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Weston glared and shook his head. I whistled.
“It takes a special kind of man to be this fucking stupid.” I shoved the cigar against his side. This time, I leaned into it, really letting it burn. His screams sounded as if his throat would be raw for a long damn time. I yanked the cigar free and pulled a face as I looked at the flesh-covered tip. “Gross.”
Weston’s eyes rolled up. I reached out and slapped him on the cheek a few times until he blinked rapidly and focused on me.
“Let me tell you how this is going to work. You’ll do what I want,orI’ll make your life hell.” I tapped my chin thoughtfully. “Hey, you’ve got that pretty little wife, right? The blonde number, all tits and tight ass?”
His eyes widened, and the quick breathing started up again. I grinned.Don’t like that, do you?
“I know her schedule, Weston. From morning to night, I know everything that woman does. That five AM run to keep her ass toned goes down some badly lit areas. Some of them are really rural too,” I pointed out. “It would be a shame if I had to grab her off the trail and stomp her cute head in. Something that hot shouldn’t be trashed, you know? I’m sure you paid a lot for that body.” I clicked my tongue. “Shame to waste good product.”
Weston gestured wildly. I held up a hand.
“Let him speak.”
The tape was ripped from his mouth, making him cry out. He looked up at me, fire in his eyes, but fear was much more prominent. It wasn’t odd for men to want to lash out when they felt emasculated, but most weren’t stupid enough to try it.
“The contract is yours.”
I clapped my hands together. “Hey, do you hear that! See, this is how real men get shit done.” I slapped a burn mark on his belly, and he screamed. “Shhh, don’t do all of that. Now, here’s what you are going to do. You’re going to get up, go to the bathroom, and clean yourself up. Then you’re going to approve the contract and send it through for signing in about an hour, okay? Not later than that, though, ‘cause I really got shit to do, and I’m not in the mood to wait around all night.” I snapped my fingers. “Oh, and if you say anything, you know I have to kill you, but not before I kill your wife in front of you, right?”
Weston glared but nodded. “Yeah. I get it.”
“So glad we could have this chat.” I stood up, adjusting my tie properly, before I grabbed my box of cigars. “You’ll have to forgive me if I miss out on our smoke together. Maybe next time we can do business the right way and not have to go the unpleasant route.” I turned to my men. “Get Mr. Weston out of here safely. And stick with him all the way home. I’d hate for him to take a detour and test me.”
“Yes, sir.”
I patted the newbie on the chest and handed the cigars over. They could take care of that. I had to report in with Benito. I strolled over to my brother once I was back on the floor below. He briefly excused himself before he looked at me.
“Done,” I said.
Benito blew out a breath. “Nicely done. This time tomorrow, we’ll be setting up plans to build a hospital. That will do wonders for our name.”
“All thanks to you, big brother,” I said as I looked around, bored now. The mask was starting to slip. “Should I go take care of that other thing?”
“Yes. And Gin?”
“Hmm?”
“Discretion.”
I smiled at him. “When am I not discreet?”
“Well, you fucked the man’s wife.”
I snickered, feigning innocence about Weston’s girl. “Who told you that? I would never do something so wicked.”
Benito’s flat facial expression said it all. I stifled my laughter as I turned on my heels and exited the party. One assignment down, one to go. Then I would find something hot, tight, and feisty to slide into.
* * *
“Bids are starting in five minutes!”a man called. “Have a seat before the merchandise rolls out!”
I walked through the house, my eyes sweeping from side to side. Benito said I needed to be looking for a Calahan. Roger Calahan. The man had spent more than his fair share of our cash, and when any of the underlings attempted to collect, they were met with bullshit and violence. That meant it was my turn to get what was ours.
Reaching out, I snagged the arm of a woman dressed to the nines. Her tight bun, pencil skirt, and flowy blouse were all top-notch. A tablet was clutched in her hands as she talked to people moving around her. Clearly, she was in charge or close to the top.
“I’m looking for Roger Calahan.”
