by Shay Savage
They weren’t really big or anything – nice tits don’t have to be.
Jonathan walked back from the shooting area with a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth. If he had been anyone else, the management probably would have thrown a fit, but no one said anything to him. Maybe if he had been alone, someone might have made a comment, but we both walked in with Arden, and everyone here knew exactly who he was.
Like I said, Evan scared people. Not me…well, not really. I would never let it show if he did, but the guy sometimes looked like he was just going to start shooting people. I didn’t think he’d ever make a move on me or anything – he was completely loyal to my dad – but sometimes he got this far away look in his eyes, and you could just tell something wasn’t right about him.
The dude just wasn’t stable.
Jonathan could be physically intimidating – he was a big guy – but just not in the same way. He always seemed to be having fun with people even when he got a little pissy.
“Are you still in the Marines?”
“No,” I replied. “Honorably discharged.”
“What do you do now?”
A flash of the dude from the previous night gave me my answer.
“I paint.”
“Houses?”
“No.” I snickered.
“An artist?” She said with a raised brow. “That's a bit of a switch.”
“I know,” I replied, “but my doctors said it was a good idea to do something creative.”
“I guess that makes sense,” she said. She still sounded skeptical and watched me very closely. “So you paint what? Landscapes? Fruit?”
“People.”
“People?”
“People.”
I watched her expression while she contemplated.
“I do body painting,” I lied through my teeth and hoped she wouldn’t ask me to prove it. I’d talked to the actual body painter enough to be able to sound like I knew what I was talking about, but I hadn’t used a brush and paints since sixth-grade art class.
“As in, all over body painting?” she asked.
“Yep.”
She narrowed her eyes and stared at me intently.
“What would you paint on me?” she asked.
I looked her up and down for a moment, though I already had my answer. She was built just like one of the women in that guy's book.
“A butterfly,” I said after a pause.
“A butterfly?”
“A butterfly,” I repeated. I wondered how many times we were going to play repeat after me.
“What, on my back?”
“No,” I said quietly.
“Where?”
With what looked like trepidation, I reached out my arm and placed two fingers on her shoulder. I made sure my touch was just barely noticeable before I trailed them down, over her collar bone, and to the top of her left breast.
“Your chest.”
She stared at me for a little while. Her eyes were a little distrustful, but through her shirt I noticed her nipples contracting under my touch. She took a long breath and smiled.
“That could be really interesting,” she said. “Too bad I’m heading home tomorrow.”
“I don’t have any paint with me anyway,” I said as my hand dropped, brushing over her erect nipple as it lowered back to my side.
She glanced off towards the line of people firing various weapons and then grabbed my hand and hauled me outside to the parking lot. She swiftly directed me between two decent-sized SUVs where there was a bit of privacy and then reached around the back of my neck and pressed her lips firmly to mine.
It was obvious from the way she was pressing firmly against my lower body that she was interested in more than a make-out session, and I wondered as I swirled my tongue in her mouth just what we could get away with standing there between two Escalades.
She already knew, apparently.
Carolyn’s hands went from my neck, down my arms and then back up again before she pulled away slightly and broke our connection. At the same time, she pressed her lower body against my hardening cock. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she tilted her head to look in my eyes and spoke softly.
“I bet I could make you forget.”
“Forget?” It was my turn to repeat.
“About what happened to you over there.”
I smiled, shook my head a little, shrugged, and let out a humorless laugh.
“I don’t think I’ll ever forget.”
“Maybe just for a little while,” she said with promise.
Her hands traveled from my shoulders to my hands again. She squeezed them gently as she closed the space between us and covered my mouth with her warm lips. Then her hand brushed over my crotch, and her fingers tugged at the button and zipper.
I tried to seem a little resistant – not enough to make her stop but enough to make me appear somewhat reluctant. It was never good to appear too eager – drawing it out was always better. Of course, this was going to be a one-night stand, too.
One-day stand.
Standing in a parking lot.
Her hands moved down my thighs as she dropped to her knees, and I thanked whatever gods there were for warm, wet, willing mouths.
Damn, it felt good.
It had been a while since I had received oral sex, and honestly, blowjobs were my favorite. Pussy was always good, and anal was a nice alternative, but there was nothing like seeing a chick on her knees in front of me, looking up with soft eyes, and giving me the impression she was praying to my dick.
You want to know about the worst blowjob I ever had? Yeah – it was awesome.
I looked up to the clear sky for a moment and tried not to moan too loudly. As I looked back down, my eyes crossed the walkway just outside the shooting range main entrance, and I saw Evan coming out. He stopped on the sidewalk to hoist up the duffel carrying his elaborate sniper rifle and then reached up to rub the spot between his eyes.
Before he started towards the bus stop, he looked at the ground, shook his head sharply one time, and wrapped his fingers tightly around the strap of the bag.
I immediately felt like a total shit. Here I was, at least partially bastardizing and using his story to score a blowjob in a parking lot, and he looked like he could just crumble onto the cement.
Then Carolyn rubbed the underside of my cock with her tongue, and I was distracted enough to forget Evan for a few minutes.
“Fuck, that's good,” I groaned softly.
She hummed in what I figured was agreement, making my cock vibrate and shudder in her mouth as she took me deeper. I stroked her hair with my hand as she moved over me, and the vision of her on her knees with my cock nearly swallowed was all I could take.
“I'm gonna come,” I warned.
She sucked hard, slipped me in and out of her mouth a couple times and then released my cock to the cool breeze as she finished me with her hand.
“Wow,” I said softly as she stood up and leaned against my chest before kissing me. “That was…better than I remember.”
She laughed.
“Now, what were you thinking about just then?” Carolyn asked with a bright smile.
“I have no idea,” I admitted with another laugh.
At least that was true.
“Everything is kind of a blur,” I added as I looked around the parking lot, but there wasn’t anyone else around. I tucked myself back in my pants and zipped up.
“Do I get to reciprocate?” I asked with a raised brow.
“I need to go catch back up with my cousin,” Carolyn said. “So I guess maybe the next time I’m in town?”
She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, and I gave her a fake phone number. I ended up grabbing a cab back home, sleeping off the weed, and finally getting up mid-afternoon the next day. After finding some breakfast, I found my sister, who was preparing her wardrobe for an event that wouldn’t happen for another month.
Unlike the infamy of some of the rest of the clan, m
y sister was all about fame.
She knew everyone in Chicago who had ever appeared on the front cover of a magazine, from big-name actors to major league soccer players. If there was a upscale party to be found, she would always be on the invite list, sometimes even when Dad was not.
Luisa is a beautiful girl, no doubt about it, and guys look at her all the time. Long, dark hair down to her waist and golden-brown eyes with long lashes to match. She’s built, too – not a skinny girl at all, but not the least bit fat. Actually, she could probably tell you her body fat ratio at any moment in the day. She loves going to the gym even though we have most of a gym in the lower level of Dad’s mansion.
That’s the North Side mansion, not the South Side one. The South Side one only has a treadmill and one of those elliptical thingies.
“What do you think?” she asked as she took a little turn from the left to the right and then back again. “Too much? Too little?”
“Just the right amount of boob-show,” I told her with a serious nod. “You don’t want too much; I mean it’s George Lucas getting married here, not James Deen.”
Luisa laughed and held her hair up off her shoulders for a moment as she checked herself out in the mirror.
“What about the color?” she asked. Her hand moved up from her waist to just under her boob as she looked down her body and the shimmering red fabric.
“Perfect,” I told her. I didn’t really know, but I couldn’t think of a color that was going to be any better and didn’t want this to turn into an afternoon of shopping. She looked fabulous, which was all she really wanted to know. I wouldn’t lie to her about that or anything. If the dress looked like shit, I’d let her know – I just didn’t think the color made any difference.
Luisa went through nine pairs of earrings – holding them up to her ears, asking me what I thought of them, putting them back in their little satin cases, and then going on to the next pair – for at least a half hour, and I was getting hungry again. I was about to suggest ordering Chinese or something but didn’t manage to get the words out of my mouth in time.
The sound of a door slamming down the hallway let us both know that Dad was home and not in the very best of moods. He’d usually seek us out and at least say hello before he went into the afternoon’s business but not this time.
He was also yelling loud enough for us to hear why.
“How did that group from Azerbaijan even end up here?” we could hear Dad snarl. He didn’t give anyone a chance to answer. “Where’s Greco in all of this, hmm? He’s been bitching about his heroin for the past month, and now my caviar is suddenly missing? Missing? Fucking bastards!”
“You going to go check it out?” Luisa asked quietly. My sister didn’t like getting her nose into the family business too much even though she knew at some point she would have to. She was too young to be heavily involved at this point, but she was tough as nails when she needed to be. It’s not like the business would ever be entrusted to the bastard child, so I knew from a very young age that it wasn’t mine. I was all right with that, too. I don’t really have the head for the crime, and I don’t have the heart for the violence.
Still, I was curious and liked to know what was going on. I started down the hallway to Dad’s office at the same time Evan Arden came in carrying a large duffel bag over one shoulder. He gave me a nod, and we both entered through the mahogany doors into the large, plush office.
The room was decked out as you can imagine – all leather and dark wood and one of those bars inside a giant, old-fashioned-looking globe. You just tip the northern hemisphere of the world back and grab yourself a scotch. There were original works of art on the walls that you’d swear once hung over at the Chicago Art Institute but somehow had made their ways into private hands. There were bookshelves with books no one ever read, expensive knick-knacks no one gave a shit about, and a Persian rug of some ridiculous quality to wipe your shoes on as you made your way to the bar.
“You better have something,” Dad growled at his favorite non-son.
Thankfully, Evan did.
“Yurig Boyarov,” Evan said as he lay down what looked to be an actual Polaroid picture – do those really still exist? – of a man lying on the ground near the airport shipping yards with a portion of his head blown off. Another picture followed with a similar scene, but the body was propped up against an ocean container. “Ustin Dytalov.”
My father’s demeanor shifted immediately. He sighed and dropped down into one of the over-stuffed chairs before putting his face in his hands.
“Is this all of them?”
“No, sir.”
“Who else?”
“Tasha Zorin.”
“She’s with Greco,” Dad’s bodyguard, Mario, said. “I know her.”
“I haven’t touched her,” Evan said with a nod towards Mario. “Considering her connection with Gavino Greco’s organization, I wanted to let you know first.”
“Kill her.”
“Yes, sir.”
There really wasn’t a lot of discussion or debate about anything in that office. It was a matter of loyalty and making sure anyone who fucked with you didn’t have a chance to do it again. Sending anyone else in the general vicinity a message at the same time was always worth the price of the bullet.
It made my stomach turn a bit, but I didn’t let on. I was my father’s son even if the relationship was never acknowledged. It’s not like no one knew who I was, or we pretended I was someone else. I didn’t do much actual work for Dad, though I’d been known to deliver weed around to the suburbs in my high school days, and preferred to just kind of sit back and take it all in.
Jonathan said I was a professional bum, and I was kinda okay with that.
Bum was somewhat preferable to a lot of the other options in front of me. As I watched Evan Arden cinch up his duffel bag full of weaponry and leave the room, I was really quite sure I didn’t want to be a part of that at all. The problem was, I didn’t really know where I fit in, either.
“Evan!” my father called out.
Evan stopped and turned around in the hallway.
“Sir?”
“Send a message.” He eyed his hit man meaningfully, and Evan gave a slight nod before he left the house completely.
That’s the kind of talk that made me cringe and figure it was time to go find some people to hang out with and maybe smoke a little weed. Luisa was totally absorbed with the whole issue of appropriate accessories, so I decided it was probably time to head out to Sweetwater and see what was going on there.
No doubt – I’d had enough family business for one day.
Most certainly.
Chapter 3
On occasion, infamy calls you out of the blue.
I had been hanging around Navy Pier with a few buds in the uncharacteristically nice weather, just walking along, smoking, and joking. We were debating the whole Ferris wheel thing when my pocket started to buzz. I knew the number as soon as it appeared on my phone – but I had to do a double take just to believe I was really seeing what the screen displayed.
I swiped the phone and held it up to my ear as I turned against the wind from the lake.
“Hi, Evan.” Of all the people in the world who had never called me, Evan had never called me the most. Actually, I wasn’t even sure how his number ended up in my phone, just that it had been there for a while. It occurred to me that Dad probably put it in there just to make sure I could reach him if I ever needed him.
The fact that he was calling me up for chick advice? Honestly, I couldn’t believe it was happening. Whatever he had done, he must have pissed off whoever she was pretty fantastically.
“So, buy her fucking flowers?” he asked after I offered my most sage wisdom. “That’s it?”
I suggested sex toys but only because I wanted to see how he would react. I wished I could have seen his face, but I didn’t want to actually be punched.
“Flowers seem kind of…cliché.”
“There’s a r
eason for that,” I informed him. “They work.”
Maybe he agreed with me and maybe he didn’t, but he obviously didn’t have any other brilliant ideas, or he wouldn’t be calling me in the first place. I considered asking him who the girl was because I never saw him leave a bar or anything with one but decided against it.
“You can always just apologize,” I heard myself say.
“Not for this shit,” he mumbled before hanging up.
I stared at the phone for a second, shoving it back into my pocket and shaking my head. The guys I was with wanted to head back downtown for a little bar hopping, which worked for me. Unfortunately, they picked a bar with a crappy atmosphere, bad live band, and no chicks. They seemed to love it, so I claimed to be tired and headed out onto the street.
The awesome thing about downtown Chicago is that if you end up at a crappy bar, there’s probably another place to hang out just down the street. I didn’t have much luck finding anyone to talk to at the first couple of places, but I finally found myself in one of those basement clubs with a lot of techno bass and flashing lights.
Danielle and Richard were there. Recently married, they were still in that kind of sickly-sweet mode of making googly-eyes at each other on a regular basis even though they had been living together for a year before they were officially hitched. When I caught up with them, they were leaning close together at the bar, taking sips of each other’s beer. It didn’t bug me much, but it usually drove Chris right out of the room.
I think he’s jealous.
Hell, I’m a little jealous.
I mean, who doesn’t want to find true love, right?
The music changed to something with a lot of yelling and overuse of the word fuck in the lyrics, which Danielle seemed to like very much. She headed to the dance floor with a couple others to twist and shout a bit.
“What have you been up to?” Richard asked me.
“Not a lot,” I said. “Did the con thing last weekend, which wasn’t bad.”
“I heard about your sister’s trick.”
