Filthy Sex: The Five Points’ Mob Collection: Four

by Akeroyd, Serena

  “Not betray your family,” Tink said stonily. “Lead by example. What kind of fucking kid are you going to raise when, at the first sign of trouble, you double deal the people who’d kill for you?”

  "That's bullshit, anyway," Forrest muttered. "Priestley ain't exactly been carrying for a couple of years."

  "True, although, we don’t know how long the bastard has been double dealing us, do we?” I almost hoped that it was a recent thing. It wouldn’t make it better, but it would feel less like we’d had a sniveling rat sneaking out onto our table to rummage through our leftovers for material to nark on.

  Callum’s head bowed, which pulled the muscles in his shoulders and chest into sharp relief. His right arm was bent at an odd angle, which was one of the principle reasons he kept passing out whenever he put too much of a burden on it. We had him strung up so that he could lever his weight on his tiptoes.

  As for the rest of him, he was bruised and bloodied, battered all over from the various beatings me and Forrest had put him through.

  I stared at the cuts, the seeping wounds and shook my head, unable to countenance that I’d done this to Callum.

  His betrayal slashed at my insides, but it didn’t take away from my feeling like I was betraying him. I’d hurt him, hurt a man I thought of as family—the correlation wasn’t easy. My brain knew the truth but my heart couldn’t accept it.

  “He’s not wrong, though. What kind of kid would you raise if even basic loyalty is beyond you?” I rasped, cracking my knuckles and clicking my wrist by twisting it slightly.

  For the first time, I got why Camille dug her nails into her palms. With the split skin on my knuckles, cracking them added to the discomfort, throw in my messed-up wrist, the pain made me feel a burn that eased the cacophony going down in my ears.

  “I’m sorry, Bren. Truly, I’m sorry,” he whispered, staring down at the ground, not up at me.

  “He’s not Bren to you, anymore,” Forrest spat.

  I swallowed down that particular truth because he wasn’t wrong.

  But I was stuck between a rock and a hard place on so many fronts here.

  If I told Da, the pain I felt at Callum’s treachery would be nothing in comparison to what he experienced.

  If I didn’t tell him, just buried Callum, then there’d be a manhunt for the prick who didn’t deserve for anyone to give a fuck about him.

  “You can’t kill me without your da’s permission,” Callum whispered, finally peering over at me, like he was reading my thoughts.

  Like he knew I was at a crossroads.

  My father didn’t care about hurting my feelings, thought nothing of dismissing my wife because he hadn’t chosen her, but the ramifications of Callum’s actions would be long-lasting. That was what I couldn’t handle, and Ma would be the one who bore the brunt of it simply because she had to live with him.

  “You’re really asking to have your cock lobbed off, ain’t you?” Forrest mocked.

  “Shut up the lot of you,” I snapped. Rubbing a hand over my face, knowing I needed to get this underway, I bit out, “Callum, who was your point of contact?”

  He hesitated a second, then rasped, “Just some detective in the 42nd Precinct.”

  I frowned and cast Forrest a look, who muttered, “Let me guess. Craig Lacey?”

  Callum blinked. “How the fuck did you know that?”

  Lacey’s was a name that kept popping up. We’d first heard it from the Sinners, who told us the cop had set up one of their men who was currently serving time in Rikers.

  Rex, the Prez, had petitioned the family to get the guy out early, and Da, being unusually accommodating—but then, Rex had just slaughtered some Italians which always put him in a good mood—had hopped onto the phone to make it so. Within the week, Quin should be a free man.

  “Never mind,” I grunted. “Tell me what the NWS wanted you to do.”

  He licked his lips. “Let me down, Bren, please?”

  “Tell me what they wanted,” I bit off, hands bunching at my sides.

  “Just to mess with commands, cause dissent.”

  “Oh, just little things like that?” I rasped. “What was with the jewelry store robberies?”

  Callum chewed on his bottom lip. “I think Hummel’s involved in something they want to muscle in on.”

  “Like what? Blood diamonds?”

  Callum shrugged, then groaned as his body responded to the movement. “I don’t know, Bren. I just know what they told me to do.”

  “Give me specifics,” I demanded, even as I pointed at Tink. He nodded, so I knew he’d stored that piece of info in his mental computer to check it out later. Hummel’s were supposed to be respectable, and I’d never heard of their name and blood diamonds being mentioned in the same breath, but I could never have imagined beating the fuck out of Callum either.

  “They said to get in touch with a thief with experience breaking into vaults and safes. To tell them that Hummel’s Diamonds was no longer under Points’ protection.”

  My brow puckered at that as Tink, Forrest and I all darted glances at one another.

  “How long have you been their patsy?”

  “Three years, but they’ve only been in touch three times total.” He winced. “I wasn’t about to complain, was I?”

  “What else have they asked you to do?” Tink inquired.

  “It was in the early days, and the first time they just wanted to know if Lena had a routine, and what it was, where she went. Shit like that.”

  “Why?” I asked, my temper bubbling now Ma was involved.

  “They don’t tell me, Bren. They just want to know something so you give them that info. It was harmless. Back then, she only went to her shop and that little tea place over in Hell’s Kitchen.”

  “What tea place?”

  Callum blinked. “The one... Fuck.”

  “What is it?” I snapped.

  “The one Finn bought from Aoife. They just entered the final phase of development on the new skyscraper where her place was located, that Acuig Heights’ project.”

  Uneased whittled away at my insides. “Ma went there? Why did neither of them ever say anything?”

  “Aoife’s a baker,” Tink pointed out, his voice calm. “She was probably in the back, baking.”

  True.

  “Pretty odd coincidence,” Forrest rumbled.

  He wasn’t wrong.

  “What else did they ask you?”

  Callum’s shoulders hunched. “If a rumor was true.”

  “What rumor?”

  “That Finn and Aoife were going to get married at St. Patrick’s. I mean, they asked, but it was public knowledge. Father Doyle would have called the banns—”

  “There wasn’t time for the banns to be called,” I whispered, my busted knuckles breaking like the Hoover dam as I clenched them tight, blood seeping through my fingers as the ramifications of what he was telling me hit home. “They either told the Colombians, or they triggered that drive-by shooting, Callum. On your word. That rumor they wanted clarifying was their way of scheduling what could have been a mass murder.”

  “No! Fuck no,” Callum growled, his shoulders straining again as he straightened up. His arm buckled, but he stood strong, terror on his face as if he knew this was it. He’d done it now. “That ain’t got nothing to do with me. I would never have—” But his pleading fell on deaf ears.

  My control snapped.

  I rushed for him, fists flying, blood spurting, bones colliding until Callum O’Reilly was no more, and I had another soul on my conscience.

  Remember—you were loved. You know what that feels like. Don’t settle for less.

  Thirty-Five

  Camille

  “This one?” I heaved a sigh when Brennan didn’t look up from his phone. “Brennan? You wanted to be here, remember? I could have gone shopping with Inessa.”

  He scowled at his cell, then peered over at me, and then at the dress.

  This morning, pretty much seconds after
he’d pulled out of me, then fallen back against the sheets, he’d informed me we were attending a gala tonight, and that I needed a new dress worthy of a ball.

  He’d also informed me that we’d spend the morning looking for said dress before he had to head off and work.

  Which was why he was here. Darkening the waiting area with his scowls. It was clear he had other things to do, which didn’t involve him doing me. At least… not with the dresses the attendant had picked out.

  I thought he’d been interested in getting a free show, but I had to admit, she’d dressed me like I was about to turn fifty.

  “You look like a pigeon. And with your tits and ass, Camille, the only thing you should look is hot. Not like a sky rat.”

  Even though I agreed, I only let my lips twitch once before I demurred, “I don’t look like a pigeon. This is a ten-thousand dollar dress.”

  He shrugged. “So? You look like a black dove then.”

  I hid a grin as the flounces of tulle bobbed and swayed with every movement I made as I returned to the cubicle.

  After his announcement, I’d almost expected him to join me in the changing room, had even been looking forward to it, but he hadn’t. Not that it came as that much of a surprise, this past week, I’d come to learn that my husband had a disarming ability to compartmentalize his life.

  The second one face switched on, the other switched off.

  I knew how that worked, how it felt, so I didn’t begrudge him that shield. I also knew that it took someone like that to even register the difference. Another sign we were well suited, I supposed.

  When my phone lit up, I smiled, seeing Inessa had sent a meme. It was of Squidward, sheathed in bandages, sitting in a wheelchair, all gussied up with a big pink bow and gold hoops, with the caption, “When the deep dicking damn near broke you in half but you show up the next day ready for round 2 because Mama didn’t raise no bitch.”

  Snickering, I replied: Me: Is that me or you?

  Inessa: Both of us now.

  Me: LOL. You’re the one with the ‘No Access’ pussy.

  Inessa: True, but that doesn’t count. When I’m back in action, it’ll be me though.

  Me: Looking forward to it?

  Inessa: Mebbe. >..< I mean... you have seen my husband. >..>

  Me: I have. Prefer mine though. :P

  Inessa: Good. Don’t wanna get into a cat fight with you.

  Me: Because you know I’d win?

  Inessa: Meooow.

  Me: LOL.

  Inessa: TTYL xoxo

  Me: xoxo

  Quickly switching to the chat I had with Victoria, I spied that she’d read all the messages I’d sent her this past week, everything from telling her this was my new number to asking if she was okay at Inessa’s place, but hadn’t replied.

  Trying not to be disheartened, I took a snapshot of the gowns the attendant had suggested, gowns I knew Brennan wouldn’t like either because there were a lot of frills and a lot of taffeta for some reason, and sent it to her.

  Me: Brennan and I are going to a gala. Look at what the store attendants have hooked me up with. They must think I’m 80.

  The ticks appeared, so I knew she’d read it, but she didn’t reply.

  “Damn,” I muttered under my breath, trying not to be disheartened when staring at the screen didn’t miraculously make a text from her appear.

  Heaving a sigh, I stripped out of the taffeta dress Brennan hadn’t approved of, then bent over to pick it up and to place it back on the hanger.

  As I did, I saw the curtain move and sway, and peered over to find him standing there, his eyes on my ass, his head peeking through a gap he’d made between the curtain and the wall.

  “Thought you were busy,” I told him huskily.

  “I am,” he rumbled, in a voice I was coming to recognize easily now. “That’s why I decided to speed things up. Those attendants apparently have no taste, because why they want to cover those tits and your legs up...” He shook his head, then in a lower voice, muttered, “People think I’m the criminal.”

  My cheeks flushed—he made no bones about the pleasure he found in my body, but it still came as a shock to me to be praised.

  Dolls weren’t rewarded with praise, after all. They were just fucked. Used.

  Brennan didn’t treat me like a doll. I couldn’t say he treated me like a wife, either.

  “Here.” He shoved his way through the curtain, armed with two dresses, and said, “Two steps out of the waiting room and I found these. They should suit you, but try them on first.”

  I licked my lips. “Are you going to help me into them?”

  He smirked. “No. I’m going to watch you get dressed though.”

  Pouting a little as he moved over to the low armchair and took a seat, I focused on the ridge of his dick which made a prominent bulge against his tailored slacks as he settled down. The dresses he draped over his lap, seeming to bring his erection further to my attention.

  After crossing his legs, one ankle staying propped up on his knee, he rested his hands on his belly as he tipped his head back, declaring, “Try them on.”

  Leaning over to grab the first one, I let temptation strike me as my fingers drifted over his cock, brushing him with just the tips.

  He growled. “If you don’t want to drop to your knees and suck me off in here, Camille, you’ll get changed fast.”

  I smirked at him. “Who says that’d be a punishment?”

  His lips gathered into a tight purse before he heaved a sigh. “I don’t have time for this.” His hand ruffled through his hair as he stared at me impatiently. “Get changed, Camille.”

  I heard the warning, the low throb that ran through the words too, and shivered inside. Not out of fear, but a complex mixture of trepidation and excitement.

  I wanted him to pull me by the hair and drag me to my knees, and I half expected him to do that, but he didn’t. Instead, he watched me, with burning eyes as I slipped into the black gown first.

  My disappointment was real, but the dress was perfect. Inky-black crêpe, it gathered at the waist with thin bands of crystal that accentuated my slenderness while creating a sweeping silhouette. It had a V-neckline that showed off my breasts, and which, after tugging at the skirt, was deep enough to require tit tape as they popped out to say hello when I straightened back up again.

  I cast him a look, saw he was still sitting upright, but his dick made even more of a bulge against his zipper...

  Was it strange that my mouth watered?

  In the shortest imaginable time, I’d come to associate all things sex with orgasms. Which might seem the logical route, but it hadn’t been for me this far.

  “Every man at tonight’s event will be thinking of fucking those tits,” he said succinctly, his gaze on the swells.

  After the sushi restaurant, and three more trips out this week, to a Thai place, a Michelin-starred Italian eatery, and a dessert bar, I’d come to realize that he liked that other men wanted me.

  They could look, but only he could touch.

  Which didn’t thrill just him, but me too.

  It made me be brave, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever been brave in the past, just resilient.

  It didn’t take bravery to walk naked through a bar full of men. Just a thick skin.

  But to go to high-end restaurants, to still retain some elegance, all while showing off skin that made a man’s cock hard? That was a lot more difficult.

  Good thing I liked a challenge.

  And a good thing that the only man whose dick I wanted hard was this one’s.

  “Only you can fuck them though,” I whispered, watching his eyes light up at my words.

  “Maybe I’ll fuck them before the event, on the ride over.” His top lip quirked up into a smirk. “Come all over them. People will think it’s that sparkly stuff, what do you call it?”

  I laughed a little as my hand traced over my breasts, deep between them. “Highlighter.”

  “That’s it.” He cli
cked his fingers. “Instead, it’d be my cum. What do you think?”

  “A new trend,” I purred.

  He settled back in the armchair again. “You really do get off on this shit, don’t you?”

  I blinked. “Yes.” There was no point in denying it. I did. I wasn’t sure why, but I did. Concern filtered through me though, as my insecurities flared white hot. “Don’t you?”

  “Never could trust bitches with my cum. I didn’t want any kids until recently.” He shrugged. “I think we both know I get off on it, Camille. Been waiting a lifetime to claim a woman in as many ways as I’ve claimed you.” Before I could wheeze out a response, he commanded, “Try on the red one.”

  I obeyed even as my heart rate picked up.

  Been waiting a lifetime to claim a woman in as many ways as I’ve claimed you.

  Those words would be imprinted on my soul until the day I died.

  Tugging on the dress momentarily shielded my expression, but my game face was back on a few seconds later. The minute I looked in the mirror, I knew he’d pick this one.

  The color of blood, it had padded shoulders that gave a deeper slant to the neckline, which somehow revealed more of my chest while exposing less. There was a high slit to the skirt with a ruffle that was lined in silk. It made the skirt drape as I moved, revealing all of my legs with each step I took. It had long blouson cuffs, and made me think of Hollywood glamor back in the thirties.

  It also augmented the golden hue of my skin and my blonde hair in a way the black one didn’t.

  He crossed his legs at the ankle. “I think we have our winner.”

  I smiled, satisfied I’d guessed right.

  Satisfied, even more, by his words, ‘Been waiting a lifetime to claim a woman in as many ways as I’ve claimed you.’

  Unaware I was still on Cloud Nine, he twirled his hand in a circle, and I followed, turning around too, before he beckoned me forward with his fingers.

  A shocked gasp escaped me as he plunged those fingers straight between my legs as he peered at my skirt.

  “They’ll see you’re not wearing panties at the gala,” he murmured, raking his fingers over the gusset of the set I had on now. A set he’d only permitted me to wear this morning because I was trying on clothes.