to be on the top floor of the building. One room will be a regular strip club with three stages. There’s a smaller room for those who want to watch full nude strip dances but only so many people can do so at one time to keep the environment intimate. The other main room will be for burlesque dancing. I myself will be there to enjoy the show often. In the back there will be rooms for the women who Tristan’s in charge of. They’ll use these rooms for all sexual acts they’re paid to perform.

  We’re just going over the last of the renovation details when my right-hand man, Malcolm, knocks on the door as he comes in my office.

  I’d sent him to collect money from one of the men who owes me quite a bit. From the anger radiating off Malcolm, I know I won’t be happy.

  “What was his excuse this time?” I ask, sitting back in my chair, knowing Charles far too well.

  “He’d like to barter with you instead of paying cash,” Malcolm sighs, as he takes a seat in the chair across from me.

  “Is this a joke? What do you mean he wants to barter?” I demand, quirking my brow in curiosity. The man has balls if he thinks he can make demands. Malcolm better have made him bleed. I’ll accept nothing else from him.

  “He wants to become one of your boys and do all the grunt work until he pays his debt back
,” Malcolm chuckles. “Those were his words not mine.”

  I find myself chuckling as well, this is so ridiculous. I won’t allow this. Charles Rosseau couldn’t work enough to pay a debt off. He’s lazy and I don’t know why he continues to be allowed at my tables. “You make him bleed?” I question, immediately getting a nod from Malcolm.

  If Charles doesn’t pay soon, I’ll go after him myself and he’ll be paying with broken bones and injuries until I get my cash. I’ll get my money one way or another.

  Chapter One

  Madelaine

  Present Day . . .

  Most women would be out on this hot August day, but instead of being out walking around the streets of New Orleans with a drink in hand, I’m unpacking the last box into my new studio apartment. I downsized from a two-bedroom apartment in Gert Town, which is a suburb in New Orleans. I didn’t want to move, but I didn’t really have a choice. I got threatened outside of my apartment again, from yet another loan shark my dad owes money to. I wish he’d stop gambling, but at this point in my life I need to be realistic.

  Now I’m living in a rougher area of town, right on Desire Street. I’m renting a studio apartment in an attic of a shotgun home, which is a local style of house here in Louisiana. Luckily for me I have a separate entrance so I can still have a semblance of privacy. My floors are a faux concrete, probably made of linoleum since the corners of the room are peeling a bit. The only upside here is the exposed brick and wood, which’ll give me a good background for my photos.

  I work for OneEye, which is a program owned by Crave, LLC. Essentially, I take nude photos of myself and upload them to a secure server. It doesn’t make me a rich bitch, but it pays me well. Not well enough to support my father’s bad habits, but at least I’m not struggling to get him out of a rough spot. Then again, the responsibility shouldn’t be falling on my shoulders.

  I bend down and scratch behind my cat Snow’s ears. She purrs loudly and walks back and forth, twirling around, basically rubbing herself. She’s the best thing in my life and I rescued her from the local kill shelter. The volunteer told me she was next on the list to be euthanized, so I grabbed her before I even laid my eyes on her. Some woman found her wandering the streets, and I guess I should be thankful she ended up at the shelter. I don’t think I’ve ever had this sort of relationship with anyone, or anything.

  I rise and leave Snow to get used to the house then decide to pull out a sky blue lace bra with a matching thong, and fish my phone stand from the case I have it in. Since I’m in a new place I might as well take a few shots, edit them slightly, and then upload them to my account on OneEye for my subscribers to take a look at. They pay a monthly fee that grants them a certain number of tokens and they spend their tokens every time they view a photo or watch a video.

  I’m really lucky considering I work from home for the most part. Every few months I fly out to Las Vegas since that’s where one of the two headquarters offices are. The other’s in Los Angeles, and twice a year I usually head out there to get some photoshoots done. They’ve just finally acquired a property in D.C. after getting thrown around quite a bit. I know there were some legal issues for a while, but who knows what was tying them up for so long. Some of my content on my OneEye profile is self-portraits while the other is work I get done with the photographers that work for Crave, LLC.

  After positioning my stand and snapping a few photos, I start editing them and sink down onto the couch, which doubles as my bed. It’s one of those cheap kinds with the cushions you can pull out. I fall back onto the cushions and stare at the ceiling, unique with its water spots, which only confirms I’m a literal idiot.

  Why do I put myself in these situations? Maybe it’s because I feel like I owe him something, maybe it’s because I feel like I owe him because he helped give me life? I have no fucking idea.

  We barely even have a relationship, yet he always comes crawling back whenever he needs something from me. In most cases if he doesn’t reach out, his loan sharks end up finding where I live and threaten me until I give them what they want. It shouldn’t be my responsibility, but yet it is. Loan sharks don’t care. They just want their fucking money.

  While I understand everyone has their own vice, this isn’t a vice . . . it’s an addiction. It’s not pills, pot, or even alcohol. He’s addicted to the game, always wanting to be the top dog, even when he needs to stop. I doubt he even gives a damn what his tendencies have done to my life. I went from living in a nice middle-class apartment complex to living in an attic of a small home, in a studio apartment with obvious water issues.

  If I could only get away from him, get away from his loan sharks, get away from all these problems. My friend Rebel’s been trying to talk me into moving to Las Vegas, but I haven’t bitten the bullet yet. Part of me thinks the people my dad’s pissed off are just going to follow me. They probably will. There probably isn’t anywhere I could go where they wouldn’t try to follow me.

  My username on OneEye is Madelaine Ross, they know me as that instead of Madelaine Rosseau, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out who I am.

  Huffing, I roll my eyes and slam my hand down onto the couch. There isn’t anything that’s ever going to make me safe . . . but I’ve confessed to Rebel about some of my troubles with my dad. She’s told me how her eldest daughter’s father is part of a biker club and might be able to lend some support. If I’m going to go anywhere, Las Vegas could be the best place for me.

  I know it’s crazy I’m thinking about this right now considering I just moved . . . but being here in this shitty ass apartment is making me realize how my life’s going down the shitter and I don’t want to give anyone the power to have this sort of control over my life.

  I need to make my move soon, but I’ll be stuck here for at least a month since the contract is month-to-month and I’m not throwing good money down the drain.

  Chapter Two

  Félix

  Music pumps through the speakers the DJ’s playing. I sit in the circular booth facing the stage, taking in an accomplishment my brothers and I have accomplished together. With Rémy being in charge of this place I get to sit back and enjoy the show, even if I’m working.

  Since we opened our new strip club, Diamond Dancers, we’ve become one of the most popular clubs in New Orleans. It could be due to only opening a month and a half ago, but it doesn’t matter to me as long as cash keeps coming in.

  With the place not tainted by our father or the cunt, Deanna, our girls work both as dancers, and in the back of the club fuckin’ whoever pays them for their services and letting the clients leave happier. While I wait for my right-hand man to finish tending to business, I enjoy myself watching the show. I find burlesque dancing very erotic with the right women doing it. When we were auditioning women for spots that opened up, I couldn’t stand watching some of them. They were like newborn foals trying to stand for the first time, stumbling and tripping on stage.

  Rémy slides into the booth and gives me a wicked grin.

  “What?” I ask, quirking a brow at him.

  “Seems you have an admirer or two,” Rémy chuckles.

  “And why do you think this?” I grin, having already seen a few women eye fuckin’ me. I’ve been contemplating on getting one or two of them to take to my bed tonight. Well, not really my bed but rather a hotel room. No one sleeps in my bed but me. I’m not taking the chance of having some bitch know where I live and think she can come back whenever she wants.

  Tristan brought home a woman a couple of times and the last time he did, I swear my brother was gonna die because the bitch came back after discovering he went out with another woman the next day. Bitch snuck into his car somehow and when he pulled the car into the garage she waited until it was clear and climbed out. I remember the security footage from that night. She made it into the house, but that was about it since my brother was fuckin’ the new bitch against the counter.

  Now we all have a rule at the house: if you fuck you do it some
where else.

  The only time you don’t is if it’s with someone you intend to be with for more than a night. Even if that happens, we gotta be fuckin’ serious about it.

  Tristan nearly died that night since the bitch stabbed him. We ended up calling the cops because the girl he brought home had been the niece of the chief of police. It’s a good thing we have a majority of the cops on payroll, including her uncle. The chick who attacked Tristan and his one nighter should’ve been killed, or at the very least been sent to prison. Instead, her lawyer played the mental health card. The judge sent her to a mental institution where she’s supposed to be for at least another two years, I think.

  “Considering Missy, the burlesque dancer onstage right now, said some shit. I overheard her and Tessa talking about how they wish they could have a night with you. Evidently, you’re a legend amongst some of the women. They want to know what a magic cross feels like,” Rémy laughs, shaking his head while I give him a wicked grin. It might’ve hurt like a bitch getting the head of my dick pierced, but it’s worth it when it comes to fuckin’. Shit feels way better when the balls sticking out glide along the walls of a bitch’s pussy.

  “Maybe I’ll have to give them the chance to ride the magic dick,” I chuckle.

  “Fuckin’ hell, just hold off on that shit until after hours.” Rémy smirks.

  “Of course, I’m not Nicholas and can keep my dick in my pants,” I state with a roll of my eyes.