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But I’m a fan of other things.
Like her naked and writhing beneath me.
Yeah. I’d prefer her under me or against a wall. I think she’d look amazing in handcuffs and spread open while we indulged in a threesome. Something tells me she’d like it.
Oh, fuck, she’d look good in a collar and leash. She’d make a good partner as we chose the right third. If she’s into women, I’d be into that. Two cunts to plough, two asses, two mouths. Or fitting her with a strap on so I can take her ass as she takes the woman—
Shit. I stop myself before my pants get too tight, and I lose track of the conversation with Fiona. She already knows me well enough to know my mind is somewhere else. Last thing I need is her latching on to my depraved thoughts.
Maybe I don’t really want to share my little cat with anyone else. Even in my mind.
Even with—
I stop.
Smile.
Check my watch.
“Fiona, I’ve got a meeting.” I give her an evil grin. “Damon will see you home.” And just to piss him off, too, I snap my fingers at him, get up, pay the bill, and leave the restaurant.
* * *
It takes two meetings, one shakedown and an afternoon date of convenience, for Magdalena to show herself. She walks into the laid back, luxurious bar fifteen minutes after me. I’m with a gun runner and Ivan. The gun runner looks about twenty-three, baby-faced, and is one of the most bloodthirsty people I know.
Ruthless isn’t the word.
I’m fine with ruthless.
It’s his penchant for sick and twisted shit and borderline untrustworthiness I don’t like. My fucking father brought his family—the Kincaids—into the fray and so we deal with him. It’s always two of us when we meet the kid or another affiliate from them. Always a different combination because the kid—he doesn’t deserve me to call him by his name because one day he’s going down hard and bloody—almost brought the house down with sly insinuations about Jac to Declan.
I fucking hate Jac, but I put a stop to the gun fight in the fucking Quinate boardroom.
Nothing like well-placed word bombs when factions are at best frenemies, and at worst sworn enemies.
But I’m not as hot-headed as Jac. I could see through the kid’s bullshit. Break us up, cause a war, get a bigger piece of the pie. Possibly even take over.
The baby-faced, one-man murder spree was smart. He didn’t lie. Jac did what he said, but not to any of us; he didn’t step on any personal affiliate toes. It might have blurred lines, but Jac killed fair game. He took out a problem that would have caused us all headaches.
But Declan wants a piece of Jac, and any excuse…
He might not hate him like I do, but there’s zero love there.
If Jac had kept that idiotic dick of his away from Declan’s three sisters, the bad blood wouldn’t be so bitter. But Jac had to nail them all. In one night.
It’s so fucking Jac, it’s pathetic.
Not saying I’m pristine and pure, but that took it to a different level of depraved. Jac didn’t give a shit about the sisters. Jac has some kind of fucking magic where they all kept wanting him and so Declan married them off.
Tonight’s my turn with Ivan. I’ve had to deal with this Kincaid prick with Jac before and that wasn’t fun.
At least the meeting’s quick.
When it’s done, I hang out with Ivan, and he says, “That piece of shit needs to go down.” He looks past me. Nods. “What’s up with the fucking hot blonde?”
“You might need to narrow that down.” I lean back against the bar. “There are a lot of hot blondes.”
“Fuck, man. I’m talking about the blonde at the other end of the bar? The one you noticed and ignored all through the meeting with the Fuck Face Kid.” He’s the only one of the others who’s uneasy with the Kincaid dealings.
