The Deadliest Sin Series Complete Collection, page 28
The blonde sucks me back into the wet heat of her mouth and drags her tongue along the entire underside of my cock.
I grit my teeth and suck in a deep breath. “Now is fine, Rose.”
“Excellent. Because we have something important to discuss.”
“Oh, yeah? What the fuck is that?”
Rose and I aren't exactly chummy, and we haven't even spoken since the bombing, so I don't know what the hell he thinks we need to talk about so urgently. Whatever it is better be damn good to be taking attention away from this much-needed relaxation.
“Look, Mr. Syla, you and I are the new kids on the block, so to speak, and after what happened at the meeting—”
A strange mixture of pleasure and anger flares in my veins—one of the risks of getting blown while talking to an enemy. “A meeting which was set up in the first place to try to figure out a way to take me out, asshole. Let’s not forget that.”
I certainly never will.
Rose chuckles, and I can almost picture him shaking his head with his feet casually propped up on his desk, like he wasn’t part of a combined effort of the families who run Chicago to get rid of me. Actually, Rose is too prim and proper to ever put his shoes on furniture. Probably wipes his ass with gold toilet paper and flushes with bottled water, too.
The man who leads one of the most powerful cartels in South America and seems intent on taking over Chi-town too laughs at my outburst. “Now, now, Michael, it was just a little get together amongst business acquaintances.”
“That I wasn't invited to.” So they could discuss ways to stop me from advancing my interests and encroaching on their territories.
“Which is exactly why you are the prime suspect in the bombing.”
Oh, so this is why he's calling…
He’s on a fishing expedition, hoping I’m going to open up to him and let something slip that will incriminate me. Give them the final straw they need to justify removing me permanently, just like I did my predecessor.
I push my hand through the blonde’s hair as she tightens her fist around the base of my cock, adding a slight twisting motion every time her mouth retreats. “The way I see it, Rose, you're the prime suspect.”
He chuckles again, a deeply arrogant sound that would get him shot between the eyes if we were in the same room. “Why is that, Michael?”
The girl swirls her tongue around the head of my dick, and I grit my teeth to bite back a groan.
Krishti, I wish I could be enjoying this more. Fucking Rose…
If the man really needs me to explain why he’s a suspect, then he’s not as smart as everyone seems to think. “Because you moved in, guns blazing, and have been pushing against the boundaries of your deal with Valentina since basically day one. Everyone knows you're looking for an opportunity to snatch all of Chicago for yourself and taking out the heads of each of the major families would put you in that position.”
A second of silence lingers on the line, giving me a brief moment to enjoy the deep suction on my dick.
“You're not wrong there, Mr. Syla. We may very well both be under suspicion, but I would venture to guess it weighs more heavily toward you. I was invited to that meeting, and not only was I there, but so was my sister. I don't think anyone who knows me at all would believe I would put both myself and her at risk.”
The familiar tingle starts at the base of my spine as the girl bobs up and down on my cock. I'm not going to last long, and neither is this goddamn phone call. It has the irritation rising almost as fast as my orgasm. “That street moves two ways, Rose. If I'm the one who set the bomb, then why would I show up there myself? Why would I put myself in harm's way?”
“Maybe because you're incredibly intelligent and thought that it might pull suspicion away from you.”
I'll give Rose credit; the man is smart. But about this…he's wrong. “It wasn't me, Rose.”
He’s silent for a moment. “It wasn't me, Syla.”
“So, where does that leave us?” Besides me sitting on the brink of an orgasm that's only being held off by his annoying, accented voice in my ear.
“It leaves us both under suspicion. And I'm going to leave you with a warning. If I find definitive proof that it was you, that you are the reason my little sister ended up in the hospital and almost died, you better believe you'll pay for what you did.”
The line goes dead, and I let the phone drop onto the desk so I can bury my other hand into blondie’s hair and guide her even faster and my cock even deeper down her throat.
Fucking Rose. Fucking calling to threaten me. Who the fuck does he think he is?
Nobody ever would've called to threaten a Syla like that before Grandfather ruined everything back home and lost us any reputation and respect we once had. People knew not to fuck with us. They knew what Sylas were capable of. They revered us the same way they did the Gashis and the Morenas. There was Besë—a code of honor everyone respected. They took the oath and lived by it. That seems to have been long forgotten.
Well, Rose is about to learn a hard lesson. Nobody threatens Michael Syla and gets away with it. Nobody.
I thrust up into the woman’s mouth hard. My cock hits the back of her throat, and she gags and swallows. The movement of her throat muscles against the head of my dick sends my orgasm slamming into me—a dark wave of pleasure mingling with the burning rage in my chest.
Even a good night’s sleep hasn’t released the tension coiled in my body. In the months since the bombing, it's almost like everyone is stuck in some sort of stalemate.
Valentina and the Italians have kept the status quo and have retained their tenuous relationship with the Roses, even though he's probably a suspect, too. The Irish and the Russians haven't retaliated, either. They've just gone about their business, albeit with their eyes slightly more open. And the few groups that hadn't received invitations to the meeting—the ones on their way out as opposed to their way up—just probably don't give a shit because they know they don’t have the means to take on any of the bigger organizations—unless the bomb was them trying to make a statement.
I shouldn’t put it past them. I’ve been making enemies left and right by killing off the street-level men and interrupting supply lines for several of the Mexican cartel groups and smaller gangs that control niches in the city. They were easy pickings compared to the people in that meeting. But ultimately, any one of them might've been responsible.
Yet I’m the fucking bad guy. Bad enough they had to call a fucking meeting in the first place to talk about me.
Motherfuckers.
The things I’ve done since I took over haven’t been anything worse than what any of them have done to take and maintain their power. Nothing worse than anything my predecessors did. Hell, at least I wasn’t skinning people alive. A double-tap is all it takes. There’s no need for the extra blood and gore—just get the job done cleanly and efficiently.
Which is what I’m doing today. I’m sick of the men doing nothing. Every day, I wait for information about the bombing, about my rivals, about anything that could help advance my goals. And every damn day…nothing.
The stalemate has to end. It’s going to end today.
I clench my fists as I climb from my car and storm toward the club. The light drizzle pelts my exposed skin but doesn’t cool my temper. I woke with renewed vigor and determination to move things forward. Sitting around and making moves behind the scenes while constantly watching my back is getting fucking old.
Zamir and Genti struggle to keep up my pace. These two assholes are good for nothing. If I weren’t worried someone would try to take a shot at me here walking to the club from my car, I wouldn’t even bother with having them with me. But the bomb was too close a call to ignore. Until we have confirmation who set it and who the target was, everyone has to be careful—including me. I’ve made a lot of enemies, and it’s only a matter of time before one of them succeeds where others have failed.
But not fucking today.
Chicago is a big city, but there are way too many fucking people who think they run it. It should be a one-man show. Mine. I fucking earned it. All my time spent back in Albania, taking care of what little we had left while Lorenc gallivanted around Philly, loyal to the Morenas. He was just a fucking lackey for Tarek and Konstandin. The man followed orders and obeyed like we don't come from one of the families that ran a massive portion of the entire country for almost a hundred years. But he did it for the prestige—the money and power it gave him to be part of that organization. And the respect. He craved it and got it. Everything I ever wanted but could never have because big brother did.
It’s my time now. To rise to the top. To rule the Windy City like a king on his fucking throne.
I stride to the door, yank it open, and step into the club. Low, sultry bass vibrates through the floor and walls. Precious must be on stage. I’d know her song anywhere. Any other day, I might pause to enjoy the show and maybe drag her back into my office with me to relieve some of this tension, but fucking it out isn’t going to cut it today.
Only blood will.
And as much as I hate making a mess where I work, some things are inevitable. If the men didn’t see this day coming, then they’re bigger idiots than I imagined them to be all this time.
My men at the bar jerk toward me and the open door and scramble off their stools when I stride in. Frenk knocks over his stool, struggling to get to his feet. He should be out talking to his sources, trying to gain new information on any of our friends at the meeting.
Lazy motherfuckers. All of them.
I grab a pint glass half full of beer from where Frenk had been sitting, toss the drink in his face, then smash the glass against the side of his head. “You piece of shit. Do you think I pay you to sit around on your ass, getting drunk, and watching the girls?”
Blood pours from the side of his head, and he scrambles back to his feet from where he ended up on the floor. “Sir, I—”
“Shut the fuck up!” I spin, taking in everyone in the club.
The music stops. An eerie quiet falls over the entire room. No patrons yet this early. Just the men, Precious on the pole, and one of the waitresses who has been with me since I took over. Another blonde.
Good. No witnesses who are stupid enough to talk.
“There’s a reason nothing has advanced in months, and it isn’t because of the damn bomb. It’s because you fuckers are all lazy.” I turn back to Zamir and Genti. “These fuckers who are supposed to be my bodyguards and keep me safe at all times couldn’t walk fast enough to do any guarding on my way in here.”
Wide eyes watch me from all around the club. Everyone is waiting to see where I go with this.
“This. Ends. Now.” My voice booms around the place, but no one flinches. They know what that would mean. “The next time I see one of you sitting on your asses instead of doing your jobs, you won’t be taking another breath.”
I pull my gun and shoot Frenk between the eyes. He collapses at my feet with a thud. No one moves or says a word. I shove past two of the men and toward my office but pause just before I step into the hallway and turn back.
Altin stares at me from his spot behind the bar, a rag in his hand from when he paused midway through a wipe-down.
I motion toward the body and blood pooling all over the floor. “Clean up this fucking mess.”
My gaze catches something, and I glance down at my thousand-dollar loafers.
Fucking blood splatter. Just what I fucking need.
I grab a napkin off the bar, wipe the blood from my shoe, and toss it on Frenk’s body.
There's only one thing I want to do when I'm in a mood like this, and today's no fucking exception. I scan the bar. The waitress stands across from me, green eyes locked on mine. She doesn’t flinch or look away, and she didn’t react at all to what just happened in here.
Good.
“You,” I point at her, “come with me.”
Brandi? Candy?
I don't remember her name, and it doesn't matter. I’ve fucked her before, and she'll do in a pinch. She’s a more than willing partner who doesn’t expect anything like love or affection. None of that exists here.
She sets her tray on the bar and follows me back to my office, the click, click, click of her heels echoing down the hallway. I close the door behind her, grab her arm, and lead her over to the desk.
“Bend over.”
The woman doesn't even look at me, just follows my command and lifts her skirt, exposing her bare ass underneath. No panties.
Thank fuck. That gets me inside her much faster.
The harder I drive into the waitress bent over my desk, the angrier I get. Not because it doesn’t feel great. Her hot, wet pussy clasping on my cock couldn’t feel better. But the wrath doesn’t subside like it usually does when I’m buried deep inside a willing woman.
I can’t quite put my finger on why, though.
Rose? Frenk? The uncertainty of waiting for something to happen?
It could be anything. But with each thrust of my hips, the mix of envy and rage swirling inside me only gets darker, more sinister, rising closer to the surface. That bomb won’t be the only thing to explode if things don’t change soon. I didn’t do what I did, I didn’t sacrifice what I sacrificed, to sit in this office passively.
Passive just isn’t my style. Life requires action if you want to accomplish anything. And I have a lot of plans.
The door to my office opens.
What the fuck?
I jerk up my head, but it isn’t one of the men standing in the doorjamb. A dark-haired woman with hard, icy-blue eyes stares at me. Zamir stumbles behind her in the hallway, his gun drawn and pointed at her. She glances at him, seemingly unconcerned about the 1911 ready to take off her head, then returns her cool gaze to me.
Anyone else probably would've stopped fucking at this point, but I'm not letting whoever this bitch is ruin what’s turned out to be a pretty decent lay, despite my wandering mind. I slam into the girl again. She gasps and clutches at the front of the desk for leverage against my brutal thrusts. Her pussy clenches around me.
Fuck.
The mystery woman’s eyes never leave mine, but one corner of her mouth quirks up the tiniest bit—the only reaction she's given since she walked in on me.
My body tightens, and I grip the girl’s hips and pound into her harder and faster. I force myself to keep my eyes open and locked on the dark-haired woman as I empty my load into the waitress with a grunt between gritted teeth.
I release her, pull out, and smack her ass. “Get the fuck out of here.”
She pushes groggily onto her elbows and steps back on weak legs. My cum dribbles down her leg and drips onto the floor. She wobbles and grabs the desk for a second before she glances over her shoulder at me. I nod toward the door, and she slowly walks around the desk and past the mystery woman with nothing more than an inquisitive look her way.
Employees know not to ask questions, and she’s a good one.
I stand, facing the woman, my still-hard cock hanging out of my pants, and raise an eyebrow at her. “Who the fuck are you?”
Her gaze drifts down to my cock for a second, then back up to meet mine. “Someone who’s here to help you.”
Help me? Well, isn’t that presumptuous?
“Who the fuck said I needed help with anything?”
She smirks and takes two more steps in with Zamir following right behind her, gun trained at her head. “Well,” she waves her hand behind her, “I managed to walk back here without being stopped, didn’t I? That could lead some to call into question the competency of your security.”
Fuck. She has a point there.
The slow curl of her red lips tells me she knows it, too. “But I'm thinking more long-term goals, big picture help.”
I snort and shake my head while I push my cock back into my pants and zip them. “I don't know who you are, lady, but get the fuck out of my office before I have him shoot you.”
Or I do it myself.
She smiles at me, but it doesn't hold any warmth. It’s the same kind of cold, cruel smile I saw from the men who worked for Grandfather while I was growing up. The men who turned me into who and what I am today. It’s almost like she thinks she knows me.
“You won't do that.”
“Oh, yeah?” I raise an eyebrow at her again as I drop into my chair. “Why the fuck not?”
The apparently unflappable woman walks between the two chairs facing me on the other side of my desk then lowers herself into the plush leather of the one on the left. One long, pale leg crosses over the other, briefly exposing her bare pussy to me.
My cock stirs in my pants despite the fact that I just got off.
“Well, Mr. Syla, it’s simple. Because you want to hear what I have to say. You would've already killed me if you didn't.”
Who the fuck is this woman?
No one talks to me like that. And absolutely no one can read me that well. But she’s right. I’m not going to shoot her—or have Zamir do it—because I want to know what’s so damn important that she had the balls to walk in here like this.
I nod to Zamir, still standing behind her with his gun pointed. “Get out.”
His mouth opens slightly, and he glances between us. “But, sir…”
I growl at him. “Are you fucking deaf? Get the fuck out!”
He raises his hands and steps back through the door. With one wary glance at me, he pulls it closed behind him, leaving me alone with the woman who managed to walk right back here past a room full of my men without so much as one of them blinking at her until she had already reached me.
Bunch of useless fucks.
I’ll deal with that problem later. Right now, my focus needs to be on figuring out what the fuck this woman wants.
I grab my pack of cigarettes, light one, then lean forward in my chair and rest my elbow on the desk. “How about we start with your name?”
“My friends call me Kat.”
A long, slow puff of smoke rolls from my mouth. “What makes you think we’re friends?”
She smiles—this one more genuine than the last. “Because I have something you want, Mr. Syla.”
