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I gulped.
He gripped his cock. “Anything I say goes, and I say.” He pumps himself. Anger stirred inside of me as my eyes slammed closed. No. No fucking way am I doing this. Hard fucking limit.
“No. Fuck no,” I yelled, my eyes popping open. He was closer now, close enough to see the outline of all of his muscles.
“You don’t have a say.” His hand was on my head, pushing me to the mattress as his body crawled up mine. He spread my legs wide, holding me down with so much force I vowed that I would never be weak again.
I fucking hated Lucan Vitiosis. I would kill him one day. That was a goddamn promise.
Nate’s Lambo was rolling behind me as I dropped it into second gear and pressed my foot down on the pedal. Smirking up at the rearview mirror, he flips me off outside his window and floors it right up my ass. I can hear his fucking laughter from here. His name flashes over my phone and I hit answer, his cocky fucking voice coming through the speakers.
“This will be our last run together since I’m going to be playing headmaster.”
“You say that like I don’t do more without you with me…” I swerve into the second lane, ignoring the honking of horns. It’s fucking New York. Get the fuck in line if you want to honk at me.
Nate laughs. “Fair point.”
“And besides that, you were never meant to do this with me. This is a Vitiosis job, not a Malum job.”
“Ahhh, fuck, man. I don’t want to be running that fucking school.”
I pause, tapping my finger over my lip while resting at a normal speed. “Then don’t. Fucking hire someone to do it and hang behind the scenes. You know you don’t have to be front line. None of your ancestors did.”
Nate goes silent for a second before finally saying. “Can’t do that. My kid will be going to that school, and if you and Bishop and Eli and the rest of you fucks hurry up, so will your kids. I think the reason why the generations have been let down in the past is because they didn’t have a King in the system with them.”
“Could be. By the way, fuck you. I’m not having no kids.”
“Oh, so you pulled out last night, huh?”
My mouth slams closed. “Fuck off.”
“Was she into it?”
I know what he’s asking.
“A little bit.” I pass unfamiliar buildings as I take another look at the GPS, showing that we’re about two miles away from our destination.
“Really?” He sounds surprised. I’m not. “Fuck. Wouldn’t have pegged her for it.”
I roll into the underground parking garage, hanging up the phone call with Nate. It’s empty, not a single car in sight. Ripping up the emergency brake, I whip my steering wheel around until the ass end of my car swings around before finally idling in the center. Nate stares at me from his car. My phone rings and I hit the green phone button on my steering wheel, answering Nate’s call.
“Something’s weird.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, looking around the parking lot. “I know.” Pressing my foot to the pedal, I rev my engine loudly, clenching the wheel. “You think this has Hector on it?”
“You and your daddy issues…” Nate chuckles. “Nah. Don’t think so. He’s been better lately.”
My head flies forward from the sudden impact behind me and a range of swear words fly out of my mouth. I reach for my AK laid out on the back seat, kick my door open, and aim it right at the car that flew in behind me. They’ve already got their guns raised, with the man in the back seat pointing his gat right at Nate. I raise my arm up and pull the trigger. Blood explodes from his arm as it flies across the concrete, gat still connected.
I chuckle.
Another shot fires out from the car right when my shoulder explodes in pain. Pulling my semi up to my shoulder, I lay them all out with a whole ass round. Glass shatters, bullets spray into the metal of their Rolls Royce, and air from the tires explode from beneath them.
“Bran!” Nate calls, jogging toward me. “Stop.”
I do, lowering the gun with my teeth clenched. “Search them. Find out who the fuck they are.”
Nate stares at me, his eyebrows raised. He flicks the piercing in his lip. “Dawg, you got shot.”
I look down at my shoulder and shrug. “Surface wound.” Making our way to the beat-up car, I lean into the window and reach into their pockets, searching for ID. Three men around our age. I don’t have to think too much into it. I know who they are.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Nate says, dialing a number on his phone. No doubt our security team to wipe us out of the footage. “But if it was The Gentlemen, why would they be in a Rolls?”
