Glitter and Greed (Brooklyn Brothers #4)

by Melanie Munton

  One time by my own hand.

  Don’t fucking think about it.

  Once Alek left the cage, Kamikaze and I squared up. People had their faces pressed against the chain link fence, probably jizzing in their pants at the violent spectacle about to take place. Every single person in The Slaughterhouse had gravitated toward our cage, since ours was the headline fight.

  “You don’t know what you’re fuckin’ in for,” Kamikaze sneered at me. “You think you can come in here out of nowhere and move right in? Challenge me? This is my house, motherfucker!”

  I guess no one had told him that this had been my house before he’d ever stepped foot inside.

  From outside the cage, Alek held up his phone and played the sound to signify the beginning of the fight.

  Kamikaze immediately charged. Shifting my weight to my toes, I ducked and easily evaded his swinging fist. He grunted when I got in a quick shot to his kidney, but his movements didn’t falter, though they were slow and heavy because he was such a huge bastard. The man clearly relied on power over speed and agility to take out his opponents.

  He changed his stance and swung out with a combo.

  I blocked it.

  It was obvious he didn’t strategize, didn’t focus on defense. His tactic was to go on the offensive early and hard in order to get in enough hits in the beginning so that his opponent couldn’t give him much of a fight. All you had to do to beat an unconditioned fighter like him was wait until he tired himself out.

  Too bad waiting wasn’t in my nature.

  See, I was an offensive fighter too. I just understood when to back off and when to attack. That’s what made me such a successful fighter: I had a gift for spotting an opponent’s weaknesses and targeting them at an unrelenting, merciless pace.

  Kamikaze’s obvious weakness?

  His speed.

  I delivered a quick combination that sent him stumbling back several steps. Spectators crammed against the cage, grabbing at the chain links, shouting their encouragement. Hearing more cheers for me from the crowd than for him, Kamikaze glowered at me.

  And lunged.

  I dodged his haymaker, catching his follow-up jab on my ribs. The move took me off-guard, but I quickly recovered with a counterpunch that snapped his head to the side. Stepping back, he spit a mouthful of blood onto the floor.

  His other weakness?

  No control over his anger. On any given day of my life, I usually had the same problem. Anger management. After all, I was known as the hothead in my family. But for reasons I’d never quite figured out, I was able to channel that emotion inside the ring—or cage—without losing total control. Mostly.

  Kamikaze’s rage, on the other hand, was intensifying, causing him to lash out before planning his next sequence. Undoubtedly, no one had ever gotten in this many hits on him before. He was panting heavily and quickly fatiguing.

  That’s when I had to decide how long I wanted to drag this out.

  Because it felt damn good. Hitting him with my bare fists and feeling his flesh give beneath my knuckles felt fucking good.

  I had to keep a lid on that.

  That’s what Rome meant when he’d mentioned relapsing.

  Years ago, they’d have to physically pry me off my opponents. Once I got in my flow and delivered hit after hit, I went into blackout mode. It happened every time I fought. No matter whose face it was in front of me, I’d seen an enemy. One I was supposed to destroy, just like in the service. I’d unload all my strength, energy, and rage on the poor son of a bitch until he was on the ground.

  Every time I walked out of the cage, the burden of guilt grew heavier.

  Especially after that night. The last night.

  When I’d been the only one to leave the cage alive.

  It was different now, though, just like Rome said. But I wasn’t sure it was actually better. Instead of guilt or shame, I felt relief more than anything. Like a pressure release valve had been opened. Like I was unburdening myself in therapy. Purging the toxins inside. Cleansing myself.

  It was honestly scaring the shit out of me.

  Causing damage to another human being I had no personal beef with shouldn’t feel medicinal. The fact that it was fulfilling some sick need inside me made me hate myself even more. I was more aware of my self-disgust now than I had been back then.

  Women are suffering.

  I kept repeating that sentence over and over in my head because it was the only thing that motivated me to keep wailing on this guy. The only thing that could keep my fury heightened enough to want to cause destruction—the fact that innocent women were being stolen and sold as slaves in my city.

  And claiming this man’s throne could lead me right to them.

  Kamikaze’s movements grew more labored as he continued taking my hits. His breathing shallowed. Then his face began to swell.

  That’s when I felt real relief.

  Because as I looked at this beaten man, I didn’t feel satisfaction or pride. He was wheezing heavily now, sucking in oxygen like every breath would be his last. He could have been an evil, murderous monster outside this cage, but in this moment, I took no great pleasure seeing him fading. If I felt anything at all, it was pity.

  Thank Christ.

  Time to throw in the towel.

  When I feinted to the right, Kamikaze followed, as expected. He wasn’t quick enough to recover and block my knockout punch. Head snapping to the side, his eyes slid shut, his body slumped, and he collapsed onto the floor.

  A moment of silence followed where you could hear a pin drop—

  “Winner!” Alek declared.

  The crowd exploded.

  Wiping the sweat from my brow, I took in the savage scene. The chain links were shaking so violently, the crowd was likely to rip the whole fence down. I caught Rome’s gaze through the metal links. The smallest of smirks played around his mouth, indicating his approval.

  I hadn’t lost my shit.

  I hadn’t wanted to bash Kamikaze’s skull into the ground.

  I hadn’t forgotten who I was.

  The reason Rome used to always accompany me to my underground fights back in the day—no matter how many times he’d tried to stop me—wasn’t just to watch my back in the event that certain people hadn’t appreciated my victory. The was only part of it.

  He’d gone to ensure that I didn’t check out.

  Much like I frequently had to in our special ops days when we were on an NQK mission.

  No Questions Kill.

  A heavyset man with an eastern European face met me as I exited the cage. Thin mustache, dark hair slicked back into a long, curly ponytail. Layers of gold chains were draped around his neck, and nearly every one of his chubby fingers was decorated with gold rings encrusted with diamonds. If the jewelry didn’t speak to his vast wealth, his expensive white suit did.

  Smiling widely and clapping enthusiastically, the man spread his arms out to the sides, as if he were about to give me a goddamn hug. “Great felled by greater is a beautiful sight. That was impressive. What do they call you, fighter?”

  “The Undertaker.”

  His smile grew. “Quite befitting, I’d say. Come, my friend. We have much to talk about.”

  This is it.

  This was the gateway into the web of underworld criminals and their clandestine organizations. I felt it all the way down in my bone marrow that this man would somehow lead us to the stolen women, to the Garcias, and to Esposito himself.

  Just as I began to follow White Suit through the sea of hungry piranhas, a head of shiny raven hair in the very back corner of the crowd caught my attention. It was shorter than most of the others, so I couldn’t say why I’d honed in on her. Only that I had some unnatural radar when it came to this woman. The crowd parted enough for me to get a better glimpse—

  Of Cat.

  Standing completely frozen, staring directly at me with a horrified expression.

  What in the ever-loving fuck was she doing here?


  No, no, no, no, no.

  This had to be some kind of nightmare.

  It was the only explanation for why Luka was inside the walls of that death chamber and why he was currently walking beside an associate of my greatest enemy. How did he know that man? Why was he even down here, rubbing elbows with such primeval monstrosity? As if sensing my presence in the room, his head whirled around in my direction.

  Our eyes locked.

  Mine, petrified.

  His, outraged.

  Oxygen got trapped in my throat as I watched Luka say something to the man in the white suit, whose bloated face I’d seen before. Terror rose inside me when Luka started stomping in my direction, his gladiator-like form blocking out the other man entirely.

  I ducked into the crowd and ran.

  Despite how impressively he’d just taken down that psychopath inside the cage, I knew Luka wouldn’t hurt me. That look on his face was just utterly frightening, and it probably wasn’t wise to be around him in his current state of mind. Not to mention, I couldn’t let the man in the white suit see me. What if he recognized me? If he told El Escorpion he’d seen me, I’d probably get Mexico’s entire National Guard sent after my ass.

  Even more terrifying…what if El Escorpion was already in New York?

  That means I’m not in New York.

  I was way out of my league, venturing into the underbelly of dark society like this. I knew how necessary it was to keep my optimism alive, but finding Luciana was starting to feel like an impossible task. Everyone I’d spoken to at these fights tonight had either denied knowing anything about human trafficking, completely blown me off, or tried getting me to blow them off.

  I’m so sorry, Luciana. I’ve failed you.

  Squeezing through the herd of people, I finally reached the edge of the crowd and took off at a sprint down the tunnel that led to that decrepit dungeon. The place had been hard as hell to find, despite my source’s directions. I had to wonder if the people of New York realized how expansive the network of tunnels beneath their city actually was.

  A string of utility lights along the walls lit the way as I ran down the brick path. And my black pumps and strapless black minidress I felt my ass and boobs bouncing out of sure weren’t made for running. My pounding heart threatened to burst out of my chest. I didn’t understand what was happening, why Luka was down here. And I didn’t have a clue what he’d do once he caught me. If I could just reach the stairwell that led up to ground level before he got his hands on me…

  There.

  They were right in front of me. A few more feet. The dim light illuminated the bottom step—

  I was grabbed from behind.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Cat?” Luka demanded harshly, spinning me around to face him.

  I pulled on my arm frantically, panicking. Not being able to make sense of anything I just saw was causing me to freak out. “Let me go!”

  “Not until you tell me what the fuck is going on.”

  I tried to wrench myself free, but his grip was unyielding, no matter how hard I struggled. I even tried the self-defense moves he taught me, but he saw them coming and deflected each one. Before I knew it, he had my legs tangled in his and was wrestling me down onto the steps. Once he had his body pinning mine down, he clamped his hands over my wrists and held them above my head.

  Trapped.

  “You’re not going anywhere until I get some fucking answers,” he bit out coldly.

  “I should be saying the same thing to you!” I shrieked. “Why are you down here, Luka?”

  His lips formed a thin line. “I need information. There are people down here that I used to know, and I thought they’d have what I’m looking for.”

  I stilled. “You actually know that man? The one in the white suit?”

  “Your reaction tells me that you do know him.”

  I vigorously shook my head. I didn’t personally know him, nor did I ever intend to. Hearing the rumors was bad enough. The fact that the man held such high regard with El Escorpion spoke volumes.

  “You need to stay away from him,” I whispered. “He’s…”

  Luka’s fingers tightened around my wrists. “He’s what?”

  I swallowed. “Death.”

  “Baby girl…” His mouth twisted wryly as his head bent toward mine. “So am I.”

  Closing the distance between our mouths, he sealed his lips over mine.

  My eyes shot wide before I gave myself over to the sensation of his firm lips ravaging mine. The kiss was hard and demanding. Angry and impatient. His short beard chafed my chin, making my skin burn.

  It was that burn that turned me wild.

  Ay, it was an implosion.

  My fingers stabbed into his short hair and yanked roughly. I felt his guttural groan all the way down my throat. He used the opportunity to thrust his tongue inside, forcing the kiss deeper. When I pushed mine into his open mouth, I dared him to suck on it, to bite it.

  He did.

  Nipped it just enough to draw the tiniest bit of blood.

  I swallowed the coppery taste of it, moaning at the wickedness. My nails raked down his naked back, clawing him in my ferocious pursuit of the release I’d needed since I first touched this man. Returning the favor, I broke the skin over his shoulder blade and felt a small trickle of blood kiss the pads of my fingers.

  The rumble that came from deep within his chest was more beast than human.

  More feral than tame.

  He ripped his mouth away and threw his head back. “Make me bleed, baby. Mark me up. I wanna see some fucking evidence of this tomorrow.”

  His words spurred me on.

  Drove me insane with lust.

  He dove back onto my mouth and we went at it again, attacking, pillaging, plundering. Before I knew what I was doing, my hand went to his throat and applied pressure. Luka was about four times my size, so I knew I couldn’t hurt him. It was the eroticism of the act that heightened my arousal. The feeling that I was momentarily in control of this warrior.

  Eyes rolling back in his head, Luka leaned into my hand, increasing the pressure. Cutting off part of his airway. “I don’t scare easily, Cat,” he rasped. “Whatever your body is telling you to do, you do it. I won’t fight you. Chances are I’ll beg for more.”

  “Maybe I like the fight.”

  He growled. “Then get ready to fucking work for it, baby girl. Because I’ve never lost a fight.”

  I squeezed harder, drawing a hiss from between his teeth. “I’m counting on my defeat, mi cielito.” My heaven.

  Because a loss to Luka would never feel like anything but a victory.

  Gnashing his teeth, he yanked down my dress. Pushing my bra out of the way, his hands cupped my breasts, fingers twisting my nipples. I moaned at the pinch, reveling in the electric jolt it sent all the way down to my toes.

  The next thing I felt were his teeth on that sensitive flesh.

  Drenched. Fucking soaked.

  I was so wet, I wasn’t sure how I could even keep going. He sucked my distended peak into his mouth, using his teeth, then relieved the sting by laving it with his attentive tongue.

  “Look at these, puckering up for me,” he breathed against my skin. “All soft and so goddamn pretty. Sensitive too, aren’t they? You want more, baby girl?”

  “Sí. Dios mio, sí!”

  “Yeah? Tell me. Whisper that Spanish right in my fucking ear. I want to hear how dirty I make you feel.”

  In breathless detail, I told him exactly what he did to my body, how wild he drove me, how mindless and unraveled I became under his touch. How desperately I’d needed him to ride my pussy ever since that first night at Rumors.

  His loud groan echoed off the stone walls of our subterranean hideaway. “You have no idea. Christ, I don’t come for anyone but you. I’ve been fucking ill with this crazy need to imprint myself on every inch of you.”

  “Luka, please.”

  He buried his face between my breasts, soundin
g tortured. “Listen to you, baby. I can’t deny that. I gotta give my girl what she needs, right? She’s begging me to fill her sweet cunt. I’ve got to.”

  Was he talking to me or to himself?

  “Now, Luka. Ahora!”

  “Fuck!”

  My panties were viciously ripped down the middle and torn from my body. Before I could process that, he shoved two big fingers inside me, robbing me of thought, of sight, of breath. I didn’t have time to regain any of them before he started pumping those fingers, driving them in and out. And mio, if his fingers were that big, I could only imagine what his cock would feel like.

  I ground my hips against his hand. Rocking into it.

  He slapped my breast. In punishment? Or reward? “You filthy girl. Tits out, tight pussy creaming. And you still demand more? If another man ever saw you like this, I’d fucking kill him.”

  I ignored the words that sounded eerily similar to ones someone from my past might have said to me. Someone who hadn’t been joking when he’d delivered all the psychotic warnings that he had.

  Luka wasn’t him.

  “The fact that so many other men saw you dressed in this outfit tonight has me ready to slit some goddamn throats,” he hissed. “That’s how you make me feel, Cat. Like I’d unleash holy fucking hell if someone tried to hurt you. Tried to call you his.”

  I was too hot. The peak in front of me was too steep, yet I was scaling it so quickly I was feeling lightheaded. Altitude sickness. His fingers hit my G-spot and wouldn’t let up on the pressure. The toe-curling, eye-rolling, finger-clenching, delicious pressure.

  “I would have taken on that entire room of pigs if even one of them had laid his hands on you,” Luka whisper-growled. “And you know what? It would have been a fucking massacre.” His thumb pressed down on my clit. “No survivors, Cat.”

  I screamed my release into his sweaty chest, biting down on his skin when I thought my lungs might burst from restraint.

  “There you go. Spill, baby. Slick me up.”

  “Luka!”

  We both froze at the furious male voice calling out in the distance.