Page 2 of Twisted Tate

I’m seated in a high-backed chair in my bedroom, answering a few emails and tracking the location of the woman I actually need to see tonight.

Reese Donaldson. She’s Jenson Donaldson’s daughter. The man is a sick fuck who tried to buy my sister-in-law to be his own personal sex slave. I promised my older brother Fox that I’d put my skills to use and find a way to bring his entire operation down. And that’s what I’m going to fucking do.

In our world, made up of the rich and elite, we call ourselves the Ravens. We operate within our own set of rules, but that shit can’t stand.

She just left her father’s house, according to the alert on my phone. She’ll make an appearance at Velum soon if her patterns hold.

I pull up the photos I have of Reese on my phone. She’s gorgeous with her dark blonde hair, gray eyes, and full pouty lips. I noticed that the first time I pulled her file. But that doesn’t matter. I’m not going to fuck her. What I need is information.

The woman in my bed—I really can’t remember her name—moans again and tries to wiggle her ass.

I glance out the window instead, taking in the Boston skyline. I’m not going to bother closing the shades over the full floor-to-ceiling windows. No one can see in from this height, and even if they could, I don’t give a flying fuck.

The brunette moans around her open mouth gag again, and I watch her this time. Drool seeps into my thousand-dollar sheets. Her pussy is slick and swollen, and she’s been more than ready since I tied her down.

I pour myself two fingers of Macallan and take a slow sip.

I pull out my phone and text my younger brother, Thorne.

Me: Got another one tied up at my place. Want a piece? She’s down for it.

She was eager as fuck when I made the suggestion. The Sinclair brothers have a reputation in our world, and there is no shortage of women throwing themselves our way to see if we fuck as good as they’ve heard. There’s a collection of them out there who’ve had all of us in the same night. If this were a few months ago, the three of us would’ve taken turns with the woman in my bed, passing her back and forth until she couldn’t walk straight. But I’m afraid she’s shit out of luck tonight. Fox is married now, completely in love with his wife, making him a one-pussy kind of man.

Good for him, I guess. I never thought he’d settle into married life. But he’s happy, and that’s all that matters to me.

Maybe one day I’ll find what makes me fucking happy. Besides watching the life go out of the eyes of someone who deserves it. I fucking love that shit.

That’s what’s going to happen to Jenson Donaldson. But it’s Fox who gets that kill.

Three dots appear on my screen.

Thorne: Damn. What does this one look like?

Me: Brunette with great tits, already gagged and waiting. Impatiently.

Thorne: Tempting, brother. But I’ve got a thing tonight.

Then why does he give a fuck what she looks like?

Me: A thing? What the fuck does that mean?

Thorne: Don’t fucking worry about it.

Me: Well now I have more questions.

Thorne: Tough shit, fucker. Have fun without me.

I toss my phone on the nightstand. I mostly wanted him to help out with making sure the woman comes a couple times. I just want to get off and get back to work, but I can’t have a woman leaving my bed unsatisfied.

The woman moans again, doing her best to beg with the gag.

“I haven’t forgotten about you, good little slut.”

I set down my whiskey and look at her, really look at her.

She’s like every other woman I’ve fucked, with her perfect ass in the air, her back arched, and her skin flushed with anticipation. She’d do anything I asked right now. I could fuck every hole she has, leaving her bruised and satisfied, and she’d fucking thank me for it.

Same as the countless other women I’ve had in this position.