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She’s straddled over my chest, waving her ass in my face. It smells like fresh-scented flowery soap and the drip of sex pooling out of her pussy. I turn into an animal, but just as I’m about to bury my face in it, a shooting pain makes me groan.
Gia winces, scooting forward so she’s out of reach of my tongue and now on my lap. “Don’t hurt yourself. Sit still.” She presses my cock forward and teases it over her savory pussy. It’s so warm over the head that I can’t resist. The way her back arches, her free hand gripping the steering wheel, ignites a low growl from me. I even notice a touch of blood, which makes my heart race harder.
“Oh my God.” She notices. “I think I’m getting my—”
I grab her by the hips and have the whole of her hug me all the way to the ring. Blood, scent, all things taboo turn me into the animal I am.
“Castor—I’m—going to bleed all over you.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” I grab her ass hard and smack it. Watching her back up and down shows me she never really worried about bleeding on me, which confirms all my suspicions. She’s a freak-in-training, and I love it.
Chapter 24
Gia
Seeing my brother’s house makes me all sorts of confused. The columns are so gigantic they look like they could be part of a city library. When did he amass all this wealth? And in five years’ time? I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t more concerned than before. Imagining all the broken bones, the gunshots to the head. There’s no way he and Castor got to the top without some serious body bags.
I squeeze Castor’s hand with unease as he leads me up grand marble steps. They look new, mostly, except for the odd scuff marks all over them, like someone fumbled up and down the stairs.
Glass is broken on one of the lantern lights overhead, and the silver doorknob has so many key marks they look like bird scratches. I can’t stop myself from imagining a rabid animal had come to attack his front porch. Though I know the truth. The marks of madness doesn’t take away from the richness, but it doesn’t conceal how far my brother’s fallen into his own darkness.
“Castor, I didn’t realize—”
“Hm?” He turns, his face really starting to swell since our sexcapades in his car.
“The amount of money your crew has…”
“Marco is my brother, even if he’s fallen far from grace.” Castor punches the door, his rings clanging to make sure Marco heard, wherever he is. “We’ve also saved each other’s lives on more than one occasion. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of those memories yanked his gun to the sky when he wanted to pump me full of lead. Stay behind me.” He tugs my hand.
We hear a door open on the upstairs balcony, causing Castor to switch positions so I’m shielded by his gigantic back.
“What?” Marco yells, unhinged. “Isn’t it past your bedtime, Ratchet? Who’s there?”
“It’s us, Marco,” Castor’s voice tears through the humid air.
“Oh, the spineless rat who calls himself my brother.” He cackles. “Haven’t had enough yet?”
“Cut it out. Let us in. Time to talk.”
“Talk? I’m reloading my pistol as we speak. I might not miss this time. Stay still, Cast. My door needs a new coat of paint. Red is lucky, right? That’s how the Asians do it.” He taps his gun against the balcony guardrail, then cackles some more.
“Castor,” I whisper.
“It’ll be fine,” he snarls, still eyeing Marco.
Marco scoffs and just stands there, clicking away on his phone. I’m shaking all over again. I plant a gentle kiss on Castor’s shoulder, just in case we’re making a fatal mistake.
Crchrk.
His front door unlocks automatically, and Castor wastes no time dragging me inside. The first thing I see is a pile of clothes rolled up into a ball on the white marble floor. Ugh, and the smell… Jesus. It’s like he spilled a whole bottle of bourbon on his welcome mat and left it to marinate. The sectional couch in the living area is out of place, scrunching up a rich-looking rug. The TV has a crack in it, of which I’m not the least bit surprised to see, and the fireplace has soot all over the front. It’s the goddamn tail-end of spring. Why the hell is he lighting fires?
My brother is deranged.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Marco leisurely paces to the top of a curved staircase, his loafers clacking. A bloodied towel drapes over his neck, and in the dim lighting I can see his nose broken beneath black and blue eyes. He’s way more screwed up than Castor. But he’s still the one holding a gun that could end it all.
“Breaking and entering. This will be the easiest cover up of my career, Cast.”
