“Fuckedwhores,” Trey corrects. “We don’t fuck them anymore.”
I nod in agreement.Why would I settle for half a dish when I have an entire restaurant at home, waiting to free me of my every craving?
My thoughts stray back to Trey when he continues, “Besides, Kristina wasn’t a whore.”
I raise my brow but remain quiet. Even though everything he is saying is true, I can’t help but rib him a little. Kristina wasn’t a whore because anything she did under Vladimir’s watch wasn’t done of her own volition. The whores at Clarks, though. . . they don’t prance around in micro skirts with no panties because they’re ordered to be there. They show up every day via their own choice. They hope limber bodies and perky tits will see them become a lady of the house for one of my men. It’s unfortunate for them my crew has more of a clue than they give them credit for.
No matter how well she gives head, a whore never becomes a housewife.
Scrubbing the bushy beard on his chin, Trey slumps deeper into his chair. “Don’t fucking start, Nikolai. I’m taking enough shit from the guys. I’m not up for more crap.”
His grumbled comment wipes the smirk from my face. “What shit?”
My confusion is genuine. I haven’t heard of any rumblings, and I keep my ear close to the ground when it comes to matters like this. It only takes one man to rule an empire. The same can be said for its downfall.
Trey makes apfftnoise with his lips. “Just the same shit we’ve been hearing the past twelve months. The whores are whispering in the men’s ears, worried your relationship with Justine hasn’t just seen their nail marks removed from your back.”
His response stumps me for all of two seconds. "They're worried they're being replaced?"
When Trey nods, I add on, “They’re not going anywhere. Whores are a part of our industry. Justine understands this.”
My pulse spikes when Trey halfheartedly shrugs. I’m not selling him anything, but he’s still not buying my reply.
“What?” My short tone is incapable of hiding my fury.
Although this contradicts everything I just said, Justine is my queen, so if she suddenly developed a problem with the whores my men lose themselves in every night, they’d be gone faster than I can snap my fingers.
Fortunately for all involved, what I said to Trey earlier is true. Justine has no issues with me keeping my men happy. An endless supply of whores keeps them happy. As long as their needs aren’t shoved under Justine’s nose like they were the first month she resided here, she has no issues with the way my men relieve their tension.
If only the same could be said in reverse.
The Popov housemaids took an instant like to Justine. She filled them with hope that the Popov entity was moving away from the bigamist rules Vladimir controlled it with. The whores and a handful of my men were not as welcoming of her arrival. Almost all the whores see her as competition, believing my addiction will be cured as quickly as I lost interest in them. My men see her as a threat to their livelihood.
Both are learning the hard way what I think of their insolence.
“The main compound is off limits because it is our home. I want Justine to feel comfortable here. But there are no limits at Clarks. If they want to fuck a whore an hour, so be it.”
I’ve recited the same thing to Trey many times the prior twelve months, and quite frankly, I’m over their concerns. Drugs, guns, money, and women are supplied to my men at my expense, yet they still whine about my request they keep their drug-fueled gangbangs on the downlow.
“If any of my men have an issue with my rules, they can bring it directly to me. But be warned, they won’t be breathing by the time I’m done with them. Everything they have—whores included—is because of me. I also don’t take kindly to assumptions that I’m being led by my cock.”
Trey smiles a pompous, revealing grin. He’s not here on behalf of my men. He’s stirring the pot.
His grin drops an inch when I growl, “You won’t be smiling when I slit your throat for goading me.”
He holds his hands up in defeat. “I wasn’t goading, just testing a theory. Your reply pocketed me two freshly printed Benjamin Franklins.”
“Testing a theory? Whose theory?” I’m more annoyed than amused. I don’t like being placed under the spotlight, especially if the light is coming from men beneath me.
I’m forced to swallow some of my anger when Trey replies, “Rico. He’s so convinced you’re under the thumb, he bet two hundred dollars that you’d have the whores extradited to Russia before sundown.” His eyes lift to mine. They’re sparkling with concealed amusement. “He seems to have forgotten he’s the only one bedding a kitten too timid for our way of life.”
If it were any other man comparing Justine to a tiger, he’d be taking his last breath. But since this is Trey, a man I trust more than I detest, I let his comment slide.Just.
Besides, I did get the tiger.More than anyone will ever know.
After adjusting my position so Trey won’t see my raging boner, I ask, “Speaking of playthings, where’s Rico? I thought he and Blaire were traveling back to Ravenshoe this morning.”
“They are,” Trey agrees with a nod. “He just had some old memories he wanted to recreate before his flight.” He gives me a spirited wink, ensuring I can’t miss the innuendo in his thick, British tone.
