That was all any of Tyrone’s people had to do. And he took care of them. Roof over their head. Food in their bellies and clothes on their backs. Still, somebody had to go and get stupid.
Especially the bitches.
That was why women disgusted him. They didn’t think with their heads. And they assumed that pussy was the road to riches and glory.
Stupid hos. All of ’em.
The door opened again and Tyrone felt the burden of his position lift as Widow walked in.
The outfit was why his people called his visitorWidow. Long, sleek black dress. Black hat and veil. Like them fancy white fools over in Twickenham wore to a funeral. But the part he liked the best was the black stockings or maybe he liked the garter that held those stockings up the best.
The door closed and Widow leaned against it. “I was held up, but I’m here now. You look tense.”
Tyrone’s heart started thatthump-thump-thumping. He licked his lips, moved nearer. “Damn straight I’m tense.”
“Why don’t you tell the Widow what’s making you so tense?”
The veil lifted and Ty’s gaze went directly to those full, glossy lips. “That bitch doctor,” he said, his mouth watering to taste those sweet lips. “And that screwup Ricky Banks.”
Widow made a sound of understanding as Ty moved closer and closer. “I’m here now.”
“That’s right.” Ty moved in the final step. Reached out, released the buttons that held the dress secured at Widow’s waist. The dress fell open and Ty’s hands moved over smooth, taut skin. He pushed the dress off Widow’s shoulders. Let it fall to the floor. No panties. Just the lacy garter belt that held up those sleek black stockings.
He braced a hand on either side of the door, leaned in close, and tasted those cherry-flavored lips. He let his weight fall against hot, smooth skin. Kissed his way down that pale throat. Widow shivered. Ty drew back. “Turn around.”
Widow obeyed.
Ty couldn’t stop himself—for a moment he had to admire all that beautiful white flesh. Creamy and taut. And that ass. He loved that tight little ass and those long, muscled legs.
As long as Widow took care of the King, the King would take care of Widow. That was the way the world worked.
Ty leaned in, snuggled himself between those sweet, hot cheeks.
This right here was what he loved—a hot, firm male body.
Wasn’t no damned pussy good enough for the King.
Chapter Twenty-Four
2204 Clopton Street
Thursday, August 5; 1:05 a.m.
A low growl woke him.
Ricky rolled over in bed. The room spun.
What the hell?
He should’ve never drunk that tequila.
Damn.
He licked his lips. Scowled at the bad taste in his mouth.
“Satan!” He waited, listened. The dog didn’t come. “Shit.” Ricky sat up. The taste of tequila and bile rushed up into his throat. He had to hold his head. Felt like it was going to bust wide open.
Wood flopped against wood, telling him Satan had lunged out the dog flap he’d installed in the back door. He must’ve heard or smelled something outside.
