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CHAPTER I
Micah
I run my thumb over the steering wheel while waiting for Eva Brannan to exit the hotel lobby. She’s been meeting that piece of shit Romano at the Vanguard Plaza for weeks now. Who would have thought that my dirty bastard of a stepfather would end up fucking a philosophy professor instead of a top tier escort?
Not that the cold beauty Eva Brannan looks anything like the average professor. Still, she doesn’t look like a whore either, yet I have a dozen pictures to prove that she is one: Her in Romano’s arms in the hotel lobby. The two of them at the hotel cafe, his hand resting on her knee under the table. Him whispering in her ear while she’s got a fake smile plastered on her face, staring with cold blue eyes out the cafe window.
I squeeze the wheel so tightly that it’s a miracle it doesn’t fucking snap in my grip.
If the asshole thinks he can enjoy his money with the leggy blonde while Sade and I fight cartels and illegal arms dealers for him, he’s dead wrong. Especially since he’s been upping his game lately, trying to get us killed.
Now I know why.
He needs us out of the way faster so he can get rid of Mother, too. He’s desperate to regain his freedom, probably to marry Eva Brannan. He’s been keeping our mother in a secret mental institution ever since Sade and I were toddlers, but the bastard can’t have her killed while big bro and I still breathe. All of her inheritance would go to us. So, he needs us cold in the grave first to remain her only next of kin. And now that he’s head over heels for the philosophy professor, he needs to speed shit up. His being our commander in the Heathen Kings’ hierarchy isn’t helping our cause either, since we have to go on the missions he commands us to go on, and we can’t kill the fucker. His murder would cause a bloodbath with the Elders.
So I’m doing this the smart way—and it’s going to fucking hurt.
I imagine Romano drooling all over Eva right fucking now, and my cock hardens. She’s a fine piece of ass, I’ll give her that, but one that deserves to be punished as savagely as him. She’s been posing as the somber professor for two years on campus, commanding respect as she pranced in her high heels down the hallways. Very fucking different from the version of her who meets Romano at the Vanguard. In the university hallways, her blonde-silver hair is always flawlessly swept back, her body hidden behind forbidding black suits, while with him, she could be taken for a high-class hooker. Her hair is always a cascade of silk, her make-up showcases her high cheekbones, and her lips seem made for sucking cock, thick with lip gloss.
I’ve been imagining my dick balls-deep in that mouth from the moment I saw the first picture of her meeting Romano. Granted, I fantasized about her before too, while fucking ass in the dark corners of the uni hallways, but I didn’t actually intend to act on it. I imagined corrupting her, tearing down her principles and staining her honor, making her beg for fuckery that she’d never known she wanted, but it turns out there’s no honor to speak of. She’s a gold digger with no scruples.
Not that I have any scruples of my own, so I guess that makes us even. And it makes her fair game. My plans for her turn nastier by the minute.
She emerges from the hotel, and I squeeze the steering wheel tighter. Today, she’s wearing a wool dress that showcases her toned legs, her silver hair blowing in the wintry breeze. I give her a head start before I get out of the car and expertly tail her, knowing that Romano won’t leave the hotel anytime soon. He always stays a while after she leaves, probably to reduce the risk of their affair being discovered.
I follow her a few blocks to a cozy little neighborhood not far from the hotel. This town is a haven for the wealthiest and most influential people in the US, and those people pay a small country’s GDP for the protection of the Heathen Kings, so we keep it clean and crime-free for them—except for the organized crime that we run ourselves, of course.
The pretty professor lives on a safe little street with picturesque brownstones. The lodging was part of her contract with the university and, from my research these past few weeks, a long way from the gang-war-infested neighborhood where she grew up. Her dad left her junkie mom when Eva was fifteen and remarried a few months later. Now, Graham Brannan runs a successful tech company, lives in New Jersey with his much younger wife and two daughters, and he paid for Eva’s education. They’re not close, so he must have done it out of guilt and a sense of duty. I doubt there was any love involved, but what do I know about parental love? I was born out of a fucking gang-bang.
Eva stops at the grocery store around the corner, allowing me to reach her apartment building ahead of her. Pushing my shades up, I jimmy the lock and let myself in. A minute later, I’m merging with the shadows behind the stairs on her landing.
Then I wait.
***
Eva
MY KNEES TREMBLE AS I walk up the stairs to the first floor. If it weren’t for the bag of groceries occupying my hands, I’d be rubbing myself all over to eliminate the crawling feeling on my skin.
Duke Romano Royales enjoys doing this to me. In fact, I’m pretty sure it turns him on when women despise him but are forced to do his bidding anyway—as I am now. And the worst part is that I can’t talk to anyone about it. He has me in a damn chokehold.
Balancing the groceries between my knee and my chin, I try to put the key in the lock. But then something slams into the wall next to me, and I drop both the bag and my keys before I whip around.
“Jesus Freaking Christ” is poised to bolt out of my mouth, but the words freeze the moment I recognize the face looming above mine.
I blink a few times, trying to clear my vision. This can’t be right.
“Micah?” I whisper, sure that I’m seeing things.
The Heathen Kings’ daredevil is very much a star on campus, and there’s absolutely no logical reason why he should be standing outside my apartment door right now.
Or none that I can think of.
He inches closer, his hand leaning against the doorframe.
“Hello, Professor,” he says in a gravelly baritone that I’m sure has made every female on campus masturbate at least once. I’ve heard whispers about it. His eyes travel down my body like he’s assessing me.
“What the hell, Micah?” I try to push him away, but he won’t move an inch. On the contrary, he steps closer, forcing my back to mold the door while his broad chest traps mine like a block of muscle.
